So this morning, I had intended to go see one of my sweet seminarian friends preach. That plan went out the window when I woke up at 10:05. I considered going to an 11 o' clock service at another church, rushing around to get ready and hop on the T... but it occured to me, what I really need right now is some "me and God" time... And I felt like walking. Yes, in the -2 degree wind chill, the best thing for my faith this morning was a walk.
So I packed up my laptop in my backpack, figuring I'd get lunch somewhere after my walk, and I took my iPhone (with headphones) and bundled up like Arctic Barbie and headed out into the blustery winds with The Decemberists' The King Is Dead as my soundtrack.
Here is a track-by-track of my spiritual formation this morning:
Don't Carry It All:
Beginning of song - This was a bad idea. It's cold outside.
Middle of song - Oh, wait, the sun is shining. I'm breathing. Things are not that bad.
End of song - Right, then. Things are actually pretty good.
Calamity Song:
I'll admit it, I broke into a kind of dance. The kind of dance you can only do with nine layers on. Sometimes this song makes me really happy.
Rise to Me:
Okay, God. I get it. Good morning, how are you? Thanks for checking in.
The lyrics of this song don't actually make sense in relation to the feeling it imbues in me.
Rox in the Box:
"Of dirt you're made and to dirt you will return.
So while we're living here,
let's get this little one thing clear,
There's plenty of men to die,
you don't jump your turn...
What were you meant for?
What were you meant for?"
January Hymn:
It is January. I can identify with this song. This song is good stuff.
"What were the words I meant to say before she left,
when I could see her breathe lead where she was going to.
Maybe I should just let it be,
and maybe it will all come back to me.
Sing oh, Janu, oh, January, oh."
Down By the Water:
Okay, this song doesn't actually inspire much... but it continues the good feeling.
All Arise!:
"But you keep on stealing, you keep on stealing,
yes, you keep on stealing 'til there's nothing left to steal."
I like this song too.
June Hymn:
I now have this calm that was not there when I woke up this morning. It is quite pleasant.
This Is Why We Fight:
I'm now in Starbucks contemplating this good feeling that has manifested itself in my brain.
"This is why, this is why we fight,
This is why we lie awake."
Dear Avery:
"Don't you shake alone, please, Avery, come home."
It's good stuff, friends.
And I think feelings like this are a big part of why my idea of church is so nebulous and unformed. What constitutes as church? Why does the order of worship and which hymnal we use matter so much? Why do I need an old white or stone building to minister to others?
No, I know that I don't. I don't know what my ministry is going to look like, but I hope it includes cold morning walks and indie folk-rock albums.
Showing posts with label service. Show all posts
Showing posts with label service. Show all posts
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Monday, September 12, 2011
Reflections on 9/11 Remembrances
Hi all, I wanted to use today's entry to reflect on yesterday. I am sure we've all heard our share of remembrances, but indulge me; let me tell you one more story:
On Sunday, the ten year anniversary on 9/11, I went to the 9 AM service at Old South church. I sat in the Gordon Chapel, contemplating if I'd actually be coming back (because I had not actually been greeted by anyone in the 15 minutes I was there prior to the beginning of the service). When the service started, I felt myself falling back into the church routine. I was also amazed by the amount of people who came to the "smaller" early morning service, because it was easily 75 people. I figured, rightly so, that the church would do some sort of remembrance of what happened on the eleventh of September, ten years ago.
At a point in the service, Rev. Caldwell asked us to turn to our neighbor and tell our story of 9/11. My neighbor was a woman visiting Old South for the first time, an artist, whose name I have unfortunately let slip from my mind. I shared my story of being in freshman history in room 210, Mrs. Gallagher opened the door because the small, quiet librarian was running through the halls saying "Turn on the TV! The twin towers have been hit! We're under attacke!" and I remember watching CNN with my history class, one girl whose uncle worked in the towers. I remember hearing a plane had targeted the pentagon and crashed. I remember the TV saying it was the end times. I remember lots of fear from all sides.
My neighbor said her husband was supposed to be flying into New York that morning but, for whatever reason, he didn't go. She said that she felt so sad her young children, and my generation, would have to grow up in the aftermath of this tragedy. Together, we let silent tears fall as we mourned all that was lost that day.
Then, Rev. Caldwell asked us to tell another story - what are we doing to make sure this doesn't happen again? In different ways, we both answered that we would love on the world, her with her ministry through art, and I with my ministry through the church. We both believe that peace is attainable and we are both putting parts of ourselves out into the world to try and make it a reality.
We took communion and she ducked out before the service was finished, but she's somewhere in Boston, painting pictures of hope, putting her love out there for the world to see, doing what she can to cultivate peace.
On Sunday, the ten year anniversary on 9/11, I went to the 9 AM service at Old South church. I sat in the Gordon Chapel, contemplating if I'd actually be coming back (because I had not actually been greeted by anyone in the 15 minutes I was there prior to the beginning of the service). When the service started, I felt myself falling back into the church routine. I was also amazed by the amount of people who came to the "smaller" early morning service, because it was easily 75 people. I figured, rightly so, that the church would do some sort of remembrance of what happened on the eleventh of September, ten years ago.
At a point in the service, Rev. Caldwell asked us to turn to our neighbor and tell our story of 9/11. My neighbor was a woman visiting Old South for the first time, an artist, whose name I have unfortunately let slip from my mind. I shared my story of being in freshman history in room 210, Mrs. Gallagher opened the door because the small, quiet librarian was running through the halls saying "Turn on the TV! The twin towers have been hit! We're under attacke!" and I remember watching CNN with my history class, one girl whose uncle worked in the towers. I remember hearing a plane had targeted the pentagon and crashed. I remember the TV saying it was the end times. I remember lots of fear from all sides.
My neighbor said her husband was supposed to be flying into New York that morning but, for whatever reason, he didn't go. She said that she felt so sad her young children, and my generation, would have to grow up in the aftermath of this tragedy. Together, we let silent tears fall as we mourned all that was lost that day.
Then, Rev. Caldwell asked us to tell another story - what are we doing to make sure this doesn't happen again? In different ways, we both answered that we would love on the world, her with her ministry through art, and I with my ministry through the church. We both believe that peace is attainable and we are both putting parts of ourselves out into the world to try and make it a reality.
We took communion and she ducked out before the service was finished, but she's somewhere in Boston, painting pictures of hope, putting her love out there for the world to see, doing what she can to cultivate peace.
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