Simpleigh

Two days ago one of my best friends gave birth for the first time to a beautiful little girl named Ellie.  In Italian “to give birth”— “Dare alla Luce”— is literally translated:  “to  give to the light” If we think about birth this way, it makes sense why Jesus named what we typically call conversion, "the new birth."  Peter Rollins says conversion is like birth because you don't experience your birth, rather, being born allows you to experience everything else.  Conversion, then, is a transformative journey; one where God is continually bringing us into the light. Each moment carries the opportunity to be transformed by the light of life, a new birth day.  Will we allow ourselves to be given to it?  Welcome to the light Ellie. 

On Wednesday, my Emergent Gathering professor led us in an exercise called "Midrash."  Midrash  is the Hebrew term  for a unique style of storytelling used by Jewish Rabbinic Sages to explain passages from the bible.  Midrash is a creative way to fill in plot gaps, add detail to whats been left vague, and explore biblical personalities.  Midrash is not exegesis, which seeks to extract meaning. Instead, midrash is a form of eisegesis, wherein meaning is given.  The beauty of doing a group midrash is you get to hear a variety of voices all give their take on a single passage.  In my very first month at Wesley I was accused of being a midrash-fangirl. While this statement is somewhat of a hyperbole, I do enjoy a good midrash. So,   I thought I would post mine in the hope that something I've said will resonate with you, or perhaps cause a rupture that leads you to deeper truth.  Given 15 minutes, we were asked to listen and t...

As part of my Spiritual Formation class, I'm required to visit a local non-profit with a small group of peers. This past week I visited the Father McKenna Center (a Jesuit run day shelter for homeless men) for a final time before the end of the semester. I chose the Father McKenna Center for a number of reasons, not least of which is the feeling of genuine concern for these men I get from the staff and volunteers. Perhaps one of the more unique features of the center, is their midday "check in" group. During this time, the men (numbering in the 40s and 50s) share their feelings, anxieties, joys, and dreams with the group. A moderator oversees the meeting, answering technical questions about affordable housing or job training, and sometimes delivers a motivational message. In general, I tend to be suspect of self-help style pep talks. In my opinion, they have a propensity to communicate the destructive myth that your value comes from what you produce. However, I rather l...

What does the resurrection have to do with my life now, today? This question has been hounding me for the past week.  On Easter, we tend to use vague religious vocabulary to explain the cosmic implications of the resurrection — aka. how God is putting the  world back together.  But how is God putting me back together? Truthfully, I don't know how Christ's resurrection works in my life. But on days like today, I like to think it has something to do with eating large quantities of jelly beans in rehab. 

One Valentine’s Day while I was living in England, I gave out little cards and gifts to people at my work. I thought my peers would appreciate the gesture, but instead of gratitude what I got in return were looks of awkward confusion. As it turns out, in England Valentines Day is exclusively celebrated among couples. Translation: I had inadvertently hit on every one of my coworkers. It seems to me Valentines Day has become a rather divisive holiday. A day once meant to spread the message of universal love, is now increasingly limited to people in romantic relationships. This has not gone over well with militant singles that annually come out in protest of V-day — wearing all black, and replacing romcom movie nights with stomach turning horror flicks.             While I feel boycotting Valentine’s Day (or Single’s Awareness Day, if you like) is an over-reaction, I do think something must be said about our cultures ...

Found an old blog entry from a couple months ago. Not quite complete but I thought I'd share. I've discovered recently that it's possible to go your whole life without knowing how to love someone unconditionally.  It's frightening really, all the subtle ways we withhold our love from the people around us. Our insecurities determine the risks we take with our love.  My affection comes with so many conditions. Subconsciously, a thousand little requirements dictate whom I love and how much I love them.  I ask myself constantly: What can they offer? What do they expect from me? Will they leave me?  It's easy to love someone when they have something to offer you. But what happens when they have nothing to give?  What happens when they are lying ill in a hospital, unable to care for even themselves? I've always loved my Dad, but not because its been easy. At times loving him has been really really hard, and I'm sure he would say the same thing about...

In our Spiritual Formations class we have been practicing different disciplines. Two weeks ago we practiced Lectio Divina. This form of prayer has you read the biblical text —or some other spiritual writing— a few times over, paying attention to what lines or words or feelings speak to you. For some reason, I felt drawn to a book of poems I own by Rilke. His collection, The Book of Hours: Love Poems to God, is one of my favorites. It's full of joyful reflections and heartbreaking laments. It is painfully honest and cuts to the heart of our longing for God. I flipped through the book until I came to "Ich Bete wieder, du Erlauchter." I must have read it out loud ten or twelve times, each time with more conviction than the last. I thought I would share it with you; in the hopes it will bring you solace.  "I am praying again, Awesome One. You hear me again, as words from the depths of me rush toward you in the wind. I’ve been scattered in pieces, torn by conflict, moc...