On worshipping false gods

1 Corinthians 13:1-10

If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast,but do not have love, I gain nothing.

 Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogantor rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

 Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end. For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part; but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end.

Sonoran Desert.  Tucson, Arizona.  Photo by Evan Schneider.
Sonoran Desert. Tucson, Arizona. Photo by Evan Schneider.

I’ve heard these verses countless times–at weddings, from the pews, we even memorized them in Sunday school.  But I hardly noticed the clanging of my own symbol or the noise of my own gong  until the words were already out of my mouth, until it was too late.

I don’t think I’ve experienced such peer pressure since high school but I didn’t recognize it as such because I was in the company of adults.  The trite laughter at the expense of others, the insider-outsider politics, and the meanness of it all should have made it clear.

But I played along.  

I laughed with those mean-hearted academics, albeit with a sinking feeling in my stomach.  I became a clanging symbol, a noisy gong, a person I, myself, despised.

What I did that evening over a lovely dinner with not so lovely company is that I bowed before the god of knowledge, success, and reason rather than the wisdom of grace.  Feeling myself seduced by the grandeur of expertise and success I felt ugly, false, and fearful.  These are the feelings that make me question how I can ever live out this academic vocation while remaining true to a God of love and grace?

In sharing this crisis  with others around me, I’ve been reminded that while love, wisdom, and grace are certainly counter-cultural to the academic hustle-and-bustle, they’re not wholly absent.  As one of my colleagues pointed out, if we hate these types of dinner conversations, it’s up to this next generation of scholars to believe that there’s room enough for us all to be smart and succeed, and we don’t have to do it by stepping on one another to get there.  Success is also something that seemingly looms large and scarce, but as it turns out success can mean fulfillment, and fulfillment takes many forms.  There are also bullies like these everywhere, not only in academia.

The moon over the Catalinas.  Photo by Evan Schneider.
The moon over the Catalinas. Photo by Evan Schneider.

I just don’t want to be one of them.

At the end of the day, I felt so blessed to come home to my husband and daughter and see that in spite of my antics that evening, their grace and God’s grace embraced me fully.  At that moment my efforts to fit in and be smart were a farce, and forgiveness made me feel low and humble, but fully at home and free.

The scripture above says that even knowledge will come to an end!  And when knowledge fades, it is only faith, hope, and love that remain.  I am inspired by this pursuit of knowledge in my life, but the other night was a good reminder that it should not consume me.  I will not be consumed by worshipping these false gods of knowledge, success, and self-aggrandizement.  Instead I will rejoice in worshipping a God who wants more for me and for all his children, a God whose grace is sufficient, a God whose love is everlasting.  I will struggle to be faithful and I will call myself blessed.

Amen.

Will you let go?

We take God for granted.

We take it for granted that God is always standing there with arms wide open, poised and eager to receive our burdens.

Eager to receive our burdens.

Who in your life is truly eager to share your burdens?  Eager to gather all your hurt, your pain, your fears, your worries, shoulder them, carry them away, and all you need to do is let go?

But we don’t.

We cling.

We cling stubbornly to our ways.  We try to make it on our own.  The world feeds these desires, telling us that independence is the height of satisfaction and success.  That dependency, vulnerability, and weakness can be conquered if we just ignore them and push on.

But this type of pushing will drive you insane.

This type of pushing will deny you your true self, will keep you from honest relationships with others, and will keep you from a God who merely wants to share your burdens.

So try it this morning.

Try letting go.

Lamps in Istanbul.

Let God see your fears, your pain, and your hurt.  Let God walk alongside you, accompany you in the darkness.  And finally, let God take all those things to which you’ve been clinging and bear them, as Jesus did the cross, so that you can be free.

You may weep.  

You may weep because this type of grace does not come easy.  Not because God is not willing but because our flesh is weak.  You may weep because this grace is deeper, wider, bigger than the satisfaction we may feel at our own successes.  You may weep because to be in the presence of God is holy, astounding, and awe-inspiring.

You may weep because tomorrow God will be standing there once again with arms wide open, eager to receive our burdens.

Will you let go?

 

Virtual coffee date

I have been thinking lately about how helpful it is to reframe major challenges in life as adventure.  

You know how sometimes you’ll be going through something and someone will try to comfort you by saying, well, it will make a great story later, won’t it?  What if we could embrace the great story now?

It sounds crazy, but I think my life is just as much, if not more of an adventure, here in the everyday with a baby, classes, and trying to be faithful to God as it was living in China and traveling the world.  I’m trying to be grateful for the adventure as I’m living it rather than tomorrow or in a couple years.  I’d love to hear how you do that in your lives!

Amazing islands of Hong Kong.  Photo by Evan Schneider.
Amazing islands of Hong Kong. Photo by Evan Schneider.

I’ve also been reading Sacred Pauses and just hit the chapter on silence, which you know is my jam.  My mind was kind of blown by the idea that none of us have actually ever experienced silence, the true absence of sound, and that silence in general actually makes us more attuned to the presence of small, overlooked, everyday sounds.  The author used this to encourage us that God is always working, especially in the silence, a truth that has been powerful and poignant for me over the years, too.

An illustration from Ezra Jack Keats’ The Snowy Day.

It’s finally a little warmer, though there’s still heaps of snow on the ground.  Yesterday our little family took a lovely, cozy walk through the snow.  I just love how it crunches under your feet.  About a year ago, a friend gave us the children’s book, The Snowy Day by Ezra Jack Keats, because our daughter, who will turn one next weekend, was born in between two snow storms.  It is my favorite children’s book that we own, and I’ve been reading it to her a lot lately and reminiscing about her coming into the world amidst slow flakes coming down in the wee hours of the morning.

Yes, I’m adult, yes, I was raised in Wisconsin, but there’s still something so magical to me when it snows.  I remember my husband trying to describe snow to his students in South China who had never seen such a thing.  They were incredulous and full of wonder.  I wonder if they will ever see it snow in their lifetime.

Sure, it gets cold out here.  But life is quite the adventure anyway.

Happy weekending.

Love these two...my photo.
Love these two…my photo.

 

 

 

 

 

Virtual coffee date

“I think I just love ideas,” I said to my husband dreamily the other evening after a particularly rousing conversation with a colleague.

It didn’t seem like much a revelation, but I may have mentioned that defending my Ph.D. last year has seemed to open up all this conceptual space with which to dream about vocation both in and outside of academia.  It’s been at once exhilarating and daunting.  There’s so much freedom that I’m almost paralyzed by it.

Halong Bay, Photos by Evan Schneider.
Halong Bay, Photo by Evan Schneider.

But to acknowledge and relish that I really get a kick out of talking about theories, ideas, and people is a small start.  And then the other day as I chatted with a colleague on the seminary campus who turned to go into her office, I turned to head back to the university campus, to my syllabi, articles, and ideas.  And I was so thrilled and so grateful to have that desk, that community, and those ideas.  I realized as scary as it is to admit, I’m not ready to give up on the academic job search yet.  I want to see it through a bit longer.  I want to continue to pursue these possibilities, because I have so much passion for the work I did with foster families and children with disabilities in China, for China itself, for students, and for anthropological knowledge and those ways of thinking.

Things seem positively turned upside down in my life right now and I have no idea what God is doing.  But I’m trying to learn (again) to be content with that– to embrace the thought that this not knowing about the future is not really so bad and that life is an adventure that is so much better when we let God lead.

The other morning I saw the sun for the first time in a long, long time, and some words from good ol’ Anne of Green Gables came to me as I happily thought, “Today is fresh, with no mistakes in it yet.”

Trying to live in that freshness, faithfulness, and fullness that God so generously provides.

Hoan Kiem Lake, Hanoi.  Photo by Evan Schneider.
Hoan Kiem Lake, Hanoi. Photo by Evan Schneider.

Have a good weekend.  What are you up to?

On righteousness, misunderstanding, and weakness

In our church, we do epiphany stars every January.  We select stars with words on them out of a basket and reflect on them over the year, seeking to be open to what God might be teaching us.  Usually there’s some sort of reversal: the meaning of the word originally seems straight forward, obvious, or even kind of narrow, but as the year goes by the star often becomes imbued with a deeper meaning or revelation.

My word for 2014 was righteousness and to be honest, it kind of repulsed me.  When we think of a practical, secular application for righteousness, we’re left with something like self-righteousness, and the theological definition, while presumably positive, brings to mind zealots, judgment, and unattainable holy perfection.

Jersey shore, May 2014.  Photos by Evan Schneider.
Jersey shore, May 2014. Photos by Evan Schneider.

It occurred to me recently that we all spend a lot of time reacting, rather senselessly to one another rather than living with intentions such as kindness, gentleness, and patience.  So much pain and hatred that is spewed is not about us, but very much about the private suffering of others.  The question then becomes, do we choose to spend our time arguing over the validity of that suffering or rather enter into it?

I think Jesus was different because he entered into the suffering of some of society’s seemingly most “deserved”–tax collectors, thieves, and prostitutes, to name a few.  He did not judge their worth by the pain they may have inflicted upon others or the validity of their suffering, but rather, their need for him.  This is a theme I was meditating on a bit a month ago–that it is in our neediness, in our weakness, that we are made holy.

I’m wondering if it is we who misunderstand righteousness to be an elevated, holy ground, whereas it is God who humbles us by making us righteous precisely in our weakness.  I am trying to adopt an intention of kindness, gentleness, and patience in the new year, remaining aware of the illogic of deservedness and the wisdom of grace, the reality of suffering, and the opportunity to be made low and righteous and whole.

Clouds

Amen.

Faithful with this moment

 As 2015 has begun, I’ve been filled with this desire to be faithful to God.  But what does that mean?

As I’ve reflected on all the uncertainty in my own life and the world, I continue to struggle with trusting God with the future and what is beyond my knowing.  When I picture the future, my wildest dreams still sometimes tend toward anxiety, and I begin to worry, doubt, fear, and breed resentment.  I know these are not faithful feelings, and I worry that I’m just not cut out for this life of faith.

Awning and lights in Paris, France.  All photos by Evan Schneider.
Awning and lights in Paris, France. All photos by Evan Schneider.

But I’ve also realized something.  When my daughter cries, I turn without thinking to wrap her in my arms.  When a student in front of me needs counsel, I listen intently and reply with carefully chosen words.  When those around me are hurting or in need, I lift them up in prayer, and I strive to serve them.

When it comes to one moment, I think I can be faithful.  I can be faithful with this moment rather than fearful of what I do not know.  And suddenly faithfulness becomes not something unattainable or fleeting, but a daily practice of breathing and walking with the God of this moment.  

A couple days ago I found myself saying to a tearful student in my office,  “I know at this moment, you have no idea what decision you will make in the future and how you will make it.  But you are a capable person.  You are doing everything you can to gather all the information and be prepared to make a good decision.  Therefore, I trust and believe that you will make a good one when the time  comes.”

The River Seine at night.
The River Seine at night.

I love saying those words.  

I love letting others know that when the world and uncertainty fill them with doubt and fear, there is reason to trust otherwise.  I love believing in a God who is invested so deeply in our lives, in making us capable, faithful people, rather than leaving us to our own devices.  And I love knowing that faithfulness isn’t just about some lofty goal or distant future, but is the stuff of now, of taking care of this moment, with God never far away.

Now, if I could only listen to my own advice…

10 Things I learned in 2014

Christmas lights in NYC.

This is one of my favorite posts to write, because it forces me to go through all the lessons of the previous year and cull together all that God has taught me and all that God is doing.  2014 was such an eventful year for me personally, with the birth of my daughter and the defense of my dissertation.  Both of those have opened up some exciting conceptual space for me to dream and imagine my future vocation and God’s work in my life.

Sometimes that opening is scaring, because it’s always been hard for me to trust God with the future.  But if there’s one thing a new year brings, it is an opportunity to reframe what’s in front of us and see life through the eyes of God rather than our own limited vision.

A lovely cup of coffee. One of my favorite things.

Here’s what I learned this year.  What about you?

1.  Contentment is about living faithfully with uncertainty.

2.  Our lives are fuller when we yield to God and one another.

3.  We can’t have new life without the dirt and the worms and the mud.

Hoping for snow in 2015..

4.  Living as Easter people means risking earthly things for eternal ones.

5.  True love demands a shift in the way we view and live life.

6.  I desire to live with the humble heart of a student.

7.  When we view the world with open eyes, we find grace in our everyday circumstances.

8.  Stress-filled lives are also beautiful and holy, because God is present even in the thick smog of stress, enabling us to breathe.

9.  Everyday we choose whether to live in a world of abundance or one of scarcity.

10.  Whatever you’re feeling, God can take it.

* And the most viewed posts of 2014 were Five Chinese Phrases to Get You By,  International Travel Tips, and Imitating Christ’s Humility = Being “Like-minded.”

 

 

God can take it

I don’t know about you, but for me it’s been a particularly sobering Advent.

While we’ve entered this season of hopeful expectation sometimes I feel positively hopeless in the face of racial injustice, gun violence, and torture at the hands of our own government.  I want to believe that God is doing a new thing, but I am doubtful amidst the evils of the world.  My faith fails me.  I do not wait faithfully.  Instead, I heave great sighs, I mourn, I turn away from God.

But do you know what I’ve realized?

God can take it.

God can take our anger, our sorrow, our pain, even our distrust.  In a poignant reflection, Alece Ronzino talks about how even after several years of what she calls “spiritual detox,” God was still there, big enough to take her rejection, her skepticism, and her doubt.

Sure, Advent is our season of hopeful expectation in the Church, where we prepare our hearts for Jesus, where we wait as the ancient world once did for the birth of a savior, but isn’t it just as much about how God waits on us, faithfully and patiently, no matter how often we turn away in fear, anger, or sadness?  Even as the prophets and the kings and the ordinary people in the Old Testament waited on God, God out-waited them.  God out-waited their faithless acts, their petulance, their mistakes, and their fears.  Despite them, God made something new, God brought a savior to this world, God redeemed and redeems, so don’t you think God can take it?

Washington, DC.  Fall 2014.  Photo by Evan Schneider.
Washington, DC. Fall 2014. Photo by Evan Schneider.

Sometimes I think we are the ones who can’t take it–we can’t take the paralyzing intimacy that God desires of us.  We’re the ones who back away, not only from God, but from one another, convinced that it would be better to give up, than to be failed or to fail one another.

But God does not fail us.

God waits on this world just as God prepared the ancient one for thousands of years.  God’s love is steadfast.  And no matter our sinfulness or our betrayal, God does not turn from us, but rather accepts, forgives, and waits out our indiscretion.  So as God waits on us and this fallen world, what would it be like this Advent if instead of turning from God, we turned toward God with all our anger, sadness, pain, fear, doubt, and even indifference?  What if we threw all of our hopes and fears onto God and waited for God to do a new thing in and amongst us?

God can take it.

God, making weakness holy for over 2014 years

Our church is quirky and I love it.

It’s a place where people show up late, they won’t stop greeting each other during the passing of the peace even when the pastor’s screaming to get their attention, and just about anything goes.

We also do cool things in the liturgy.  Our prayers of confession aren’t staid and silent, but often full of passion and hope.  This Sunday, as we read the following words, I realized something:

In this place of confession we are shaped by hope:

In our brokenness, we know your blessing.

In our pain, we touch your promise.

In our longing, we discover your love.

You are making things new in our lives and this world.

Merrill Creek Reservoir.  Photo by Evan Schneider.
Merrill Creek Reservoir. Photo by Evan Schneider.

I realized that God’s love is transforming, because God makes weakness holy.  God doesn’t just give meaning to our suffering, but God enters into it and makes something new from the residue of despair, longing, and pain.

That’s why we Christians are people who live, especially in this season, with deep hope.  We know that it is not up to us to change the world or its brokenness, but that God, despite appearances, is already redeeming all this messed up humanity and making things new.

It’s really hard for me to trust that on these dark days of injustice, but I imagine it was equally hard for the shepherds and the wise men and the Jews.  This season I’m asking God to give me eschatological vision: to believe that in great longing, there is great love, that in pain, there is promise, and that in brokenness, we will know blessing.

This week I have been struck by how deliciously novel Advent feels, despite it being the 33rd year I’ve celebrated it, and the 2014th year the world has done so.  I take this as evidence that 2014 years later, God is, indeed, doing a new thing.  We may not perceive it, we may not see it, but I’m praying that God will help me to believe, and to trust that our weaknesses will be made holy once again.

Amen.

There are typos in my dissertation

When I finished typing the last few words I set aside my dissertation for about a week.

I was afraid to read it, because I knew there would be typos amidst that sea of words.  It’s just impossible, not matter how many proofreaders, no matter how much time spent, to produce something perfect.  And while I know that, I didn’t want to experience the pang of how those mistakes would mar the crisp, white pages.  I wanted to believe that there was some way that all my hard work would pay off with perfection.

Like I said, that lasted about a week, and then I had to face reality.  I read through it, in preparation for my dissertation defense, and there were many typos.

And it was still okay.

One of my last dissertating sessions.  My photo.
One of my last dissertating sessions. My photo.

In fact, the typos reminded me that I’m not in pursuit of something perfect, but something human, something meaningful.  What’s more, I could see beyond the typos to those people in China who changed my life.  As I read, I was humbled to see and know that despite the congratulations that would be heaped on me and only me after the defense, this dissertation, was truly the work of many hands.  The typos reminded me that despite the perfection that’s so idolized in academic fields, we academics are imperfect people who rely heavily on the minds, kindness, and generosity of others to produce our knowledge.

There were moments where the typos made me wonder whether I had any business defending a dissertation toward a Ph.D., but I’ve also realized that it’s great to recognize that while you have learned a lot, you still have much more to learn.  It’s not so bad to see typos and be humbled and recognize that you’d rather be transformed and human and vulnerable than perfect and magnificent and independent.

This Thanksgiving, I’m thankful, in all circumstances, for typos, for friends, for family, for foster families in China, for dissertations, for new journeys, for imperfection, for growth, for love, for peace, and for God.

What about you?