Last night I watched the Bachelorette.  I never watch the Bachelorette.  I don’t know what got into me, but I sat on the couch, for two hours, listening to the guys “tell all” and recount their stories from the season.  Mostly I watched as they and this season’s Bachelorette, Ali, spoke of finding love and her quest to find the man of her dreams.

But as I watched, I thought about how different their experiences have been from my own – and if any relationship that begins in such a setting (not only in exotic locations, but on national TV) can survive the reality of life (most don’t – I think only two or three couples have actually made it down the aisle and are still together).

Is this the standard by which we’ve begun to judge our lives?  National television and reality shows?  Andrew Root, in his book, The Promise of Despair, recounts exactly that – we’ve begun to see life through a variety of screens.  We want our romantic lives to be like the fairy tale of romance on the Bachelor/Bachelorette (and cry or pout when they aren’t that way, just as almost all the dismissed girls and guys do), or our experiences of having a baby like that on TLC’s A Baby Story.  It seems in many respects, TV and the internet have become the basis by which we live our lives – we’re inundated with information that tells us how we should be living and what life is like.

But what about when it isn’t?  This is precisely when the crucified Christ encounters us – in our pain and our despair.  Love is not all about romance and frequently it involves a lot of pain.  The promise of God is one that promises to enter into that pain with us, to not shy away from it, to give life in the midst of it; all without profiting from it.  ”Good” television means a lot of drama and suffering – we want to see others cry so we can feel better about ourselves.  But what if real redemption comes not when everything goes the way we want, but by entering into the reality of pain with somebody who loves us by our side?

Photo: Some rights reserved by Lubs Mary.

Author: Amy Thompson Sevimli

I’ve noticed a couple of churches in the area geared toward young adults and those who “don’t go to church” named Grace.  And I’ve been intrigued by the choice of the name Grace.   It’s a highly loaded theological word, and one which some people have told me has no resonance with younger generations.  These people claim that younger generations don’t believe they actually sin, “fall short,” or “miss the mark,” and thus have no need of grace. Yet, these new churches are drawing in lots of new young adults.

Now, I’m not suggesting that people attend a church just because they like its name. However, I cannot believe that churches as savvy as these would choose names that they knew from the outset would not resonate with the younger generations they were trying to reach. In fact, I think it’s just the opposite.

My sense is that younger generations are very aware of all the ways in which they “fall short” and “miss the mark,” and they are looking for ways to change their ways.  They want to do better and be better. Usually, they are interested in doing something about that, so that their shortcomings are a little less pronounced and they can seek to find a little more favor in God’s sight—to earn God’s grace.

The only problem with this is of course that we cannot earn God’s grace or love.  Because God doesn’t love us when we finally change to righteous behavior.  God loves us so that we can change.  As Father Richard Rohr says:  “…we’ve been given an inferior message—that God loves me “when” I change (“moralism”).  What that does is put it back on you.  You’re back to “navel gazing” and you never succeed at that level.  You are never holy enough, pure enough, refined enough, or loving enough.  Whereas, when you fall into God’s mercy, when you fall into God’s great generosity, you find, seemingly from nowhere, this capacity to change.  No one is more surprised than you are.  You know it is a gift.” (Richard Rohr, Following Mystics through the Narrow Gate).

I would disagree with those who claim that younger generations disregard grace because they supposedly have no concept of “falling short” or sinning.  On the contrary, I think that since young adults were young children they have been reminded just how short they fall, how often they fall that short, and how far and long the road is to make up for that.  So, I can’t imagine what a greater gift than grace could be for younger generations…to be told a completely different story: that God first loved us (1 John 4.19) and that because God loved and loves us even now, they, even we, can change. It’s not something we earn, or something for which we try to close some kind of gap in which we’ve fallen short. Rather, it’s something we’ve already been given and in which we now live.

image by Mike_tn (rights)

Are we free?  Are we truly free?  Or is freedom a mere illusion, a convenient fiction, a lie we tell ourselves to make our condition more bearable?  That centuries old question is been revived today in part by discoveries in the field of behavioral genetics.  The mapping of the human genome (i.e. the sets of instructions that we carry in our cells) presents us with a crisis in meaning, a crisis in our understanding of what it means to be a human being, with repercussions in all aspects of life, from medicine to jurisprudence to theology.

But a crisis, as is often repeated, is also an opportunity; a crisis constitutes an opening, a break with something (the end of one thing) and therefore the potentiality of the beginning of something new.  We are in the midst of a crisis of what it means to be human, and that is scary and exciting, dangerous and full of possibilities.  We are in uncharted terrain, in a new place, and according to the perspective of faith, it is the Spirit of God that has brought us to this place.

We are free to create or destroy.  We are free to surrender our freedom to the suicidal compulsions of greed, to the satisfaction of our ephemeral but bottomless whims.  We are also free to use our freedom to enhance our capacity to choose life-giving ways of being in the world and of being in relationship with other humans, with other creatures, with ourselves, and with our God.  Rubem Ales, a Brazilian theologian and psychoanalyst, has used the metaphor of the kite to describe the paradox of human freedom.  Without the string that pulls it down, the kite cannot fly.  Without the wind that pushes it in the opposite direction, it cannot fly either.  The kite can only fly when it is simultaneously pulled down by the string and pushed up by the wind.  Humanity is certainly constrained by its genome but it is also pushed to transcendence by the Spirit that blows from within the ground of our being.  Thus the human spirit soars in freedom.  We are made to be free.

We are free to become what God is calling us to be, or not.  We are free to participate in God’s ongoing work of creation which includes ourselves.  In Christ we are given the freedom and courage to become who God is calling us to be.

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This article is part of an ongoing series called “Young Adult Voices.” This series gives young adults who are either in congregations or searching for a congregation a voice to express their cares and frustrations about the Church. Because many of these young adults are trying to find  places of welcome in Washington area ELCA congregations, the articles are anonymous.

For a city that should be a model to the rest of our nation, DC’s got a long way to go.  I’ve been a resident here for a year and a half now, and it didn’t take me long to realize that our schools suck, our roads suck, cost of living sucks, traffic sucks, our hospitals suck, and parking is horrendous.  I made the big mistake of bringing a car to DC in April.  I didn’t particularly want to have it, but because of a family emergency, I needed to borrow my mom’s car, just for a few months.  I never knew a cute speedy Jetta could be such a huge stressor, but as I searched through parking options and stood in line at the DMV for hours, I quickly learned that DC is not on my side.

I am 23.  In the next 10 years, it is likely that I will go to grad school, get married, settle into a career path, buy my first house, and maybe even have a kid or few (not necessarily in that order)!  How is it that all of those other pieces are supposed to fall into place when I can’t even find a place to park my car??!  Forgive me for being a bit dramatic, but there are days when I’m quite sure I’ll never achieve anything off that intimidating list.  And on my most dramatic days, I feel completely alone in the struggle.

Towards the end of college, I met regularly with a career counselor from Luther’s Career Center – Mark.  I joked with him that I’d like him to be my career counselor for life, but seriously! – who is supposed to help me now?  My challenges seem bigger and my questions more in depth as my understanding of the world both grows and diminishes at the same time.  Where is Mark now?  And can he help me find a place to park my car??

This is where the church is presented with an opportunity and often fails (according to me).  While churches are slowly gaining wisdom about creating and energizing Young Adult groups, they must not forget the power of intergenerational relationships.  We need each other.  I need my peers so we can commiserate together about being 23 and completely lost.  And I need the older adults in the church who have gone before me…who have successfully made it through their 20s and live to tell about it!

One of the most vocationally helpful exercises I’ve been through came from the Quaker tradition.  At a recent Volunteers Exploring Vocation retreat (put on by the Fund for Theological Education), I participated in a Quaker Clearness Committee.  Clearness Committees are designed to help an individual wrestle with an issue through listening and asking questions.  About six people sat in a circle around me that day.  I presented my issue – should I apply for grad school in the fall or keep working?  And for the next hour, they were only allowed to ask questions and welcome silence.  I did not walk away from that experience with a yes or no answer.  But somehow, I left feeling freer and more well-equipped to choose my path.

In the Quaker tradition, a Clearness Committee would meet with you again and again until you feel as though your issue is resolved.  It’s this sense of community that I feel has been lacking from my church experience.  Not the chatty, nosy community – there’s plenty of that in the Lutheran church!  (It’s clear to me that people are curious what I’ll do next.)  What I find less frequently are genuine listening ears who treat my struggles as their own.  Who seek to ask questions rather than offering answers that worked for them when they were my age.

I ended up having to rent a parking spot for $120 a month.  Less than ideal, but at least it’s taken care of.  And I decided not to go to grad school right away.  Yet somehow, life keeps happening, whether I’m ready for it or not.  Still, I am convinced that we do not have to be alone on this journey!  I invite you to come with me – for the journey is long, and we weren’t created to walk this road alone.

image by JaseMan (rights)

This article is part of an ongoing series called “Young Adult Voices.” This series gives young adults who are either in congregations or searching for a congregation a voice to express their cares and frustrations about the Church. Because many of these young adults are trying to find  places of welcome in Washington area ELCA congregations, the articles are anonymous.

I recently visited a friend of mine from college in Philadelphia.  He’s been there for two years, having moved from the Midwest to attend graduate school.  While we walked the streets of his neighborhood and caught up, he confided in me that he was lonely.

My friend is smart, successful, and generous.  He’s interesting and outgoing.  But here he was, sharing that he’s lonely in a city of millions of people.  He said he didn’t connect with the people in his program.  His new job is at a small firm without many people his age.  His closest friend in the city is a girl he used to date, and while they still get along well, she is seeing someone else these days.

I’ll bet my friend’s story is common.  Even in this media-soaked, interconnected culture, many young adults still are looking for connection and community.  And they aren’t always sure where to find it.

Thinking about my friend’s story made me think about my own social life over the ten years since college.  The place I’ve primarily sought community is church, and I’ve always been fortunate to find it.  But the first thing I’ve looked for in a church hasn’t been the name on the door – it’s been the quality of community inside.

I’ve worshipped for lengths of time at a charismatic church that had people speaking in tongues and running the aisles, and I’ve attended a church so conservative that they didn’t use instruments or permit women to pray during the service.  I went to each – not because of denomination and certainly not because of doctrine – but because I found peers and community (and in one case, a girl).

And I didn’t find the Lutheran church I currently attend because it’s Lutheran.  I participate in this church because friends I respect attended there, so I followed.  And once inside, I found that my gifts and participation have been valued, and I am surrounded by committed, connected people who share my passion for social justice.

While my friend and I walked and talked, he also mentioned he’s giving online dating a try.  He’s not content with the bar scene, and he hasn’t met many quality eligible women through work or school, so he’s turned online to meet new people.

At this point, some might be wondering why I didn’t suggest that my friend find a good church, since that’s been where I’ve found such rewarding relationships (and even a few eligible bachelorettes).  But there’s a catch – he’s not a Christian.

I’m honestly not sure what it would take to get him to darken the door of a church, but I know that most traditional churches wouldn’t present much appeal.  Raised in a devout Christian home, he gave up his faith in college after a truly genuine struggle with doubt.  If he were even willing to visit a church, he’d need a place that understands doubt and where hard questions can be asked without receiving easy, Sunday school answers.

As someone who works for a real estate company that develops affordable housing for low-income renters, my friend would probably need a church that connected with his values of service and activism.  And as a music junkie and amateur musician himself, he’d probably look for a place that could offer a worship experience of depth and sincerity – even if the quality isn’t always the best – that went beyond worn out hymns and cheesy praise choruses.

And given my friend’s bout with loneliness and struggle to meet eligible women, it probably wouldn’t hurt if the church he visited had single people his age.  It’s a reality that young, single people attract young, single people, whether at the local watering hole or the local church.  Most unchurched, single 30-somethings I know aren’t ready to trade their leisurely Sunday morning brunches and New York Times browsing for a church service with a room of people double their age.

I hope my friend can find good community, and I’d be thrilled if it were through a church.  I wish he lived in DC so he could visit mine.  However, I’m honestly not very confident that – even if he were actually interested in darkening a church door – he’d have much luck walking into a local church of whatever denomination and finding much of what I list above.  But here’s hoping.

image by Gret@Lorenz è una combattente! (rights)

There are many days at work when I wonder why I do what I do.

Which may not necessarily be a good thing for a pastor.

But if I’m honest about it, not only is it true for me personally, but I think it’s one of the core issues plaguing the church right now.  Frequently, we don’t know why we do what we do – why we are the church, why we gather together weekly (usually on Sunday mornings), and what it all means.

I suspect I’m not alone in wanting my life to mean something and this includes my work.  I want to point to something I’ve done and be able to say how it impacts the world (even if it means only changing one little thing).  And this leads right into my spirituality.  I feel like my faith is meaningless if I’m not able to point to the ways I’m working to change the world around me – and there are certainly days like that.

But there are also plenty of days when that is not the case, when I can point to God’s mission in the world and the ways I’m living into it.  I’m a part of the church still because I’ve been privileged to have those experiences of God that give my life meaning as part of my church life too.  The challenge for me and the rest of the church is to engage this great meaning in our faith, lives, and work on a consistent basis.  Only then, I think, will we begin to see the meaning of our lives wrapped up in the great mystery of God’s unfolding drama.

Photo courtesy of anjan58 (rights).

Author:  Bob Francis

Ever since college, I’ve been a bit of a reluctant Christian.  Full of questions and doubts, I’ve forged a truce of sorts with faith.  At moments faithful, at moments faith-less, I’ve felt my way forward, moment by moment.

At different times over the years, I’ve been helped by the stories of other pilgrims on the journey.  In my mid-20s, I was carried forward by the conversion story of Thomas Merton, the Columbia University academic turned Trappist monk.  I resonated with Merton because he didn’t find God in a flash of lightning or clap of thunder, but quietly… discretely… subtlety…. across a series of moments over years.

I think the spiritual memoir for my 30s so far is Take This Bread by Sara Miles.  A lesbian, secular left-wing journalist, Sara – who knew one Christian – walked into a church one morning – for no earthly reason – and found meaning at the communion table.

For someone who saw Christianity as a “cultural jihad… with its absolutist thunderings about school prayer and homosexuality,” imagine her surprise to find tears on her cheeks among strangers in the rotunda of St. Gregory’s Episcopal Church.  A most unlikely convert, she was caught off guard by God.

As she writes, “All of it pointed to a force stronger than the anxious formulas of religion: a radically inclusive love that accompanied people in the most ordinary of actions – eating, drinking, walking – and stayed with them, through fear, even past death.”

Skeptic or believer, there’s something for everyone in Sara’s story.  Take this bread.

These are only hints and guesses,
Hints followed by guesses; and the rest
Is prayer, observance, discipline, thought and action.
The hint half guessed, the gift half understood, is Incarnation.

T. S. Eliot, The Dry Salvages

image by Mr. Kris (rights)

Author:  Phil Hirsch

Love Wins.

Easter can be summed up with these simple words.  Whatever the resurrection may mean to you, however you may understand the mystery what happened on that morning so many centuries ago, this truth was made clear.

Love wins because even though he suffered the worst violence, betrayal and hatred that human beings can deliver, it could not stop the power of his love that continues to endure.  Jesus showed us how love heals, forgives, restores justice and even sacrifices for others.  As Christians we claim to follow in the way of this love.

When we live our lives focused on that kind of love, things change.  The world becomes a better place. Love wins again and again. That is something I can believe in.  That is a way worth following.

I’ll do almost anything as long as I think I may get a good story out of it.

And over the past couple of years I’ve discovered the best stories, the ones that are worth retelling to my friends and my family, those that come up again and again, are those that involve a lot of pain, suffering, and struggle.  The best stories are often those when I faced great difficulty, particularly if it was still highly humorous, and then come out ahead in the end or things mysteriously worked out.

Which is probably why this time of the year always tends to resonate very deeply within me – Holy Week and Easter.  This coming Sunday will mark the beginning of this crazy, wild week as we travel with Jesus down the road as he enters Jerusalem on a donkey while people waved palm branches and hailed him as the King of Israel.  On Thursday we’ll eavesdrop as Jesus celebrates Passover with the disciples and gives them a new commandment.  Then on Friday we will hear again, and likely experience, Jesus’ betrayal and death as he takes his final breath on the cross.  Only to wake up on Sunday faced again with the unbelievable reality of an empty tomb, a reality that turns the world upside down and changes everything we thought we knew.

It’s a phenomenal story!  It’s also the story we’re invited into.  Every year I anticipate making the journey through the week again, thinking I know how the story ends (on Sunday with an empty tomb), but routinely find it’s not over – I am, we are, still writing the story.  Then I begin to wonder, am I writing a story worth telling again and again?  Is my story a reflection of that empty tomb?

What kind of story are you writing?

Photo courtesy of elkost (rights)

Author: Meredith Keseley

“What are you?”  As a thirty something female walking around in all black and a clergy collar, this is a question I get on a somewhat regular basis.  “Are you a nun?” some will ask with caution.  “Father,” I have been addressed on more than one occasion by a Catholic lay person who had no other frame of reference for a person dressed as I was.  My favorite came very early one Sunday morning when I had stopped at the gas station to fill my tank on the way to church.  “Did you just get off a flight,” the man at the pump next to me asked.  “Excuse me?” I replied.  “Oh, your uniform,” he explained, “I thought that you were a flight attendant.”

What are you?  For someone like me it is kind of a fun question.  I enjoy the strange looks and bewildered stares from people trying to make sense of how someone like me can be a pastor.  Not everyone, however, enjoys these kinds of questions.  For some, especially in these economic times, the question brings with it a sense of dread.

“What are you?” the person sitting next to you at the bar asks meaning, of course, what is your profession.  It is one of the first questions often asked when starting a conversation with someone you don’t know.  It is one of the primary ways that we seek to get to know people in social situations.  “What are you?” we ask.  “What do you do?”

According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, as quoted in a recent news article, “37 percent of all Millennials are either unemployed or out of the work force.”   That leaves more than 1/3 of young adults trying to figure out a creative way to answer this kind of question.  If you happen to fall into this 37 percent than you probably know what I mean.

In a society where identity and profession are often tied together, who are you when you are not your job?  If you happen to fall into the other 63 percent of the millennial population, then who are you outside of your job?  Often times those in that percentage are working more than 40 hours a week trying to keep their job or get ahead in their career.  When our professions or jobs are stripped away, with what are we left?

The church offers us an intriguing idea.  What are we?  We are children of God.  Our identity comes not from what we do in the world, but the one who put us in the world in the first place.  This is a radical shift in our identity.  It is an identity that can not be lost or taken away.  It is an identity that stays with us no matter what we might be doing in the world at a given time.  It provides the ultimate job security, for God will always be seeking God’s children to work in the world.

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