Reflections on the ELCA National Youth Gathering

2012 ELCA Youth Gathering: Citizens with the Saints
The first ELCA National Youth Gathering I attended as a young person was the 2003 National Gathering in Atlanta, Georgia. There are many things I remember about that week, especially the un-godly heat and humidity; but, one memory that continues to stand out to me was the professional quality of the evening program at the Georgia Dome. I remember thinking: these are great musicians, these video clips look professionally done, these speakers are really impressive people, and so on. I thought to myself: “wow, the ELCA must really care about us youth if they spent this much time and money to provide us with such an incredible experience.”

Attending that gathering was a highly influential event in my life and certainly played a part in my discernment of a call to ministry. There was something powerful about interacting with the church in the form of thousands of youth just like me. I finally felt like I saw myself reflected in the church.

Attending the 2012 National Youth Gathering this week in New Orleans has been no less of a magical experience. It’s certainly different experiencing the gathering as a seminarian and budding minister of the church. But there has been another difference that I’ve noticed which was not present when I attended the gathering in 2003: the explicit welcome and intentional empowerment of young LGBT Lutherans.

I have been attending the National Gathering on behalf of Pacific Lutheran Theological Seminary, where I attend. The eight ELCA Seminaries have sponsored a “Hot Spot” at the New Orleans Convention Center where students engage in a number of different programs and activities as a part of their “Practice Peacemaking” experience. The significance of a queer woman representing an ELCA seminary has not passed me by. But, there is also a booth sponsored by Reconciling Works where the youth can make a pledge not to bully others. After making this pledge, they are given a dog-tag necklace with a Reconciling Works logo on it. I have seen that necklace on countless young people as they’ve passed by my station.

But that’s not all.

In the evenings, at the Superdome, I’ve been able to attend three of the evening programs which feature incredible musicians, professional-quality video clips, and inspirational speakers – like the ones that made such an impression on me in Atlanta. But this time it’s different too. Every night, there has been a speaker that has spoken to the need for the inclusion and empowerment of LGBT people. Persons such as Presiding Bishop Mark Hanson, Pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber, Shane Claiborne, Nobel Peace Prize winner Leymah Gbowee and openly-gay, anti-bullying advocate Jamie Nabozny have spoken to this affect from the main stage of the Superdome: the one time during the week when all of the youth are in the same place at the same time. But, what’s more, is the response from the young people: 35,000 young people from around our diverse nation, erupting in applause and cheers at the mere mention of LGBT inclusion.

I’ve been speechless. I’ve had tears running down my face. I’ve sat back in awe. And I’ve been so incredibly grateful that, three years after the ELCA’s decision, I have finally experienced such an explicit and enthusiastic welcome. A welcome extended to every queer-identified person in that audience, and in some ways to me. Now, not only can youth see themselves reflected in the church as I did back in 2003, but LGBT youth can see their reflections in that same church.

As I look at the youth in the Superdome and watch as they walk by my station in the Convention Center, I’m reminded of how difficult a time in one’s life adolescence is: some boys have had their growth spurts and are too tall to know what to do with their lanky limbs; some boys haven’t quite gotten their spurt yet and are doing everything they can to look bigger and older; some girls have matured physically and try to show off their physical appearance while still others try to hide what they think makes them different; pimples plague some faces while some young people seem to never have known their evil ways. This is a tough time in your life physically, which reminds me all the more of how tough it is socially and emotionally.

For all the conversations and speeches that have been made about bullying and for all the pledges that have been made: I’m no fool, and I know that there is bullying happening here at this gathering. Afterall, we’re saints and sinners. But a seed has been planted here in New Orleans. As a city that is full of hope, rebirth, and restoration, I can’t help but think that the youth of the ELCA are walking away with a little bit of all of that. And, I couldn’t be more excited.

Good Shepherd Sermon

Acts 4:5-12 ~ Psalm 23 ~ 1 John 3:16-24 ~ John 10:11-18


When I was in high school, I worked at a Catholic Shrine in my hometown which is dedicated to the appearance of the Virgin Mary to two small children in La Salette, France. Every year, from Thanksgiving to New Year’s Day, the shrine is decorated with approximately 300,000 lights – hanging in the trees, decorating the bushes and lighting pathways amongst statues to the Virgin Mary as well as other religious displays. According to their website, they host approximately 500,000 pilgrims during this celebratory time; and to be honest, it’s no surprise to me. During this month and half, I would work in the shrine’s gift shop and all 500,000 pilgrims would come in and look around – or so it seemed. We sold everything: rosaries, religious jewelry, nativity sets, crosses, gift cards, prayer cards, Bibles, and other religious gifts. I got pretty good at my saints having worked there for three seasons!

What always tended to catch my eye were the pictures of Jesus that we sold. There were so many! Each capturing a biblical image of Jesus (on the cross, on the mountain with his disciples, gathering the children) and also some images of Jesus that have developed over time (the handsome white Jesus gazing off in the distance, Jesus guiding a firefighters out of burning buildings, that sort of thing). Some of the images were even holographic and would change as you walked by them: sometimes it was a little creepy! Even before I even knew seminary was part of my path, I was always intrigued by these images of Jesus and how they spoke to our understandings of who Jesus is.

One image that we carried often in the store was Jesus as the Good Shepherd. Not only was this image depicted in these drawings, but also on the prayer cards and other gifts: if Jesus as the shepherd was not directly depicted, a staff or sheep or a lamb were often the substitutes. Jesus as the Good Shepherd is a well-known image of Christ that has formed our thoughts on who Jesus was and who Jesus is.

Which is funny, isn’t it? There are still shepherds in some parts of the world, but in North America they are hard to come by. But, because of the images of Jesus as the Good Shepherd, I can tell you a lot about a shepherd! Or, perhaps, I can tell you a lot about what a good shepherd should be: a shepherd should be like Jesus.

This understanding of Jesus has also been set as the ultimate example for church leaders. The word “pastor” itself is a Latin word that means “shepherd.” The staff that is carried by many bishops is designed to look like the staff shepherds use to herd their flocks: symbolizing the “herding” bishops do of their own “flocks.” And it all comes down to the fact that in John’s gospel, Jesus says “I am the good shepherd.”

In the gospel of John, there are seven “I am” statements made by Jesus which are all meant to help us gain a deeper understanding of just who this Jesus is. However, many of them are quite figurative: “I am the bread of life” in John 6 has Eucharistic overtones and we certainly understand the bread on our communion table to be the body of Christ; however, “I am the light of the world” in John 8, “I am the gate” in John 10, “I am the resurrection and the life” in John 11, “I am the way and the truth and the life” in John 14, and even “I am the vine” as we’ll read in John 15 next week are somewhat more abstract than when Jesus says “I am the good shepherd.” John’s audience knew what a shepherd was and even to this day, we know what a shepherd is and was.

But, Jesus seems to sum up what he means by calling himself the “good shepherd” when he says: “A good shepherd would die for the sheep.” We are post-Easter people and so for us, we know that Jesus did die on a cross for his “sheep.” This statement from Jesus seems like not only a summation of a shepherd’s role – a shepherd will die protecting his sheep – but it also comes across as the summation of our shepherd’s life – Jesus was crucified, died, and resurrected for us and our salvation. Which, okay, yeah, we know that story.

But, the reading from 1 John, gives this description of a good shepherd from Jesus a little more nuance when it says: “This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ died for us.” Ah, it’s about love! Jesus’s description is telling us what a good shepherd does, but in telling us what that good shepherd does he is telling us what true love is. The good shepherd is dependable, caring, steadfast, and trustworthy and through all of these things our good shepherd, Jesus, is showing his true love for us. This is what artists are trying to depict in those drawings. And, this is a great image for all of the shepherds of our churches.

But what about the sheep? What about the flock?

The reading from 1 John does indicate that “we, too, ought to lay down our lives for one another.” And, historically, it has been proclaimed that we as sheep are to lay down our lives for Christ (both figuratively and literally). I don’t know about you, but, this doesn’t seem to capture the whole meaning of the relationship between the sheep and their shepherd: the relationship between sheep their shepherd seems more intimate than that.

A shepherd knows the sheep and is known by the sheep. This goes beyond the mere instinctual needs for food and that sort of thing. According to Henry Wansbrough, a monk and biblical scholar, "Sheep, often thought to be hopelessly witless and contrary creatures, will respond individually, at least to a caring and affectionate shepherd who treats them individually" .The sheep respond to the sound of their shepherd’s voice and not to the voices of others, not to the voices of strangers.

 Is this the same idea that’s being referenced in 1 John about laying down one’s life? Perhaps. It does seem like it’s along the same lines. These things all feel related, or inter-connected. But it doesn’t seem to capture all of what’s going on between the sheep and the shepherd.

The author of 1 John uses the Greek word “agape” to describe Christ’s dying on the cross. Many of us might be familiar with this word because it is the Greek word for love used most often in terms of the love Christ has for creation. “Agape” is an unconditional love: the kind of love that would convince one to lay down one’s life for another. But, there are three other words in the Greek language that also mean “love:” “storge” (which means more “affection”), “philia” (which means more “friendship”), and “eros” (which, according to Wikipedia, means more “passionate love, with sensual desire and longing”) . So which one might we use to describe this relationship between the shepherd and the sheep?

It seems to be more than mere “affection” for one another – in a “I like Jesus, he’s alright” kind of way – and it also seems to go beyond a “friendship” – in a “Jesus is my homeboy” kind of way. What about “eros?”

Now, to clarify, when referring to “eros,” and its descriptive word “erotic,” I don’t mean it in the same sense as what has probably just popped into your head: I mean a love that stems from a desire to be in relationship with others or more succinctly let’s use the word that the Wikipedia definition used: “longing.” “Eros” requires us to self-reflect, to notice the feelings deep down in our core that drive us towards companionship with one and with a community.

Audre Lorde, in an essay entitled “The Uses of the Erotic,” notes that “the erotic is a resource within each of us that lies in a deeply…spiritual plane, firmly rooted in the power of our unexpressed or unrecognized feeling.”  We often disregard our feelings and emotions and deem them irrational and undependable. Lorde points out that feelings have “been made into the confused, the trivial, the psychotic, and…for this reason, we have turned away from the exploration and consideration of the erotic as a source of power and information, confusing it with” the more negative understandings of “erotic:” of which, we know, there are many.

Lorde’s essay asks us to reclaim our feelings, to reconnect with that erotic drive for self-fulfillment and happiness that comes when we allow our longing for relationships to guide us into communion with others. “When I speak of the erotic,” Lorde writes, “then, I speak of it as an assertion of the lifeforce of [humanity]; of that creative energy empowered, the knowledge and use of which we are now reclaiming in our language, our history, our dancing, our loving, our work, our lives,” and I would add, our faith.

She writes: “When we live outside ourselves, and by that I mean on external directives only rather than from our internal knowledge and needs, when we live away from those erotic guides from within ourselves, then our lives are limited by external and alien forms, and we conform to the needs of a structure that is not based on human need, let alone an individual's. But when we begin to live from within outward, in touch with the power of the erotic within ourselves, and allowing that power to inform and illuminate our actions upon the world around us, then we begin to be responsible to ourselves in the deepest sense. For as we begin to recognize our deepest feelings, we begin to give up, of necessity, being satisfied with suffering, and self-negation, and with the numbness which so often seems like the only alternative in our society. Our acts against oppression become integral with self, motivated and empowered from within.”

When we ignore “eros,” when we allow ourselves to live completely and totally in the ignorance of our feelings and emotions, when we deny our desire for relationship, we can get trapped in the need for scientific proof and the “because the Bible says so” reasonings that have so often caused more harm than good. And, it is when we ignore “eros,” that we allow dogma and doctrine to dictate what are right and true interactions with God instead of allowing our inner desires and longing to guide us each on a path to right relationship with the Divine. Bernard Brandon Scott, a New Testament scholar, writes that it's not doctrine that unites us but "God's knowing us and being for us....God is for us"  (New Proclamation 2006). For as much as we have an erotic desire for relationship with God, God desires relationship with us.

There is something to the expression “spiritual but not religious” that may be closer to this erotic understanding of Divine love than what we’ve previously attempted to articulate in our prayers, our creeds, and our hymns. How often is our faith and our religion questioned and criticized by modern secular thought – and often for good reason – and, for some of us, the best response we can come up with is “I just believe.” There it is! It’s in there: God’s “eros” draws us to God’s-self and to each other.

And, not just us: Jesus says in vs. 16 “I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold - I must lead them too.” In our squandering of our erotic desire for community, we have allowed ourselves to build protective walls, not only so our emotions and longings don’t go too far, but also so that we might not be influenced by the uncontrolled “eros” of others. But who, or what, are we protecting ourselves from and who, or what, have we hurt in the process of building these walls?

God is “agape” and God is “eros.” God is unconditional love and God is a form of love which manifests itself in a desire for the affection, compassion, and pleasures of community. God’s agape love is the net that is wide enough for all to be reached and included, and God’s erotic love is the force that pulls that net in, reminding us whose we are. We can’t stand in the way of that kind of love. What a good shepherd indeed.

Amen.

Transfiguration Sermon

2 Kings 2:1-12, 2 Corinthians 4:3-6, Mark 9:2-9

Today’s gospel reading is full of really great biblical imagery and symbolism. Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up a mountainside, for what reason we don’t really know besides to be alone, and on the way something happens: there is this “mountaintop” experience. The Bible has many similar “mountaintop” experiences: it is atop a mountain, in Matthew’s version of the Gospel, that Jesus gives the Beatitudes to his disciples, it is atop a mountain that we read about the Temptation of Christ by the evil one, and venturing into the Hebrew scriptures, we have Moses at Sinai receiving the Ten Commandments and encountering God. Important things happen on mountaintops! In this instance, Jesus is transfigured before his disciples: his clothes turn a dazzling white. And on top of that, Elijah and Moses appear alongside Jesus and speak to him: as two of the great and important prophets of the Old Testament, Mark symbolically places Jesus alongside these well-known prophets indicating not only the authority of Christ but also as a sign of the “breaking through” of Kingdom of God. And then, the pièce de resistance, a great cloud appears and the voice of God speaks “This is my Beloved, my Own; listen to this One.”

All of this seems to clearly indicate that this is an important event!

But, what I find most ironic is what comes next:  the voice in the cloud says: “This is my Beloved, my Own; listen to this One." (Pause) But, Jesus doesn’t say anything; there’s only silence! Here we have this grand moment, with all of the appropriate symbolic features – and Jesus doesn’t say anything; there’s no great message from Christ. We are left waiting, hoping, anticipating a statement, a direction, a piece of information, an explanation…but none comes.

How often have I found myself in this predicament: waiting to discern the right decision, yearning to sense what may be even the slightest hint of direction from the Divine, but seemingly alone in the silence.

Many of the patients I visited this past summer when I was working as a Chaplain at a large hospital in Rhode Island seemed to find themselves in this predicament as well. Don’t get me wrong, I was often asked to pray prayers of thanksgiving for surgeries that had been successful, healthy babies being born, and illnesses being cured. But, there were also many prayers offered up that included feelings of desperation, helplessness, and confusion: anxiously waiting to hear God speak to them in some way.

In the last verse of our gospel today, we hear that Jesus finally did speak to Peters, James, and John: we don’t know exactly what he said, but we are told that, on their way back down the mountain, Jesus orders the three disciples “not to tell anyone what they had seen, until after the Promised One had risen from the dead.” How anticlimactic! After just witnessing Jesus’ clothes transform into a white they could hardly look at because it was so bright, the appearance of the great prophets of old, and the voice of God claiming Jesus as God’s Beloved, they are ordered not to tell the other disciples, or anyone else for that matter, what they just witnessed.

Well, that certainly wasn’t what those disciples wanted to hear. Peter, the only disciple we hear from in this text, doesn’t want it to end that way for sure. He was the one that suggested building shelters – sometimes translated as tabernacles – something that the disciples could build so that all would remember and know what happened on that mountainside: all would know the glory and authority of Christ!

But, instead, his idea is seemingly dismissed, and Jesus invites his disciples down the hill to continue the journey without mentioning what just happened. Jesus seems to be pointing towards something else – seems to be indicating that the story isn’t over, this isn’t the ending.  In this great moment of transfiguration, our attention is brought not to this glorious image of Jesus in dazzling white clothes, but rather it is pointed in a different direction, towards a different image of Christ. The journey Jesus is about to embark on is one of arrest, persecution, humiliation, crucifixion, and death.

But, that’s not what we want to hear, nor is it the image we want to focus on. In the hospital, I encountered many different images of God from the different patients I would meet. More often than not, I encountered patients who remembered Jesus as Peter hoped to: robbed in the whitest of white, high up on a mountain, empowered by the Divine – the Victor, the Savior, the Almighty, the All-Powerful. In fact, that’s often the image many people have and many parts of our scripture will illustrate this. But, that’s not the image Jesus is pointing us towards in today’s lesson.

No, as Jesus comes down from that mountain, and as we’ll be reading in only a few short weeks, Jesus faces some of the most challenging encounters: betrayal, violence, violation, torture, torment, prejudice, persecution, pain, and death. It is at this point, at this time, in this moment, in the face of this scary set of circumstances – and Jesus knows what is to come – it is now that Jesus is transfigured and claimed as a beloved child of God.

And Jesus has to lean into that relationship with the Divine; he must lean into that truth as the great, glistening light of the transfiguration transforms into the great darkness of the crucifixion; as the dazzling, white clothes are stripped away and he is left practically naked; as Elijah and Moses slip away, and Jesus is instead accompanied by two criminals; without the encouragement of his beloved disciples who have fled in fear and with no great cloud or the voice of God claiming Jesus as the Beloved One, but instead Jesus crying out, aching for God saying “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” – “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”

This is certainly not the ending we expected. The great Healer, who could cure an illness with the touch of his hand, was not relieved of his pain. The great Prophet, who taught inclusion and started a radical love movement, is not spared like Elijah who was taken up in a great chariot of fired, but instead dies. It’s just not the ending we expected.

And, I learned this summer, that no matter how ill someone is, no matter how much we may know it is a part of our stories, death is never expected.

But it is in the face of this fate, that the story of the transfiguration captures us: the “mountaintop” experience which the disciples weren’t supposed to mention wasn’t just about the glory and authority of Christ – even though Christ be glorified – instead it is about a relationship. A relationship that we first encountered at Jesus’ baptism a few weeks ago – when the Spirit descended like a dove and God claimed “You are my Beloved, my Own” – a relationship that sustained Jesus in the first phases of his ministry, and a relationship that is re-emphasized to sustain Jesus in this last phase of his ministry.

It is a relationship we, too, are called into in our baptisms; we, too are beloved children of God, we are the body of Christ. And we know that as the actual body of Christ suffered, we, as the body of Christ today, suffer. We experience betrayal, violence, violation, torture, torment, prejudice, persecution, pain, and death – both corporately and individually. And, it’s not that Jesus is this ultimate example of how to endure such suffering, it’s that in, with, and under our suffering God has transfigured us, wrapped us in stunning white linen, and claimed us as beloved children of God.

It’s not easy, but we need to lean into that promise, into that truth – so that we can walk with Jesus through our persecution, rejection, suffering, and death. Because we know, as nice as those mountaintop experiences are, it's not on the mountaintop that all is made known - it's in the trenches.

Amen.

Reflections on the Occupy Movement

There are helicopters in the sky tonight. It's an unsettling feeling.

I do not Occupy, but I occupy.

I occupy a gender that lives in a society - a patriarchal society which prevents me from earning a full dollar and is based on biology and not on "me"

I occupy a sexual orientation that lives in a norm - a heterosexist norm which others me and attempts to define what my relationship should look like

I occupy a status that lives in a framework - a socioeconomic framework which privileges the few while devastating the many

I occupy a race that lives in a system - a racist system which has deliberately dehumanized people based on the color of their skin for the purpose of privileging the "white"

I do not Occupy, but I occupy.

I occupy a role - I am a daughter, a sister, a friend, a partner, a classmate, a niece, a seminarian and a citizen.

I occupy a voice - to talk, to shout, to whisper, to sing, to call out and to call  on.

I do not Occupy, but I occupy.

There are helicopters in the sky tonight. It's an unsettling feeling.

Maybe...maybe, things will change.

Healer of our every ill...

I am overwhelmed today...by purple.

For those of you who may not know, today is a special day of remembrance of those who have recently committed suicide as a result of bullying; specifically, bullying based on sexual orientation or perceived sexual orientation. To remember those beautiful human beings, those of us who are still around have decided to wear purple.

Are we not over this yet? Are we not over causing pain? Are we not over putting others down to feel better about ourselves?

Unfortunately, we are all still wounded. Every child that has been tormented and every bully who torments...is wounded. We are a hurt and hurtful people.

We draw lines. We place labels. We build walls. We protect "us" against "them." We build ourselves up while we put others down.

But, you see, this isn't just about sexual orientation....is it? We could say these things about racism, sexism, classism...other -isms?

We are a wounded world.

Today, PLTS celebrated the Festival of St. Luke - the great healer. Our preacher was Dr. Balch (who many of my classmates know as the professor of their "Paul" class). But today, we found out that he is wounded too...just like us. And he read to us this lament by Ann Weems:

How long will you watch, O God,

as your people huddle in death?

The whole world

is dressed in tears,

and I have joined

the procession of the bereaved

who walk daily in the death places.

We drown in the sea.

We bleed on the battlefield.

We lie stricken on sick beds.

We are judged in the courtrooms.

We are victims of crime.

We are homeless and hungry.

Is this not enough?

We are tormented by mental illness.

We are abandoned by loved ones.

We wait in unemployment lines.

We grow up on the streets.

We live with disabilities.

We are injured in accidents.

We are plagued by family problems.

We fight drug and alcohol abuse.

Have you not heard enough, O God?

We sit in police stations.

We watch our loved ones endure pain.

We are falsely accused.

We encounter prejudice and hate.

We are humiliated and abused.

We contend with unbearable stress and anxiety.

We weep by the grave.

We are your people, O Creator God!

We are the work of your hands.

Is there no more grace

for your troubled ones?

Will we continue

our unholy procession

around the pit

of living death?

There is no sun, no moon, no star.

We cannot see our way.

Have pity on your world, O God,

have pity on your weeping world!

We remember all the times

you lavished your grace

upon our heads

and into our hearts.

You gave us the gift of light,

and we walked with our heads up

in the procession of life.

Restore us, O God,

to your sanctuary.

Look upon us

and let your heart be moved

to break the bonds of the bereaved.

In this hope is our joy.

In that day we will run

to join the procession of life

and we will sing hymns of praise

for ever and ever

and ever

and ever!

There is healing that needs to take place for us all. And it starts in me, and in you. Heal yourself, and you'll heal others.

Be still, and know that I am God

But that is SO hard sometimes!

I am not a "still" person: I'm not good with inactivity and silence. I'm active and talk a lot.

Sure, there are times when I take a step back and take a break: I love a day in the sun at the beach or a nice bath at the end of a long week (or day!).

But, I don't know that there's ever really a time when I ever allow myself to be still. I'm always thinking about the next assignment, the next day, the next thought. Even if I'm not physically moving, my brain is walking me through my day, my week, my month, my year, my life!

I am overwhelmed by this lately. I am caught in between a place of really desiring that stillness, and having a hard time overcoming the thoughts that are in my head and the expectations that are on my day.

Sometimes, my activeness and ability to express myself have proven helpful and have produced wonderful things in my life: I think about my study abroad experience in college, my job at New Hope and my desire to follow my call into ministry and to do it in California. Those were all "right." They were/are all good things.

So, in some ways, I don't really want to stop being active: especially when it comes to achieving my dreams.

So, why do I feel so overwhelmed? Why does life seem so insurmountable sometimes?

Because life doesn't go as we prescribe it!

If I look back at those wonderful things I mentioned above, getting to those points wasn't easy and things weren't always wonderful while I was doing them: I was very homesick when I studied abroad, my job at New Hope was very demanding physically and emotionally and studying in California means leaving Massachusetts.

But, I look at them overall with such pride and happiness.

So, I'm certainly not calm, and I'm struggling sometimes to get through the days. But this line from Psalm 46 has been running through my mind - and every time it does, in that moment, for those brief seconds, I'm calm, I'm still, and I remember that God "is" - is in my life, is with me in that uneasiness, is working for me as I am working for God.

So, I'm going to try to be still and remember God's presence in my life.

What does it mean?

When I was first discerning my call to ministry, one of the things I struggled with was "what will people think when I say I want to be a pastor?"

Would my friends treat me differently?

Would my professors from Wheaton who encouraged me to think globally be disappointed?

Will people think I'm a Jesus freak?

After a little over a month here at seminary...I'm still not over this question.

It's not that I'm uncomfortable with my call or what I want to do - if anything, being here is reaffirming my decision daily. But, there's still this discomfort telling people that I want to be a pastor because I don't know what their perceptions of pastors are, I don't know their perceptions of the church...I don't know what they're going to think. And, it's not that I don't know what they're going to think of me - if anything, I've been really encouraged by people's reactions to ME becoming a pastor - it's more, I don't know what they think of that word: Pastor...Minister...Jesus freak.

So, perhaps in an attempt for some self-validation, here's my meager attempt to define that word...it's my definition, others might not define it this way...but here's how I see my call:

Healer: wounds that are physical as well as spiritual and emotional; and healing that is physical, spiritual and emotional as well.

Listener: to both God's call and how I'm meant to carry out that call, but also to people in my life who are calling me to be there for them.

Guide: my education will help me guide others on a journey of faith

Companion: my own journey will follow closely with those I'm leading and will look to those who are leading me

Learner: our relationship with God is an every growing, ever evolving thing that will require that I keep exploring and learning.

Advocate: for all of God's creation: seen and unseen, heard and unheard, breathing and providing the oxygen we breathe in.

Child of God: with all of the faults and blessings that come with it.

I guess in all of this, I've just thought that I'm going to be "me" but as a pastor. And, that's still partially true - but the more time I spend here, the more I realize that I'm being transformed - not into anything special or particularly holier than anything/one else: but, I'm being transformed into a deeper and broader "me." It feels great.