The last two days have held a number of small, simple reminders for me about God's provision.
I'm not normally an anxious person. However, all the factors concerning my ordination process have created anxiety for me. It's easy for me to identify why: I'm not in control of anything. It's no different now than just before Advent: if progress is going to be made, it's going to come from the whirlwind of God's grace, not from my own feeble efforts to make things move. I knew that going into "the process;" but I didn't know how much it would stay true throughout the process!
"The process," basically, involves oodles of meetings and paperwork. I had to get a four page document filled out by my primary physician... but I didn't have a primary physician. I have to fill out a lengthy (30+ pages) for a psychological exam that ALSO has to be completed by March 15th by a psychologist / psychiatrist who only offers appointments during normal business hours. The vestry had to approve and sign my application for postulancy. My Parish Discernment Committee had to go well. I had to get official transcripts from both my educational institutions.
My transcripts went out on the day I faxed the forms to Houghton and Yale. My PDC has gone exceedingly well; at every meeting someone has said "You were born to be a priest!" I found out that the deadline for the psychological exam is actually later than March 15th, so I'll be able to complete it during my spring break; I won't have to miss any work to get it done. Finally, even though the doctor's office I ended up going to told me it could take as long as two weeks to process my paperwork and get my records, they got them over the weekend and my meeting took a scant 90 minutes.
At any point a serious delay could have happened to keep me from moving forward. And while I'm by no means assured that TBOAPE (the best of all possible events) will take place (i.e. that I'll be ordained by next June), my anxiety decreases with every mini-step that I accomplish. Whether or not I finally get ordained in the Episcopal Church, I can see with a new clarity that God's grace is guiding my steps and providing for me.
Many of my friends in the Wesleyan church can point to a youth camp or a revival or a sermon experience where they "heard a voice" calling them into full time ministry in the church. I've never heard an audible divine voice in that kind of context, at least not that I can remember. But when wonderful people sit in a room with me and agree with me that God's grace has been given to me it confirms the inner call that I have slowly learned to listen to: that all my passions and interests are for God's work, to try to be more like Jesus in the world (or at least exactly who Jesus wants me to be).
Again: I'm not normally an anxious person. Probably, living at home and then being in college and then graduate school, the number of possible anxieties I've faced is relatively small. I haven't, if I'm honest with myself, had to look for God's grace that hard. I haven't had to rely on God's grace all that much: it was everywhere, abundant, the foundation of everything that I had or knew. Now that I'm an "adult," however, there are so many more things to worry about: the "process," finances (so I should have worried about these a bit more), jobs, automobiles... and fitting faith into all that mess.
I feel like I'm learning a new skill. Or at least practicing one, on my own, that others provided and exercised for me: the skill of naming and claiming God's grace in my life. The skill of being able to honestly and thankfully say the words to the song I learned growing up: "Jehovah Jireh, my Provider, Your grace is sufficient for me. My God shall supply all my needs, according to his riches in glory. He shall give his angels charge over me. Jehovah Jireh cares for me."
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Ashes, Dust, and Candle Wax
Last week at youth group a wonderful young priest came and spent time with us to teach us about Taize and prayer in the style of Taize. After a shared meal and a lot of talking, we went into the sanctuary. She pulled out an entire bag of tea lights, and I was immediately delighted. Not only are candles important to me, but just a few weeks earlier my wife and I had led a session on prayer where we had talked about how just the simple act of lighting a candle can itself be a prayer. It was a happy harmony of lessons on prayer for our students. It's tough to know, just seeing them once a week, how much they are internalizing what we expose them to, but I'm pleased to think the Holy Spirit is at work even in our sometimes haphazard plans.
Anyway, because of that night I ended up sending the link to my Advent Triptych to that priest, as well as the woman who runs our youth group. One of the quotes that I had in mind as I was writing that sermon is from a notecard my dad keeps on his bedroom door. He has it as a Jack London quote; an internet search will question the validity of the reference. In any case, this is what it says:
"I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out
in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom
of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time."
I've long assumed that I would also rather be ashes than dust. I'd like to think I've lived most of my life burning brightly; I've certainly burnt out a number of times. Only God has kept me from many more!
The frenzied and frenetic fiery pace I kept in high school, college, and even seminary (to a lesser extent) probably came straight from my 8th grade teacher's echo of this credo: "Suck the marrow out of life!" I think his quote may have been the first time I heard someone say something that gave me language for what I was already thinking: "Suck the marrow out of life." He described the way a dog will not just eat the meat off a bone but crack it and break it and suck all the marrow out of it, all the nutrients, consume it completely. I still remember him telling us that when our head hit the pillow it should be with a sense of accomplishment, with the knowledge that we had done all we could for the day, maybe with a tinge of exhaustion. The craziest week of my life I averaged between 3 and 4 hours of sleep over 8 days; I had mono a few months later, and slept for 17 hours a day. Ashes, never dust.
With my senior sermon in mind, I've been re-examining my feelings about this quote. I've had a very difficult time with one of my co-teachers at school. I think things are working themselves slowly out. I don't think I'll ever be friends with this teacher, but at least we are attempting a new pattern of working together with our kids interest in mind, which is not what was happening for the better part of the year, in ways I won't bother to describe.
One thing has recently happened thought that made me just furious. When I heard about it, I immediately came to a decision (as a good EC teacher) that I would simply start to document everything I did, so that I can prove myself to be beyond reproach. I didn't opt for confrontation (I never do). I didn't let it go. I chose a "middle way." I didn't choose to confront my co-teacher in anger like a flash-in-a-pan. I didn't choose to ignore the issue.
I didn't choose ashes. I didn't choose dust either.
Now I'm not saying I'm above reproach in any way in this situation. I'm also not even saying that the decision(s) I'm making concerning this situation are all correct. But what I have reflected on is that rather than ashes or dust, I'm choosing to be just what my senior sermon gave me language to do: candle wax. I choose the slow burn. I choose to glow. I choose to be moved with the wind but not extinguished by it. I choose to act, but only as much as I can do at one time rather than trying to do everything all at once. The model I preached about has become for me a via media.
I won't exactly say that this is the Holy Spirit's work, redeeming my sinful tendency to blow up or to hide. I'm not convinced enough that "holy" really describes anything about my situation. I don't really even have any answers right now. But I'm praying and learning and reflecting. Perhaps above all I'm hoping, hoping that a slow burn will flicker brightly, and not be overcome by the darkness.
Anyway, because of that night I ended up sending the link to my Advent Triptych to that priest, as well as the woman who runs our youth group. One of the quotes that I had in mind as I was writing that sermon is from a notecard my dad keeps on his bedroom door. He has it as a Jack London quote; an internet search will question the validity of the reference. In any case, this is what it says:
"I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out
in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom
of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time."
I've long assumed that I would also rather be ashes than dust. I'd like to think I've lived most of my life burning brightly; I've certainly burnt out a number of times. Only God has kept me from many more!
The frenzied and frenetic fiery pace I kept in high school, college, and even seminary (to a lesser extent) probably came straight from my 8th grade teacher's echo of this credo: "Suck the marrow out of life!" I think his quote may have been the first time I heard someone say something that gave me language for what I was already thinking: "Suck the marrow out of life." He described the way a dog will not just eat the meat off a bone but crack it and break it and suck all the marrow out of it, all the nutrients, consume it completely. I still remember him telling us that when our head hit the pillow it should be with a sense of accomplishment, with the knowledge that we had done all we could for the day, maybe with a tinge of exhaustion. The craziest week of my life I averaged between 3 and 4 hours of sleep over 8 days; I had mono a few months later, and slept for 17 hours a day. Ashes, never dust.
With my senior sermon in mind, I've been re-examining my feelings about this quote. I've had a very difficult time with one of my co-teachers at school. I think things are working themselves slowly out. I don't think I'll ever be friends with this teacher, but at least we are attempting a new pattern of working together with our kids interest in mind, which is not what was happening for the better part of the year, in ways I won't bother to describe.
One thing has recently happened thought that made me just furious. When I heard about it, I immediately came to a decision (as a good EC teacher) that I would simply start to document everything I did, so that I can prove myself to be beyond reproach. I didn't opt for confrontation (I never do). I didn't let it go. I chose a "middle way." I didn't choose to confront my co-teacher in anger like a flash-in-a-pan. I didn't choose to ignore the issue.
I didn't choose ashes. I didn't choose dust either.
Now I'm not saying I'm above reproach in any way in this situation. I'm also not even saying that the decision(s) I'm making concerning this situation are all correct. But what I have reflected on is that rather than ashes or dust, I'm choosing to be just what my senior sermon gave me language to do: candle wax. I choose the slow burn. I choose to glow. I choose to be moved with the wind but not extinguished by it. I choose to act, but only as much as I can do at one time rather than trying to do everything all at once. The model I preached about has become for me a via media.
I won't exactly say that this is the Holy Spirit's work, redeeming my sinful tendency to blow up or to hide. I'm not convinced enough that "holy" really describes anything about my situation. I don't really even have any answers right now. But I'm praying and learning and reflecting. Perhaps above all I'm hoping, hoping that a slow burn will flicker brightly, and not be overcome by the darkness.
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