This Barista's Manifesto

3 years of asking people the same questions over and over again: "What size would you like?  Would you like room for cream?  For here or to go?  How are you doing today?"  The last question is my favorite and possibly the most breezed through question of that whole list.  The answer to how our day is going is the most scripted answer; it often takes more forethought to think about how much cream I want in my coffee.  But that last question with the rare honest answer is why I have spent numerous hours standing on my feet in a black T-shirt emblazed with a cafe* logo.  *Cafe's actual name withheld to protect them from I don't know what...

My identity of barista is one I hold as a badge of honor.  The urge to blurt out I'm a barista when I'm at other coffee shops is quite often too difficult to rise above of.  That identity is shifting this next year; I'm looking forward to becoming a regular customer much like those who frequent my coffee shop.  They come for the same drink every day around the same time, bury their heads in their laptops or a book (or scurry off to work like crazy and return after an hour for a refill), and gradually we learn how to be caring acquaintances to each other.

As I step out of my role as a espresso tamper, milk steamer, and prone to hot water burns lady, I think it's time for me to collect some of my wisdom and musings as a barista.

This Barista's Manifesto.
1.  A minimum wage, customer service job NEEDS to be mandated.  For everyone. No exceptions.
2. I have a very strong feeling that customers find no greater satisfaction than when their baristas remember their drink order.
3. I spend half of my work day doing just that.
4. Dear Customer: I know that this espresso drink is your treatsie for this day.  I honor that and seriously take that into account when I am preparing it.  That latte/macchiato/chai/americano with 4 shots might take just a little longer for me to make, but it's only because I add this special dash of "giving a shit" about your drink (aka LOVE).
5. Customers genuinely asking how my day is going is what makes the crazy hectic days bearable.
6. Customers asking me how my day is going but interrupting my answer with an order.....err that's another thing entirely.
7. Please, please, PLEASE no phone calls while you are ordering at the register.
8. Macchiatos look like this:

NOT THIS:

9.  If you want that caramel sugary-ness pictured above, I am more than happy to prepare that--but it's just not a macchiato.
10.   Yea, those 5 AM alarms to work at 6 AM are really rough.  But it feels like an odd treasure to stroll around this gorgeous town that is still sleeping to a cafe where I can aide others in their wake-up schedules.  That delicious sunrise and crisp morning breeze (or fog, it is the Bay Area after all...) makes the early waking worth it.
11.  Thank you for the tip. I am so grateful for it.  You might be surprised how many people do not tip (or if you never tip your baristas, you'll be surprised by the sector of people that tip amazingly!).
12.  I can rattle off any regular's drink but I only know a few by their actual name.  So many of you customers have little nicknames "Soy chai guy," "Very smiley guy," and "The guy who made out with my coworker."
13. I have barista hands aka I can touch ridiculously hot things. It's kind of like a super power. :)
14. The concept of DREAM TEAM is vital and necessary. DREAM TEAM= a group or couple of individuals who work really well together (code for co-workers who make you laugh AND get the tasks done).
15.  You will always run into the cafe's customers.  My favorite memory of a customer encounter outside of work?
-A dance club in the SOMA district of San Francisco at 1am.
16. Chocolate syrup can, and will, get situated in the oddest of places on your body.  You might not find said smear of syrup until many hours after having left the coffee shop.
17. I adore this sticky, messy, creative job, and being a tiny part of each customer's day.

Stay in the Call for Active Peace

 Mark 4: 35-41

One that day, when evening had come, he said to them, “Let us go across to the other side.”

And leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was.

Other boats were with him.

A great windstorm arose, and the waves beat the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped.

But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion, and they woke him up and said to him,

“Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?”

He woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace! Be Still!” Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm.

He said to them, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?”

And they were filled with great awe and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and sea obey him?”

Today is the day of the Summer Solstice---the longest day of the year. This week I'm noticing how long these days have been, with a bright sun welcoming the day around 5:30 am and the steady stream of activities that summer brings.

But these days also feel long in a different sense—these are days of heavy emotions and anxieties as we as encounter the issues that are occurring here in this community and within our wider context of the United States. I understand that Holy Trinity is moving in transition to saying goodbye to Pastor Christian as he pursues a valuable calling; this community is given the opportunity to examine its mission and goals in order to embark on new leadership.

This week the foundation of my soul is tugging to hold my reaction to the fatal shooting of nine black people at Mother Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina. This act of terror is one that each of us reacts to in our own ways, whether that is to ball our fists up in anger, cry out for justice, sob for the senselessness of these beautiful lives that were shattered, wallow in the intricate ways racism and aggression are acted out in this country, or feel numb to it all. The emotions, or lack of feeling anything, are pieces of how we as humans encounter traumatic situations. Today we come to the Gospel seeking comfort and hoping for answers about what we can do in this aftermath of grief.

Today we are the disciples in this story of Mark—Jesus brings them to the edge of the water and calls out to go across the water to the other side. Here we are a people called to go out of the familiar and comfortable and into the unknown. Now is the day of salvation, now is the time for action.

While on their journey, a raging wind storm beats the waves of the sea and dangerously rocks the boat that holds these people and Jesus. The disciples are filled with fear for their livelihood—they call out to Jesus in desperation to change the situation. Today we as a community of faith are in that shaking boat in a tumultuous wind storm.

Bishop Elizabeth Eaton wrote to the Lutheran church this week, saying:

“It has been a long season of disquiet in our country. From Ferguson to Baltimore, simmering racial tensions have boiled over into violence. But this … the fatal shooting of nine African Americans in a church is a stark, raw manifestation of the sin that is racism. The church was desecrated. The people of that congregation were desecrated. The aspiration voiced in the Pledge of Allegiance that we are “one nation under God” was desecrated.

Mother Emanuel AME’s pastor, the Reverend Clementa Pinckney, was a graduate of the Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary, as was the Reverend Daniel Simmons, the associate pastor at Mother Emanuel. The suspected shooter is a member of an ELCA congregation. All of a sudden and for all of us, this is an intensely personal tragedy. One of our own is alleged to have shot and killed two who adopted us as their own.”

In her letter, Bishop Eaton proclaims of the systemic racist systems that are at play in the acts of aggression towards black people while honing in that this is not just an issue that is far away from who we are as people of faith. A young white man who grew up in a Lutheran ELCA church shot and killed people these week citing that he wanted to spark a civil war in this country. This evil and hatred is part of our story—this brings the grief and the panic of this event right into our hearts.

This week we find ourselves living in this storm just as the disciples in Mark were as they crossed over the water. In the Gospel we hear today, the disciples wake Jesus up to help. Jesus' words for the disciples and for the storm are: PEACE! BE STILL!

As we soak in this overwhelmingly loud call of PEACE! BE STILL! I wonder who Jesus is addressing.

When Jesus speaks to the sea, the Greek word that is used is bathos. This word is used to represent chaos in other places within the Gospel of Mark. So when Jesus calls out, he speaks to the chaos when he says: BE STILL!

When I hear this story I don't see chaos in just the violent waves and the rushing wind; I also see chaos within the panic of the disciples. These people fear for their lives; they call out to Jesus by speculating that he does not care that they are going to die in this storm.

Jesus addresses this panic by calling for peace. Jesus then asks these people why they are afraid and still have no faith? Why are these people anxiously stewing on this storm and blaming Jesus for not caring?

In this Gospel we hear Jesus' cry for PEACE! And to be still. But what does that mean for us as people that are reacting to the gut wrenching news that one of our children has murdered 9 other children of God out of racial hatred?

Among the many reactions that shake our bodies, one of the most common pitfalls is to distract ourselves from the pain. The distraction could look like anger and taking out the helplessness by yelling or punching at walls. Hiding from this grief can look like numbing out by focusing on work or pretending that what happened on Wednesday night at Mother Emanuel doesn't affect us. The distraction can look like guilt or festering only in how we are helpless to do anything good or helpful in this situation. Distraction can look like throwing ourselves into helping others and not paying attention to the emotions going on within our own bodies.

I know that my own heart has been filled with panic about what I can do as a leader of the Lutheran church who is also a white woman who is steeped within my own racial bias. I feel helpless, I feel lost, and I am so terrified that I might say the wrong thing that will anger someone. I am sad that because of my privilege as a white person I am able to remain distracted by my fear and panic instead of dealing with the racism that is embedded in who I am.

Jesus calls us out of the many distractions that create panic or anxiety within us and says BE STILL. This is not a call to remain silent; I am deeply convicted that we are called to be still with the uncomfortable pain that unsettles our souls. It is so difficult to hold on to the raw emotions of heartache and the fear that tightens our stomachs. Jesus calls us into PEACE—that peace is not a call to do nothing but a call to cling to the present. There is a difference between being still in silence, which is passive, or being still in the active call for peace.

9 families have lost their beloveds. A historically black church that is famous for fighting for the right of freedom from slavery and Jim Crow laws was attacked. This week the sacredness of a church was torn apart. That is not peace, that is not love, that is not what we as a people of faith stand for. Jesus cries out to us privileged peoples and says: STAY WITH THAT WOUND.

Be present with the pain and hold it as a call to be transformed. Be still in this moment that tells each of us that the racism that is embedded in our culture is a part of each of our souls. Do not let yourself be distracted and stay long enough in the present to be utterly changed to work for peace. Be still enough to ask yourself: What is my role in this?

Jesus does not abandon the disciples in the storm; we are not abandoned in our panic and fear of what to do next. God holds each of us no matter what our reaction to this is; we are filled with grace even in the distractions we have that cloud our vision of who God is. We are freed by Christ to live into the whole entire purpose of us and the disciples being in the rocking boat in the waves that threaten to crush us. We freed by God's love to live our purpose go across this sea of chaos and unto the other side.

This act of terror that has happened in our broad community of the Lutheran church, all Christians, and the entire United States represents an evil demand that calls for us divide ourselves. The sea of chaos that is both outside and inside of us is telling us to create sides. But we are given a different call by Jesus. Jesus cries out to us and says PEACE!

Within that peace, we are given courage, though even if it is shaky and insecure courage, to use our voices as people of privilege that proclaim love that builds bridges. Jesus calls us out to work for justice in this world; actively creating peace in this world is messy and hard—it involves plenty of mistakes and disagreements and hurt feelings.

We as a people of faith are called out to have the bravery to disagree or say, “No, I will not participate in stereotyping a group of people or laughing at that racist joke.” Jesus call us to be brave enough to say, “I'm sorry that I made that racist comment; I hear you and I see you.” We are given the urge to have these conversations with our children and families.

Being still in the rawness of being real with people means staying in the uncomfortable places. I believe that I NEED to use my voice as a white woman and join in the voices that demand a different life for black bodies. My privilege gives me the ability to be distracted from this violence but my call from God gives me the motivation to build bridges across the chaos.

The love of Christ pierces through the fear and says that we are heading across this to the other side. As we heard in Second Corinthians today, “now is the day of salvation.” Now is the day of crossing over to the place of love. In this pain and hatred there is so much pressure to divide us. And yet the grace of Jesus gives us another way: how can we continue to bind ourselves together?

Christ's overarching love stops me in my tracks as I hear the words of forgiveness that the families of the victims of Dylan Roof's shooting spoke on Friday afternoon.

Speaking of her 26 year old son Tywanza Sanders, Felicia Sanders said to Dylan Roof: “We welcomed you Wednesday night in our Bible study with open arms. You have killed some of the most beautifullest people that I know. Every fiber in my body hurts. I will never be the same. Tywanza was my hero. But as they say in the Bible study, we enjoyed you, but may God have mercy on your soul.”

The daughter of 70 year old Ethel Lance said, “I forgive you. You took something very precious from me, but I forgive you. It hurts me. You hurt a lot of people, but may God forgive you.”

Over and over again as these families spoke to Roof, they uttered the words: I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you. May God forgive you. We forgive you. We forgive you. We forgive you. We forgive you. We forgive you.

Let us be a witness of the abiding love that flows out of these people. How can we be still to open ourselves up to witness God's love in this forgiveness and embrace it?

The chaos of that windstorm and the chaos of our own panic does not disappear for us---

How then are we called into action to proclaim God's love in order to continue connecting the fragmented pieces of the world?

"We Wish to See Jesus"

I preached at Bethlehem Lutheran in Los Alamos, NM this past Sunday; I am constantly bewildered by the love and care that radiates from this community!

John 12:20-33

Now among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks. They came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and said to him, "We wish to see Jesus." Philip went and told Andrew; then Andrew and Philip went and told Jesus.

Jesus answered them,

"The hour has come for the Son of Humanity to be glorified.
Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.
Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.
Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor.

"Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say--' Father, save me from this hour'? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour.
Father, glorify your name."

Then a voice came from heaven,

"I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again."
The crowd standing there heard it and said that it was thunder. Others said,

"An angel has spoken to him."

Jesus answered,

"This voice has come for your sake, not for mine.
Now is the judgment of this world;

now the ruler of this world will be driven out.

And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself."

He said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die.

A saying I have been hearing lately is “Don't judge your insides by the looks of other people's outsides!” This advice seems increasingly relevant in a world in which we can see so much of the activities of other people. We scroll through Facebook on our laptops, cell phones, and iPads and witness other people sharing pictures of their trip to Europe, people with big smiles while hugging relatives or friends, breathtaking hiking views, or even the brunch spot a person tried last Saturday. We do all of this peering into the daily lives of others while sitting alone with our technology screens.

We can do this comparing ourselves to the outsides of others while at coffee hour at worship, hearing about the accomplishments of the people around us all the while holding the anxieties and insecurities that linger within our souls. It is stunning to celebrate the joys of witnessing the people around us shine with the gifts that God has given them; it is another thing entirely to hold ourselves to impossible standards of happiness and fulfillment when we compare our worries of not being good enough to the smoothed out edges of the person next to us. The redeeming piece of this is that people look shiny, admirable, and normal until you get to know them well enough to see their unique peculiarities; we are all complex creatures full of worries, gifts, grief, yearning, and people we deeply care for. While it's easy to look at others to see the shiny, happy outsides, I find it much more interesting to open myself up to show my insides, or the unique parts, so that I can connect with other people's insides.

This past fall I took a course called Transforming Christian Theology. My professor began our first class together by showing us our class mascot, which was a Jesus live action figure. This was the deluxe Jesus, wearing a white robe and sandals, comes complete with bread and wine to share, glow in the dark hands to signify the miracles Jesus performs, and a whipping lash for chasing unwanted people out of the temple. This action figure for me signifies the shiny, outside parts of Jesus that crowds of people flock to in order to see what Jesus is capable of.

In the text we are delving into today, we hear about Greek people that desire to see Jesus. As people were preparing for the festival of the Passover, there was a buzz about who Jesus is and amazement surrounding the recent raising of Lazarus from the dead. The Jewish Pharisees are astonished and fearful about the potential of this leader Jesus. People have heard of the teachings and miracles of Jesus and naturally want to see him. As hearers of this story, we can understand the yearning to experience the awe of being near a person who is making a difference in this world. When you feel love radiating from the caring heart of someone or are wowed by the intelligence of a person, it's natural to want to see more of who they are. We want to see Jesus; we long to hear the teachings and witness the miracles. We yearn to be with the Light of the World.

When Jesus hears the request of the Greeks to see him, he shows us that experiencing the person of Jesus is much more complicated than the charismatic exterior. In this text we are given a gift of being able to see a glimmer of the not-so-shiny inside thoughts of Jesus. When we say that we wish to see Jesus, laden within that hope is the assumption that if we experience the person of Jesus, we will be changed. Jesus hears the longing of the people while also knowing that his death was near. How will people be changed if the embodied presence of God is not walking around and proclaiming for our ears to hear and eyes to see?

We do not know if the Greeks ever meet Jesus face-to-face; instead we are given parallels to how we can live our lives in this world as embodied creatures. We long to see Jesus; in this text we are shown a piece of his insides. We see a person who is struggling with his human longings of this world. I imagine a Jesus that replies by saying: “You wish to see me? You know, I wish I could continue to see myself here too, but that is not the path that is meant to be.” Jesus pushes away the fascination and awe that people place upon him as the Blessed One but exposes the gritty, terrifying task of being crucified for the purpose of turning the world upside down. Jesus does not proudly say what lies in store for him but instead shares how troubled his soul is; he wonders about asking to be spared from the hour of being killed. A Jesus that questions and agonizes over the immense call towards death is a human that I certainly understand. The insides of Jesus are the parts that make this a Gospel that permeates across boundaries and cultures—we can stand beside a Savior that is scared, troubled, and lonely because at some points in our lives we have been that person. That sense of being troubled is exactly the feeling that Jesus wants to connect with us in.

Jesus strongly exclaims the role that we all have in this world; we have come here to be human bodies that will transform into something much bigger than we can imagine. When Jesus speaks of how a grain of wheat falls to the ground to die in order to blossom into bountiful wheat, we see the beginnings of the bodily pain and death that is quickly approaching. This inevitable chain of events towards crucifixion serves an immense purpose; the body of Jesus dies and the raising up of the body of Christ is a transformation of what was destroyed. Jesus embraces the call of death not without worries or fear but because of the promise of radical change.

In the death of this grain of wheat and in the death of Jesus, a new community of Christ is born. This is a space that encompasses much more than we can creatively imagine; this body of Christ is what makes our souls tingle. On this earth, we wish to see Jesus; we are shown a Christ that is much more complex that the disciples or we are able to comprehend. We are given a Savior that lived embodied as an Arabic, Jewish, and Aramaic-speaking man that is transformed as Christ to be the wisdom of the world that speaks through women and men of many cultures and languages. When Jesus speaks to us in this text, he is echoing the proclamation of the prophet Isaiah who says: “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”

We are given a glimmer of the explosive imagination that Christ creates in our world. When Jesus proclaims that those who love their life will lose it, I believe it is vital to make a distinction between what it means to be an active embodied being in this world and clinging to the assumptions of what our lives should be like. In a world that highly values narrow definitions of success, it is difficult to avoid slipping into viewing ourselves only for what our outsides look like. It's easy to create solutions for how to pad ourselves in security from the pain and uncertainty that comes with being a beautifully flawed human. Jesus is calling us to peer into ourselves; we are called to begin to critically examine the deep yearnings and questions we have.

When we engage deeply in the call that Christ has for us, there will be pieces of us that will fall away into the earth as we learn how to bear fruit together as people of faith. What dreams linger within you, bursting to be lived out? Jesus does not decide to die for the sake of all people but he heeds a burning call from God that was already inside of him. Each of us brings gifts and particular interests that equip us to be servants of Christ; what pieces inside of you are being called forward to create change? How will this community fall into the earth and be transformed by engaging with our hope of new life? We are called to step out together as brave, vulnerable people that proclaim our worries, our yearnings, and our creative vision for how we live as Christ in this world.

TEAM AMERICA: World Police (American Exceptionalism Oppresses Black Bodies)

TEAM AMERICA: World Police.  I f'ing love this movie.  I first saw it in high school and it continues to be one of my favorite movies.  Why, per say, would a feminist who has never shot a gun adore this movie?

Watch the TEAM AMERICA trailer here

I appreciate this movie because Trey Parker and Matt Stone are able to hilariously articulate American exceptionalism.  This term is defined by viewing the United States as qualitatively different and/or above other nations.  The first scene of this movie includes the Lourve and Eiffel Tower being destroyed by just a few Americans in flashy oufits and massive weaponry.  It's comical to me that the members of Team America high-five after tearing down the beloved architecture of Paris (blowing up many civilians along with a few terrorists) in the name of freedom for all.  The ridiculous, exaggerated actions of this team of gun-toting freedom fighters exposes an assumption that is common in American patriotism: the people of the United States understand best what freedom for all people looks like.

William T. Cavanaugh, in his book Migrations of the Holy, argues against the concept of a nation-state as a promoter and protector of the common good (Kindle 103).  Cavanaugh speaks of the danger that is inherent to lifting up a nation-state as the natural way of organizing society.  Within the US there is a common thread that our nation has been founded on the call for all people to have freedom.

Cavanaugh argues that the idea of a state being developed for the common food is not supported historically; Cavanaugh references Joseph Strayer who explains that the movement toward a nation-state developed in the fourteenth century with the members of the royal courts acquiring power by having people assemble and pay taxes in order to be represented in the courts of law.  In order to be represented in a court case, people would have to pay taxes and if you were unable to pay (ie anyone who didn't own property probably couldn't), you would not be represented by the royal court.  That sounds quite complicated to me; luckily the conclusion is a bit easier to grasp: the rise of the state does not emerge of a search for the common good but rather for dominant groups to benefit.

Out of the movement from local communities towards a larger group, or a state, emerges a need for a big group of people to adhere to and be loyal to the state or nation that they are a part of.  This is why nationalism and patriotism are so important to keep a state alive.  Cavanaugh argues that the state, society, and religion are fused together so that people believe that their loyalty to their country is what holds weight in their relationships, job, and even their relationship with God.  The biggest issue I have with nationalism is that when we are loyal to one group of people we are automatically making an Other.  Whoever is outside of the nation-state is not a part of our belief system and therefore is not considered within the freedom for all.

For me it is easy to understand that the nation-state does not work towards the common good precisely because in it's beginnings the United States did not give freedom to all people.  Kelly Brown Douglas argues in Sexuality and the Black Church that black bodies are a pawn of white culture.  She explains the movement from European thought in the eighteenth century that espouses the inferiority of Black-skinned people develops into an intellectual ideology of White supremacy within the nineteenth century in which "American scholars explain blackness as a sign of degeneracy" (15).  How can we say that the United States nation is founded on the concept of freedom for all when Black-skinned people were seen as inferior and were institutionalized into slavery?

 

 I think that Cavanaugh's points about how the United States emerges out of a myth that it is working for the common good is done by creating a state that lifts up white culture while dehumanizing black bodies.  It is a lot easier to bond together as a nation against an Other; within the roots of America white supremacy connects the represented, tax-paying, white classes by capitalizing on the "unnatural," "savage" black-skinned people.

Douglas explains the ways that white culture in the United States destroys black bodies by controlling the sexuality of black people.  Black women are characterized as either Jezebels who have no control over their sexuality and act as temptresses (36) or Mammies who are viewed as asexual maternal figures who are obedient and never act out of line (41).  Black women slaves were in forced labor and therefore unable to fit into Western concepts of the delicate lady.  Black men were stereotyped as Violent Bucks who were sexually aggressive and needed to be controlled (45).  I believe that these stereotypes that Douglas explicates are foundations of white culture in the United States are are still present in some form today.

These are some tough and bitter thoughts to swallow as a member of the United States.  How can I as a white female who has benefited from a nation that swells with pride in true understanding of freedom, all the while oppressing black bodies in slavery, with Jim Crow laws, and a criminal justice system that grossly over represents black people?  I think the first step is be aware of the dangers of being unable to step back from our nation-state and critically examine it.

As a Christian leader, I find it so difficult to critically look at the ways that the United States nation has oppressed people;  I have a narrative in my head that screams "YOU CAN'T BE AMERICAN IF YOU DON'T LOVE AMERICA!" Perhaps it is the puppets from Team America shouting this in my head, reminding me how strongly people in the United States connect their worth with being American.  Yet it is vital for me as a Christian leader to expose the ways that nationalism is working within Christian churches to make it impossible for a Christian to critique what the United States government does.

Cavanaugh states that his "basic argument is that when a direct, unmediated relationship is posited between America and a transcendent reality, either God or freedom, there is a danger that the state will be divinized" (Kindle 1054).  If we say that America means freedom, there is absolutely a link between America and God.  But here's the issue: America does not mean freedom for some people.  For Black-skinned people, America has meant being dehumanized by slavery, stereotyped as sexually aggressive and uncontrollable, and being excessively jailed and pushed into poverty.  Douglas speaks to the ways that the Black church has found ways to encounter God as a source of freedom over and against what white supremacy of American culture has handed to them.

How do we as Christian people step away from the nationalism of the United States and begin to critically change the ways we see what it means to have freedom for all?  How can we separate out patriotism and the love of God?  Cavanaugh and Douglas expose the ways that the United States, white culture, and religion have fused into a myth that freedom for all is found here in America.  TEAM AMERICA: World Police is able to point to their arguments in ridiculous and exaggerated ways while still exposing the the same concept: America does not mean freedom for all.  We need to take one step back and engage with the oppression that US nationalism causes the Other.

Unfolding

 The more I learn about ministry, the less it is that leaders are called to be able to lift up people but rather unfold themselves so that others can see them in a real light so that others can be called to work towards their own self-enlightenment.

(Presence of Angels, Diana Dunlap)

Posture of Gratitude.

I haven't been able to bring myself to post in the last few months and I can definitely not give you an answer why.  It's not that I don't have thoughts or very strong opinions.  There have been protests in my Berkeley home and rising emotions about the inherent racism in the US.  I have preached at a variety of congregations in the past months which has given me more than enough room to proclaim and share.  I have thoroughly loved my course work this year which included classes about feminist viewpoints in pastoral care, sexuality and pastoral care, queer theology, and race and ethnicity in the New Testament.  All of this has led to great discoveries, misadventures, and all around profound moments.  And yet, here my blog lays dormant.  I've been racking my brain about why, and I think I've finally come to somewhat of an answer.

My life is fucking fantastic right now.  I really savor the privilege to live by myself and create my own space.  I have prioritized my health above all else which includes my mental and emotional health; I am learning how to adore myself which means taking care of my needs.  Sometimes that means reading a book instead of going to a group gathering.  Sometimes that means dancing around my kitchen while preparing a meal.  Each day it gets easier and easier to hold true to my desire to be mindful about my eating habits and focus on the emotions that are behind my hunger.  That is a fucking miracle.  I have a loving family that lives close and a boyfriend that I can only adequately describe as Mr. Awesome.  I feel a wave of calm settle into my soul when I step into a leadership position in a ministry; it feels delicious to be in my skin.

The weird thing is that I don't feel like I should be sharing that gratitude and joy.  It's almost as if I feel like I'm only supposed to share the burdens or the anxieties that pop up throughout my day.  Those are still there; I have issues that lurk within my midst but when I step back and examine where I am right now, wow! What a fantastic life I have worked hard to live into.

One of my most treasured friends visited me this past week and she kept pointing out all the ways that I have transformed.  Her friendship continually shows me what it means to truly see someone and hope for the best out of others.  I am reminded of all the recovery that is held within my posture and I know what my recovery is in direct relation to the people who support me.


Each day I take on a posture of gratitude; the one that whispers of the people who send me love throughout my day, whether I know or not.

Today I am grateful for parishioners in churches that overwhelmingly support me in my call to be a leader in ministry.  One of my Teaching Parish (mini-internship) parishioners sent me out into the world with a light yellow scarf that she told me can remind me that I am a ray of sunshine here.  Last week a parishioner from herchurch (my current church in SF) gifted me a communion bread plate (the fancy word is paten) for me to share the love of God through my ministry.  I lift these up as the reminders that I am not only me but I am the thousands of people that help me become who I am each day.

Who helps you develop a posture of gratitude? What are you grateful for today?

That Shade.

I love travel---there is no feeling like going to a place you have never been before and yet finding pieces of me in the scenery and life in an unfamiliar place.

I've been back in the United States for two months now and yet.....that blue of the Mediterranean Sea continues to soak in my soul.  One of the three lovely ladies I traveled with asked us what we could call that shade of blue that the deep water is; none of us could come up with a proper word (though one of them did try just the word blue and we giggled about that).

One of my favorite parts of being on the island Santorini was walking through the stone and marble walkways of Oia.  There is a central square that provides a great space to look out at the cliffs and into that deep shade of blue.  I found myself pausing every time I was in this square, trying to capture this moment as long as I could.  My eyes could not stop pouring over that blue; I felt like I was at the edge of the universe.

Coming home, my heart ached to be back in that place of infinite deep blue and views of the wide open water (dotted with other islands and a volcano, of course).  I want to share with you, reader, a poem that my Greece-sick heart wrote a week or so after arriving back in Berkeley.

That Shade
You are the blue
I am blue.
You are deep, cobalt current
Pure and dark,
the concept of your mystery
is a given.

You are the blue
as I am the blue.
I am the bubbly, leaping turquoise
lapping eagerly unto the sand,
pulled back into your consistent
layers of the Truth.

Together, we hold the pieces of blue.
You are constant unchanging,
I am the fickle and decaying.
Yet you hold unto me in that
deep, cobalt blue
You are my anchor and author
You are my blue.

Pains and Dreams.

 The world has been zoned in on the Middle East and I feel as if there is a collective heart yearning for peace during these past weeks.

I spent my Saturday night at Temple Beth El in San Mateo for a Ramadan Iftar worship service (the daily breaking of the fast during the ninth month of the Muslim lunar calendar).  I sat in this room amongst people wearing prayer shawls,collars, yamakas, taqiyahs: all of us singing Jewish hymns and soaking in the silence that hopes for peace.  My soul shook as I heard the Muslim call to prayer ring through the air.  We called for gratitude and we left empty air to hear the word of God in that space.

One of the Jewish men shared a poem written by a 13 year old girl who lives in Israel; the words that continue to ring in my ears is the demand of: "What do I want from you, God? I ask for peace, and only peace."

Thought I'd share a poem I wrote last week after ruminating over this general feeling of anxiety and pain that is echoing through the miles and miles that separate me in Berkeley from Israel, Gaza, and Syria.

The Space Between (7/20/2014)

Here we are,

You. And. Me.

In a situation that you and I must

pretend to one another is unique.

(yet it is always the same)

You and I come ready with clenched muscles,

prepared to lose all that You and I have for this.

You and I believe that we are doing justice

and holding tightly to the hands of the people we love.

It feels like I face you head on,

I swear I can feel the sting of your glare.

I drip with hatred; You ooze with rage.

(it is always the same)

I am here. You are there.

It feels like I know you with the concrete evidence

of the savageness of your people,

I have seen your type walk through my neighborhoods

and you have seen me in your hometown

Yet it's not me that you see:

You see the opaque judgements and built-up labels

of the people who shed the blood of your people.

I see that You have stepped on ground that belongs to me

and shattered the future I dream for my children.

(the dreams and pain are the same)

I see You and You see Me

but not really.

(it is always the same)

I see your eyes but I don't feel your heart,

You see my mouth but You don't hear my breath,

The space between You and I crackles with the differences;

The only thing we can agree upon is that we want to massacre

(it is always the same)

The undercurrent we miss is the furious beating of our hearts

for the familiar streets we call home together,

and the loved ones we cling to,

and the dreams we want to live in to,

(we are the same)

Here we are,

You. And. Me.

Eager for the worst pain for the other,

Hopeful for our own future,

forgetting that my pain is yours and your dream is mine.

(it is always the same).

Complete with Bike+Dress.

Complete with Bike+Dress

Two wheels whizzing down;

Toes curved around my sandals

holding unto the pedals,

holding unto life.

The world is wide open

beckoning the winds of the four corners

to clash and move around each other.

The deep Bay water welcomes and invites in

the blue hue of the sky.

The orange silk of my dress

wriggling around my skin

with a constant thrill of the threat

that the soft fabric covering me

will flip up to expose thigh.

The cool breeze bursting into my skin

It tickles me into delight,

it tickles me into giggles.

It's simple to hold no room for worries

with the sunshine pouring down

and my heart flying through the air.

Flow in Me as I Float in You

Loving Spirit,
Always a companion,
Hold me in the Dark and the Light,
Flow in me as I float in you,
Flow in me as I float in you,
Flow in me as I float in you.


The past two months my sense of daily spirituality has exploded.  There have been multiple factors that edged me out to the deep water of the Divine so that I could jump in.  The two main ones have been the course I'm immersed in this semester and the Twelve Step Program (specifically Overeaters Anonymous-OA).

I am an emotional overeater.  Before coming to OA sometimes I wouldn't even realize that I was feeling an emotion like loneliness, anger, sadness, grief---I would just feel hungry.  Instead of working with the emotion that was coursing through my body I would thoughtlessly search for the way to stuff down the feelings and eat.  No amount of food satisfies the deep emotional void; that's the trick of emotional eating.  One day it's just one bite and the next day it's 5 bites and the next day it's the whole container.  This is because there is no end or satiety when it comes to eating in order to deal with emotions.  Especially because overeating makes me feel guilty; the guilty feelings cycle into more gnawing "hunger."

When I started to understand this cycle of feelings--eat--guilt--eat more, I refrained from eating my feelings to push them down.  Then without my comfort then in comes the RAGE, the TEARS, and the LONELINESS.  It gets better to feel these things yet all the while I feel so uncontrollable.  My anger pulses through my arms and legs and it's much harder to pretend that it's not there.  I sometimes get so distracted by my anger in situation that I am unable to function normally in a social situation.  And you know what? How awesome is that?  I'm so grateful that I go to feeling the emotion instead of thinking "I am hungry."  Sometimes I'm rageful because I can't eat a particular food or if I'm at a BBQ and there are SO MANY FUCKING CHANCES to overeat.

But it's feeling more manageable with every day that I am focused on holding healthier eating habits.  I have no control or power when it comes to food; the only way I am able to manage is that I turn it over to God rather than hoping to control my obsession myself.  It is so freeing and so lovely to give it away and see that this is not a shameful thing to talk about but rather a piece of holding unto the truth of my life.

Every time I eat a meal or refrain from emotional eating, God is present.  Food is pieces of nutrients that are useful for my body, not magical containers of happiness.  With that in mind scones or fries or other trigger foods hold no weight in my decision of what to eat.  I need/want sustenance that tastes fresh and delicious.  God's love flows through me as I float in the waters of God's grace and God's sense of power.  Sometimes that love means being rageful and my hands balled up into fists; sometimes it means sitting down for a healthy meal with friends; sometimes it means smiling ear to ear when I'm biking in the sunshine.  It is all connected to my relationship to my Higher Power.

This semester I've been immersed in two amazing courses: Preaching and NeoPaganism Liturgy.  My preaching course is taught by a woman and is made up of 6 insightful, passionate women.  In this course I have transformed in the way that I conduct myself in worship as a leader.  I no longer simply say, "God, you have brought us out of the waters of darkness into new life" but say, "O GOD (breath), YOU have brought us OUT of the waters of darkness into NEW life."  Every word that is uttered in worship holds value; the way that we say things is monumental in carrying the message across to other people.  I am beginning to see how powerful it is to create a sacred space using my identity as a leader and showing vulnerability.  My raw emotions are much more vital than maintaining a professional appearance.  When I encounter leaders in church or daily life settings, I don't want to interact with a shiny person who looks put together; I want a leader to show their scars because it makes my scars real and ok to talk about as well.

NeoPaganism is course that includes spending time in a round Chapel with passionate, caring, knowledgeable people who discuss pagan traditions, Wicca, Radical Faeries, and a whole of information that I don't understand.  All of our readings and rituals in class pertain to having a personal experience with the Divine, whatever the Divine looks like.  I see the preciousness of taking time to notice how I am already a deeply spiritual person.

Washing the dishes is a way of interacting with water that serves as a grounding element; I pray to my Loving Spirit as I swim laps in an outdoor pool.  I light a candle and sing some words in the warmth of the Light; I take time to sniff the beautiful roses that are scattered everywhere in Berkeley.  I soak my feet in salt water and let go of my angry feelings.  I meditate for a few minutes before going to bed because it centers me into sleep.  All of this is connecting me with God.  EXPLOSION of connecting the ways I am already working in the realm of the Divine here today.  The experience isn't perfect and the words of gratitude, demand, anger, and peace flow out so easily when I'm focused on moving through the experience of the Divine whether it's a traditional way of accessing God or not.  The point isn't in the labeling but in the feeling of moving out of my own worries and into the deep waters of acceptance and love.

Loving Spirit
You held me before I
even knew who I was to be
Flow in me as I float in you
Flow in me as I float in you
Flow in me as I float in  you.

Preaching in the Town that Never Was

 SPRING BREAK! Woohooo!!
I'm so happy to be able to spend some of my break in Los Alamos, New Mexico; this wonderful community of Bethelem Lutheran has supported me by giving me a scholarship to go to seminary.  Not only do they do that, but they were the place I first preached and washed people's feet last year on Maundy Thursday.  The Lloyd family from this church sends me a care package or a card every month because I am the student that they support.  If anyone from this church happens to be in the Bay Area, they come and take me out to dinner.  These people barely know me yet they smile at me like I am a long lost friend who has finally come home; this is a special place to visit and I am so grateful!
 I'm not only immersed in this church community while I'm here but I get a feel for the cultural context that is here in a town that literally only exists because of the Manhattan Project that was placed in the middle of the desert of New Mexico for scientists to test the atomic bomb.  Los Alamos is a town that is centrally focused on The Lab; a whole bunch of frugal, humble, and friendly scientists (ie geniuses) that are passionate about their work and also want to make a difference in this world.  This small town is so chock full talent and resources yet it struggles with many issues.  What does Los Alamos say for being a town and laboratory that was placed right on Indian land?  How does this place reconcile for making a space for a LOT of job opportunities for this area of New Mexico yet pushing Indians off of their land and also polluting the environment with harmful chemicals?  How do these brilliant scientists relate with the indigenous peoples as well as large Spanish-speaking populations in this area that were here long before The Lab and this Town That Never Was (it was a secret town during the Manhattan Project)?
Not only in terms of cultural context, but how does this town with the huge pressures that lay on the children's shoulders to be brilliant and go far in their careers?  This community has experienced quite a few suicides in recent years and are working on cultivating ways to show students and children how valuable they are outside of intellect, after-school activities, and getting into prestigious colleges.

I thought a lot about these issues the first time I was able to visit Los Alamos last year and I continue to hold all of these people in my heart as I am here once again.  Today I had the spectacular opportunity to get a tour of an Indian pueblo by a native, Ramos Sanchez, who is a very talented artists, World War II vet, and full of amazing stories that stand the test of time.
New Mexico: what a precious place to be today.  I hope that hearing the story of this place is helpful to you, dear reader, in some way.  I was privileged to be able to preach at a Lenten service for 4 of the congregations in Los Alamos that I'll share with you.  As always, thank you for reading, thank you for caring about me, thank you for being someone who reminds me that every day we are filled with God's love.

Romans 5:1-8

5 Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Savior Jesus Christ, 2 through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand; and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God. 3 And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, 4 and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, 5 and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.
6 For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. 7 Indeed, rarely will anyone die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person someone might actually dare to die. 8 But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us.

I'm not familiar with many of you but am so grateful to be here in this community tonight. I'm Kaitlin Winter-Eulberg and I am a seminarian in Berkeley, CA; I'm a very grateful recipient of the Hayes Memorial Scholarship from Bethelem Lutheran Church here in Los Alamos, NM. One of the first thing I'd like to share to help you all understand a bit of me is that I am not only a pastor's kid, but both of my parents are ordained ministers in the Lutheran church. This means that I have been dragged to many a church event. In high school, my mom took me to a campus ministry supper and bible study event at a house where Christian college students would live and volunteer. I distinctly remember meeting another pastor there who greeted me in saying: “Good to meet you today. Isn't this day wonderful? Everyday we are filled with God's love.” This man laughed as he spoke these words and people around us said that this was his standard greeting for everyone, every day. I don't remember that man's name or even his face but I certainly remember his words.

As we hear this passage of Romans, what does it mean to boast in the hope of sharing God's goodness? When I first hear the word boast, my thoughts do not go to “Yes, boast; that's it! I should be boasting!” Within our cultural context, boasting can be seen as focusing on our own deeds and puffing ourselves up to something bigger than we are. My own understanding of boasting is when we tell a story not to share it with someone else but rather to hear the words out in the air and so other people know how awesome we are. Yet, this text calls us to boast not of our accomplishments but boast of the abundant grace of God. Boasting no longer is about puffing ourselves up to be deflated by the trials of life, but we boast of the foundation that cannot be shaken. We share the story: for God so loved this world that God took on a human body as Jesus. Jesus walked on this earth just as we do and suffered like we do as he died on a cross, showing us that there is no limit to God's love for us. We are vessels in which God pours and pours and pours love; this steady stream of grace is constant and never ending. It does not matter whether we are kind or hurtful or even boasting about ourselves instead of God. God pours love through us so that we can spread the joy of the freedom that we have as we stand on God's grace. Even as we are humans who cannot hold unto or understand the ultimate truth of God, this Romans passage states that God has proven the love that God has for us in the story of Jesus Christ dying for us even as we are a people of sin that focus on worldly treasures. Even in our sinful nature, we are called to pause and say: “Isn't this day wonderful? Everyday we are filled with God's love.”

This Romans passage not only calls for us to boast of God's love but also that we are to boast in our suffering. What does it look like to boast in suffering? I imagine that speaking about our suffering upfront can be vulnerable place to be and that it helps take the burden of holding our suffering alone. One of the most touching pieces of Jesus' death for me is that I know that God has suffered through pains of which I cannot comprehend. Jesus has taken on all of the suffering and walks through death into new life; whatever pain and hurt I am experiencing, I know that Jesus is present. This does not make our grief and hurt and pain go away but rather shows us that we are never alone; we are all together in this world that has been embraced in love by God.

This passage speaks out towards suffering in that is produces endurance, character, and hope. This part stops me in my tracks because it carries a progression that begins with suffering, as if suffering is necessary to understand hope. This holds a whisper of the concept that the suffering we all experience is supposed to happen so that we may grow into hope. The painful experiences that we grip tightly do not make sense and there are deep wounds that were not meant to be there. Suffering is not supposed to happen but rather, it is here and we all are holding pieces of hurt whether old or new, huge or small. What do we do with this pain and grief?

The suffering takes shape in our lives and the question this passage focuses on is what can we do with our suffering. We share our story and our pains so we see that we are all together working towards the reminder of hope and love that God constantly pours into us. We boast of our suffering in order that we see that our place is here with each other and that our hope lies not in ourselves but in the gracious love of God. We boast of the love that God gives in our words and deeds. We are called to look at each other and say: “Isn't this day wonderful? Everyday we are filled with God's love.” We are called to take the hands of the person next to us and share the love and energy that God continues to pour into us every day.

Perspectives of the City.

 It took a few days on the streets to fall completely out of love with San Francisco. The City had been a playground for late nights dancing, long days of walking to “see the sights,” and places to spend money for a piece of luxury. Now I was faced with the dichotomies of the beautiful, shiny buildings and the shit that actually paves the streets.

Like many, I bought into the fantasy of the heart of San Francisco. I imagine the City as this slinky woman in a sparkly dress that speaks in a husky voice: “Come to me and I will hold you; I will kiss your wounds and made it all well.” Lady Francisca whispers to the lonely outsiders and offers a mild climate with a comforting bosom on which the hurting can rest their heads. This lady points to the sparkling blue Bay, the rust colored arches of the Golden Gate, and the mysterious fog as the environment where souls can be restored. But here's the thing: Lady Francisca is bullshit.

Lady Francisca has deep, sharp claws that will sink into your pocketbooks and flesh until you are dried up. Lady Francisca offers you a few hits to kick back and relax until your brain is obsessed with the next fix and the fix is no longer a kind gesture but a demanding fist. This mystical place of hippie love, space for all, and progressive politics pays close attention to the color of your skin: if your skin is not white, it does not matter if you were born here or work hard or have dreams.

I walked the streets and peered into the corners of this City of “Free Love” and found how many prices there are to pay to reside here. I saw the distrust in the eyes of faces that were hardened by years of judgement and being pushed out of their homes by the Bay. I saw the “affordable” high-rise lofts in the Filmore that replaced beloved neighborhoods of many African-Americans. I heard about the many years that Chinese immigrants and Chinese-Americans were kept inside the walls of Chinatown, not allowed to become a part of the community of San Francisco. I felt the desperation leaking out of people's voices as they whispered, then spoke, then yelled to be heard and seen from their spot on the streetcorner.

I lowered my eyes in shame as I waited in line to get food, use a restroom, or be able to sit down somewhere. There is nothing I could do to make myself not a young woman with shiny teeth and innocent eyes that glaringly told people that I did not know or understand the streets. My eyes deadened with exhaustion from sleeping on church floors and pews, walking for miles, and holding in pee, but that exhaustion didn't change that after 3 weeks of being immersed in the streets of San Francisco, I got to go home. As I walked the streets littered with trash, I knew that there were a few coins and bills in my bag that could pay my way into any coffeeshop or bar. What a luxury, to know that if worse came to worst, there were so many safety nets lined up for me to fall into. How terrifying to see that those nets can easily be broken apart into useless pieces of fabric.

The first days walking in San Francisco as a “cultural immerser” I felt myself on edge. My back was tightened, waiting for the sting of something or someone. The only person that was attacking me at that moment was myself; the fear held all of my ability to connect with others. I immediately felt changes as I boldly strolled down a darkened street as a night minister: I wanted to be seen and I wanted for people to talk to me. Every pair of eyes that I made eye contact with was someone that I could acknowledge, give a nod to, or maybe have a conversation with. I met the people that I would call the real Lady Franciscas: the night ministers who embrace those on the street who are hungry for comfort and a listening ear.

As I settled into being a person who walked the streets of San Francisco for hours each day, my eyes were opened in new ways. The people on the streets, whether they were hurriedly walking to an appointment, full-on running to catch the BART or bus, or sitting on a stoop while calling out for money, these people did not seem like strangers to me. I saw the fear in the eyes of young women walking down a dark street, I saw the seemingly powerful confidence of a suit-clad person walking with a cell phone. I watched many people pass by and ignore people that were sitting or standing on the sidewalk, asking for change. I have been that person that walked right by a person hoping for interaction; I have been an active part of this system of overlooking the real humanness of people in this city that we say we love so much. Rather than being a part of the system, I stepped back and saw all of these people as opportunities to learn more.

I walked past a man sitting on the street who was yelling out for someone to hear him: “ANYONE? DO YOU HAVE CHANGE?” His face was twisted in anguish as he called out to the people that quickly passed by who avoided his eyes. As more people encountered him and did not acknowledge his presence, his voice rose and fell in desperation. I looked over towards him and our eyes locked. 

The man's face changed so instantaneously that I was in shock. His desperation and anger melted away into a smile that creased the skin around his eyes. He gave me a thumbs up as I asked him how his night was going; I told him I hoped he could find some warmth that night. He waved goodbye and with that broad smile, said, “Thank you, bless you and enjoy your night!” I was astounded by the sudden happiness that lept off of him as I took a few seconds to glance over at him. It seemed like there was a hunger that was running deeper than the need for a bite to eat or a warm, safe place to sit: he was deeply yearning for someone to see him as a person. This man gave me hope that night in the city that had been exposed to me as bleak, greedy, and cold.

The shiny lights of Lady Francisca still don't entice me the same that they once did. Yet I learned how to love San Francisco again from a man with a toothless smile who sat down with me at a senior citizen luncheon. This quiet guy talked me through his daily routine of begging for coffee each morning and then walking around the neighborhoods of San Francisco. He spoke of his favorite spots to view the rolling hills of San Francisco and the best benches to rest on for an hour or so. He described the Presidio's green trees with a fondness and familiarity; he advised about the best times to see the sun shine just right on the Golden Gate Bridge. After describing all of these beauties in the city, he said, “You know, every single place in this city holds so many perspectives; it just depends where and how you are looking at it.”

I can look at San Francisco from the eyes of a guarded woman walking alone in a darkened street; I can see this city from the eyes of a business person hurrying about their day. But I choose to see this Foggy City by the Bay from that man's gentle and caring eyes: I see the fog silently rolling in through the buildings or the sun shining on the pavement that is worn from walking. I see this City with tired feet and with a heart that is turned towards hope.

Calling it by Name.

I felt angry the first time I heard the term "overeater."  My mother had sat the 15 year-old me down and calmly asked if I was an overeater.  I felt such a mixture of emotions in that minute:  She had noticed my eating habits? My eating habits were abnormal?  How dare she name it outright?  Is that what I was? I had no clue.  I remember making a face of confusion/disgust and clearly stating, "No!"  Which is a typical response of an immature girl who doesn't want to be called out on her shit.  It is even a typical response I hear from people and tell myself often; outright denial of our deepest fears is so much easier to do than face them head on.

But here I am, bearing the reality of my life.

I know that I have an unhealthy relationship with food.  I remember quite clearly a day in 5th grade choir when we celebrated a special occasion with a pizza party.  I thought to myself as we waited for the pizza to arrive:  "I hope there is enough for me to have 3 pieces of pizza; I will not be happy unless I eat 3 pieces."  Hold up: WHAT?  Happiness= an arbitrary amount of food?

But there it was, my emotions already inexplicably wrapped around what I would be able to eat.  I think of that day and I want to hide my face in shame.  How did this happen to me?  Why do I think this way?  Why am I unable to control myself and why am I not able to eat normally?  What is wrong with me?  I could play the mind games of negative self talk forever (in fact, I often do) but it doesn't get me anywhere.

I am not often aware of the way that I negatively impact my view of my body and how I destroy it with my unhealthy relationship with food.  I find myself often tugging at my clothes as if begging them to fit or even more fantastical, wishing that my body was not what it is.  This is a conscious and subconscious stream of thought; these thoughts are so prevalent that I lose track of where my hunger comes from.

There are so many reasons that I feel "hungry": 1) My body needs nutrition; 2) It's the normal time to eat so I should; 3) I feel shitty/lonely/depressed/anxious/whatever so therefore I should eat; 4) I hate my body and myself so self-destruction to keep that hate going comes in the form of eating; 5) I think that food can fill the deep void of emptiness that comes from not accepting myself; 6) Free food is near so I should gorge on that because it's free, as if there is a scarcity of food in my path.

Here's the ultimate truth: There is a deep hole in my soul that I attempt to fill with food and negative self-talk about my body.  I've gone through many fantasies in my head about a time in my life in which I will not obsess about whether I'm allowed to eat a delicious treat, socialize normally with food, enjoy food until I am full, and so many more scenarios.  I dream of enjoying running and looking amazing in a pair of jeans.  I've built so many houses of self esteem in other ways, like using humor and friendliness to make myself feel as if I deserve to be loved/adored.  I'm a master at prettying myself up with coordinating and brightly colored outfits with dresses, scarves, jewelry.  And the truth is that I do have many gifts and I am a person that holds a lot of love on her sleeve.  I'm not looking for pity about my self-hatred by writing this on a public blog, but rather to bare another part of me that I desperately try to hide from myself and others.  I need to hold myself accountable for the things that I so wish were not true: I am not a normal eater.  I often do not know when to stop eating and I engage in a lot of guilt/ negative self talk about eating.  My obsession with food is overwhelmingly powerful and I am done floundering alone.

I attended my first Overeaters Anonymous (OA) meeting this week.  It was absolutely terrifying to be in a space where I knew no one and had to be honest with people about their and my coping mechanisms around food.  I told a tiny part of my story and I cried because this deep void goes so deep; it reaches to the core of my being.  It feels like my unhealthy relationship with myself will never end and that there is no where to go but down.  But being honest and paying attention to the ways that I self-destruct with demanding so much of myself whilst indulging and compulsively eating food is a tiptoe in the right direction.  I hope to notice the triggers in which I feel hungry because my emotions and to journal about the feelings rather than entering into a cycle of unhealthy compulsive eating.  I want to pay attention to my trigger foods as well as situations that make it hard for me to be healthy.

I'm currently full of questions about how to do this, especially as a young, social woman who wants to still be actively engaged the communities that I love.  I know that I am in a stressful situation as a student with lots of TO DOs and little time to spare.  But there is always time to prioritize what I really care about.  And what I deeply need/want to care about is myself and my own health.

This is scary and frustrating and all consuming.  Thanks for reading and being a support for my journey.

God, Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Refreshment.

Being back in Colorado's crisp, cold air has felt like a refreshing drink that has reset my mind and soul.

This past semester and fall has been chock full of moments of feeling at peace, making time to stay healthy, tailoring my learning on things I care about (feminism, liberation, clerical celibacy, the Trinity), connecting deeply with a couple of people, and continuing to feel my call to be a minister, teacher, and chaplain.

Yet I also felt surrounded by moments of lost connections, deep insecurity (whether mine or another person's), and doubting my ability to engage with others.  It's been great living into the fact that it's more important to do what I need/want to do rather than trying to be the Kaitlin that I think everyone else wants, but in living into that I find myself not being the life of the party part of me that I lean on and appreciate.  This has required a lot of introspection for me this past month.  Do I like being a jokester for myself or for others?  Why do I have this compulsion to be the go-to person for others?

I spent much of last year spending a lot of my social time laughing, joking, and feeling that I was socially connected with a lot of people in my seminary community.  But in my deep inside, I was lost and lonely and unsure of where I fit.  Now I have places to be outside of the community, boundaries that I set for myself to have time for homework and sleep, and focus on precious people rather than pleasing everyone.  Deep down, my calling is clear and I have people that I have made wonderful memories with.  Yet I'm still here, in the confusion of being comfortable with who I am enough to not try to prove myself to others and still wanting to be a person people seek out to laugh with.  I'm in the tension of what it means to be me right now.

Anyway, that was a very long explanation of why I felt cloudy recently and getting back here to Colorado has been a beautiful comfort in showing me the ways that I am me.

I have streets that remind me of a girl who learned to drive timidly; there are coffeeshops that remind me of my first employment as a barista.  There are houses that I've been to countless times that are filled with faces that are etched with lines of laughter and tears that I have been active in experiencing.  There is a church in which I showed up to church early and stayed late (not by choice...), sang loudly, danced proudly, and played games when I maybe should have been in worship.  The cold air reminds me of the winter nights I drove with my windows down in order to feel the bitterness.  The quiet, dark nights in my neighborhood beckon for awakenings not unlike those of my teenage years; my soul feels refreshed so that I can feel deeply about new things.

My mind feels cleared so that I am able to articulate my stories well and interests spring up inside of me about the people and places that are changing along with me.  The twinkling lights scattered on the trees in the gorgeous Old Town Fort Collins stir up giddiness within me and bring a smile to my lips.

Fort Collins has been my home; my place for recharging.  I never sleep better than when I am comfortably in my bed in the room I spent most of my teenage years in.  I've struggled here, I've thrived here, I've grown so much here.  It's safe here.

What will happen once this place no more is a place where there is a house that has my family name attached to it?  When I will have a reason to not spend my holidays here, since there will be no place to vacation at?  When coordinating visits will no longer be as simple as showing up with a home to stay at?  What will I do without the refreshing breeze of change that flows through this place and into my heart?

What does it mean to refresh anew?  It means holding unto the home that my family has created with each other.  This house that was called home for 10 years has been stripped bare, but the memories are plentiful.  I've leaned on Colorado to be a place where I can clearly see me for me and now it's time to see the ways that I have been created me, without borders.

But this reminder and refresher of who Kaitlin is has been so delightful and helpful during this season of massive change for my family, so I'll hold on tight for all it's worth as long as I can (which will be just another 5 days....).

Transform: (a sermon).

Matthew 11:2-11
When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples ³ and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” ⁴ Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: ⁵ the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. ⁶ And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”
⁷ As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? ⁸ What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. ⁹ What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. ¹⁰ This is the one about whom it is written,

‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,
    who will prepare your way before you.’

¹¹ Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.

 

Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?

This question feels familiar on my lips. We ask questions like this every day. Questions like:

Is this job the one that will stick as my career, or am I still looking for another?

Is this is the house for my family; is the search over or are we back to square one?

Is the person that I am daitng the one I will spend the rest of my life with, or am I supposed to wait for someone else? Or, Wow my spouse is getting on my last nerve today, maybe I was better off marrying somebody else....

As we look around us and search for things in our lives that we know to be true and right, we also turn those questions in on ourselves.

Am I good enough? Or am I a shadow of who I could be?

Is this it? Is the path I'm on the right one for me?

So many questions. They feed into our consumer-driven consciousness, telling us that there must be a right and wrong choice. This natural urge to look for a definitive answer speaks to how important it is to make meaning in our lives. We are a people that are anxiously awaiting hope amidst devastation and struggle. In this Advent season, we are present now in our waiting of the coming of Jesus. As we look forward to the story of Jesus's birth, we see that we are still waiting for the answers of the mysteries of God.

Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?

John the Baptist is asking this not only as an important prophet who had people following him, but someone who had been clear about his belief that Jesus was and is the Messiah. Now John finds himself stuck between his strong convictions and the painful experience of prison. I find it comforting to see that even John the Baptist held a quiver of doubt and fear when he sent his disciples to go to Jesus and ask if Jesus is the one that John had been waiting for.

I have also been in that place of questioning God and Jesus: Jesus, are you for real? God, have I rightly placed my trust in you? I spent so much of my teenage years thinking that I was alone in these questions and doubts. And yet here is a prophet that Jesus describes “as the messenger that will prepare a way for him” who is questioning and searching for truth. Rather than seeing doubt as a detrimental aspect of faith, we see in John's question that to be uncertain is part of life. We cannot be sure about what happens in our lives and we are not able to tangibly see who God is. So we hold these questions together in our hearts and minds.

Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?

John the Baptist asks his question from a place of being uncertain; he wants to know that his life of being a messenger for Messiah has purpose. This question calls for a definite answer; a yes or a no.

But Jesus doesn't give a yes or no answer, which isn't necessarily out of character for Jesus or God. Moses asks for God's name in Exodus and God replies with “I am who I am.” God encompasses all that we understand about this world and then goes beyond all of those things. God is who God is and we will never have clear answers that give us a complete picture of God. Instead, We are able to see glimpses of God; Jesus speaks to this as he answers John.

Jesus tells John to look out into the world so that he can hear and see the works of God that are everywhere in this world. Jesus quotes Isaiah in saying that the blind will have sight, the lame will walk, deaf people will hear, and the dead are raised up. Jesus is pointing not to the properties of his holiness as Messiah but rather how people are being transformed in the world. Jesus is saying: “Do not look for me but see the ways I am working in the world.” We cannot fully understand what it means for Jesus Christ to be divine and human, but we can witness the actions that Jesus did and continues to do in the world. How do we live into being a witness to the works of God here and now? We are witnesses as we orient ourselves to be open to see the transformations that Jesus is doing.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the ways that I've transformed and developed into a young adult. Sometimes I'll be walking around Berkeley and all of a sudden it hits me: Wow, I'm such a different person than what the 13-year old Kaitlin imagined I'd be. Of course, my viewpoint was narrow since my biggest aspiration as a pre-teen was to be the youngest female country music star, but instead that label went to Taylor Swift. As awesome as it would have been to be a country music singer, I think that 13 year-old me would have been astounded by how cool I turned out to be. My hair is short and edgy, I can spitfire sarcasm any moment of the day, and I even have a tattoo on my left shoulder blade. And setting aside the easy ways to see change, I've gone from someone who held all of her questions inside to someone who calls out for people to discuss the pieces of life that are unknown. I recognize the gift that God has given me to sit in the tension of the insecurity and doubt. I've walked with my own fears of loneliness and uncertainty about the future and in the midst of the pain of growing up, I'm getting closer to realizing that the more you know of the world, the less you understand it. In some ways, I'm still that 13 year-old girl trying to figure out the ways to be secure in my own body and self. In that respect, I wonder what 60 year-old Kaitlin will think of who I am now as a 24 year-old.

I've gotten pretty good about living in the questions that we cannot answer and I feel like I am a good space in my life. I have a passion for helping people and am privileged to work towards being a pastor and leader; I will soon be surrounded by my family as my parents move to San Mateo this January; and I have meaningful and deep relationships that enrich my life. Yet here I am on tip toes, waiting for a pin to drop. I feel like John the Baptist and asking: Is this it? Am I the person that is to come; am I who I am supposed to be? Are we as a church community being the church that is to come? Are we living into the future that God hopes for us?

Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?

When you ask for clear-cut answers from God, most likely you will not get them. God calls us instead to reorient ourselves to look for the answers out in our community. When Jesus speaks that we will know him when we see that blind will receive sight and deaf will hear, maybe it is us whose eyes can now see and ears that can hear. By the gift of grace that we have been given through baptism, we have been born into a community of God. The Holy Spirit is active in our community; Do you see it? Do you hear it? Jesus calls us to look and to listen. Someone in your home is suffering; someone is hungry for deep connection. As we pause our life to open our ears to hear the pain of others, we connect our hearts together in a way that Jesus has called us to do.

Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?

I wonder what it felt like for Jesus to hear this question from John's disciples. The weight of the label of “One who is to come” is heavy; Jesus knows the Old Testament Scriptures that describe what the Messiah will look like. Jesus has this Isaiah text in the back of his mind that says that God will come with vengeance and terrible recompense; Jesus knows that it has been written that in God, there will be a Holy Way in which no fools, unclean people, or beasts will be. If Jesus says, Yes! I am the one who is to come, does this mean that he will be the one of vengeance and judgement?

Jesus focuses on the part of Isaiah that shows that the coming of God means that people are changed; the lame will walk and the dead shall be raised up. The vengeance of God looks like a tiny child in Mary's arms, borne into the world as a human and as the Divine. The vengeance of God looks like Jesus teaching people that they are to love one another as themselves; judgement looks like Jesus healing the sick. The ultimate act of vengeance and judgement that God makes is Jesus being placed up there, on that cross. Jesus suffers as Christ on the cross and in doing so, we as humans are shown that the vengeance of God turns in on itself so that all who believe are saved by grace.

When we ask if Jesus is the one who is to come, we are looking for a sure answer that Christ is the salvation for all people. Jesus tells us instead to look at the people around us and listen for the ways that we are changed by the love that God gives us. Look around you—do you see the beauty of this world? Do you see the moments of rawness in pure joy and pure pain? Is that God, who loved you before you even knew yourself? Is that Jesus Christ, who has suffered so that all have already been saved? Or are you going to wait for something else to hold you together?

God has given us grace so that we can live freely in the spaces of sacred love that are here and now. Jesus calls us to be active witnesses in Christ and be the actions of Christ as disciples in this world. Christ has freed us so that we have the ability to create opportunities of transformation for others. We are Christ's presence in the world; we have a call to be a part of giving the blind sight and helping ears to hear. We are called to ask ourselves:

Are we the ones who are to come? Or are we to wait for another?

All this time we may have been waiting for somebody to create the changes we want to see in this world, but we are those somebodies. With the gifts that God has prepared for us, we can be the future in this world.