South Africa - A Spot of Reflection with your Tea (Part 4)

Hey Gang,

I realize this post has come a tad late compared to the others. I hope you enjoy. 

Reflecting on Reflecting

During the course of this summer I have had many opportunities to reflect on the immediate impact significant experiences have had on my views of ministry. I have spent time as a pastoral care official visiting families affected by aids and battling the effects of poverty. I have worked in townships delivering goods and services, trying to ease the uncertainty of future meals. I have served rural Zulu communities, assisting in running services in a language not my own. I have also celebrated the grace of God conveyed to me in the simple smile of a mother glad to have had us pray over her children, even in language she does not understand; in the gift of a handshake of fellow worshipers glad to have us in their midst on a Sunday morning; in the generosity of hosts graciously receiving us, welcoming us to experience a taste of their proud culture These experiences have been challenging yet formative. Reflecting on them in the rawness of the moment, often soon after my arrival back to the routine of my flats in Pietermaritzburg, I wrestled with the strong emotional impact of encountering poverty, injustice and despair in a tangible form. Through all these events and in so many ways I have done my best to process through these events openly and honestly. This reflection does not seek to look back upon those moments, as a way to capture past emotional valleys and peaks, but rather, seeks to reflect more holistically on the summer and the way in which I feel God is working in my life.

This altered vantage on reflection came through the gift of being allowed to attend classes at the Seth Mokitimi Methodist Seminary with my fellow brothers and sisters training for the ministry. The lectures I have been privy too are a component of the larger seminary initiative referred to as pastoral intensives. These represent three weeks of classes in which we are called as seminarians to listen and learn. Formation is the ultimate goal of these three weeks. Naturally, there is a steady rhythm I entered into while attending these sessions, things began to slow down and I felt more at ease relaxed. For the first time this summer I felt myself beginning to reflect on the big picture: my call, the call of those in South Africa and how these two calls fit together into the greater framework of God's mission to restore all of creation. I was blessed to have as one of my lecturers the Rev. Dr. Peter Storey who spoke to us about forming transforming congregations. The exact strategies, norms and experience rich tidbits will not be endless enumerated here. However, what I did find captivating was the sense of energy and passion directed to the church's mission. I felt convicted that God's mission is indeed serious business and we must be willingly to respectfully push past people who desire to resist it over giving up present comforts. 

I reflect on that point in the context of my summer as a whole and I realize the truth in the sentiment. I cannot make anymore excuses about why worship services must not include certain groups of mixed individuals because of style and preferences. I can no longer feel comfortable that different ethnic backgrounds have churches of their own to tend to them while I have a certain sect to reach. For that matter, I cannot focus solely on Sunday worship as the primary ministry of the church simultaneously ignoring the needs of the surrounding community. Coming to South Africa was the first step in a crucial journey of discovering what God is up to in the world. My initial findings indicate this includes much more than a front row reservations in our churches. God is out caring for the poor, destitute and oppressed. God is searching for marginalized to give them comfort and support. In order to be a faithful witness of the Gospel the notion must be dispelled that the serious business of the church happens only in the sanctuary. We must become aware that others around the world are hurting and alone begging for relief. Church's must be a hospital for the infirm not a last bastion against the lepers storming our gates. My eyes have been opened by entering into a context that is not my own and where I have no natural place. Without the distraction of comfort and ease of disconnected bliss, I am forced to face the hard realities I described above. I should say I am blessed to have my eyes opened anew to the realities stated above. Truly I have received a “second touch from Jesus” opening my eyes to the suffering of others. 

Going froward from this reflection I want to emphasis that these conclusions come not from one event but many just as we are called not to serve one specific group of individuals but many. The summation of my formation this summer revolves around a critical understanding of the multiple ways the divine initiative intersects with the everyday. God is a vibrant living creator desperately stretching to scoop the broken and downtrodden into His arms. Our context and cultures cannot hide us from the earnest calling of our Lord to serve. 

I also wanted to share I prayer with you that I developed during the course of planning a worship service with the seminarians here at Seth Mokitimi. I hope this may be of some reflective use to you in your personal or communal devotions.

To the God of the Bended Knee

Abba, Father, we come before thee,

Offering our thanksgiving to the God of the bended knee.

With a mighty chorus of praise and expectancy, we proclaim your holy name,

Your mercies and blessings cascade down upon us from the heavenly fount. 

God of the bended knee, we thank you for the opportunity to pray in community,

We thank you that as we bow our heads, joining in one prayer, our postures support one another in a mighty declaration of your love, that we find unity in a community responsive to your calling.

God of the bended knee, we thank you for this community, for the gift of life granted to every individual that worships here today, especially those who commemorate that miraculous day of giving, we cherish them Lord, our brothers and sisters who now kneel amongst us, we are this community only as long as they are here, we are this community because they are here, thank you for the gift of their  presence, talents and service.

God of the bended knee, we thank you that we are a united community granted a vision of service, that in our prone position, we are given your strength, that in our submission, we are liberated, that in our meekness, we have unrelenting courage, that in our posture of fragility, we are given renewed life

God of the bended knee, thank you for the gift of knowing what it means to be a servant.

God of the bended knee, we thank for the ability to serve in light of this vision, we thank you for the opportunity to lift our neighbors up as we submit ourselves below, we thank you for the opportunity to minister to broken hearts as our own willing break overflowing with compassion,  we thank you for our opportunity to help the handicapped and impaired who we see only as your beautiful creations, we thank you for the opportunity to see the deserted places at our tables as room for the outcast and the beggar. God of the bended knee, thank you for allowing our hearts to bend like our savior Jesus Christ.

Bless us oh Lord, keep our knees bent, and our vision focused on the work laid before us,

Amen

Until we blog again,

Jamison

South Africa - A Spot of Reflection with your Tea (Part 3)

 Hey Gang,

I just returned from a chilly stint in the Bulwer Circuit of the Methodist Church of South Africa. I stayed in the small rural village of Impendle serving over 35 small congregations as a circuit minister. Below is a reflection on my experiences.

Silent Shout

Interesting how the insight gained from one reflection sets the table for fresh experiences. Last time I recounted my struggles to accept the space of silence as a means to properly align my service. I spent a considerable time listening and watching without much hands on family fun ministry experience. This came to be a blessing as I realized that in my quiet posture God was speaking to me of what it takes to be Christian community. One must have a willingness to serve in any capacity without expectation or run the risk as I did to feel undervalued and misplaced. This is of course pride blurring the reality of God's grand design, yet, I recognize in the moment it can be a hard thing to grasp. I am thankful for that illumination in my life and renewed perspective on what it means to be called servant. So, just as I was settling into that role, of course I would find myself in the deep end of the Bulwer Circuit leading services and assisting with communion. Truly the Lord works in mysterious ways.

The transition was not a complete 180, however, with me at the forefront of revolutionary tent revivals or establishing state of the art ecclesial structures. The Bulwer Circuit is a rural Zulu community stretching for kilometers into the foothills of the Drakensberg Mountains. Essentially, my culture experience revolved around a predominately black community that spoke Zulu or Xhosa. English was not a guaranteed at any location and for most of my visitations the only language spoken was not my own. I resided for just over two weeks in the tiny village of Impendle, where the only white individuals in the area were my fellow Duke students. I represented less than 1/2% of the population. I cannot describe the sensation of walking by myself early in the morning to meet Reverend Victor, senior pastor on the circuit, and see no other white faces. I was not frightened or alarmed, fearing that my next skip over a dusty road pothole might be my last. I bring this to the forefront of conversation for the simple fact that this had never been the case before. I had never been a minority in any real sense of the word. I grew up in the United States where whites are still the majority, yet here, for the first time, I found myself the extreme outsider in a sea of normality. I encountered mothers walking their children to school and elderly women carrying logs on their heads back to their huts in order to stoke a fire for warmth all stopping to look at the tall white American in a preaching collar and jacket. I was asked many questions in Zulu, requiring me to politely indicate I did not speak the native tongue. All that was left were hearty handshakes and smiles, hospitality extended without words. 

The emotions I experienced due to a complete detachment form recognizable American cultural comforts feel to me like a reflection genesis point for understanding how apartheid affected South Africans. I say this delicately and carefully so as to not over sensationalize my experience. I encountered nothing close to the political and economical isolation forced on blacks by the ruling white regime. I was surrounded by warmth and greetings welcoming me into a society not my own. I speak of this as a genesis point because in many ways the experience does take some getting used too. I was in more than favorable circumstances and still found myself adrift in a foreign culture desperate to get my legs under for fear of being swept away. How much more the apartheid forced relocation must have affected so many South Africans. I imagine it to be a magnification of my small irritation to find the bathroom to entire communities desperate to hold onto cultural identities amid geographic relocation. As I walked the streets of Impendle, apartheid became less of a historical event to write term papers on in history class and become more a multifaceted reality affecting all senses. I still have much to learn and experience before I can claim to be close to understanding what South Africans endured during apartheid, but I take heart in the small revelation given to me by God in the clear morning air of Bulwer's rolling hills.

From all my experiences listed above the primary emotion that lingers after my time in Bulwer is hope that our societies may once again be reunited. This process depends on the place and circumstances. This process will be challenging and difficult. This process cannot be completed by human agency but will only find resolution in the direct involvement of a sovereign God. When I speak of hope, I speak of the hope found in the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ and the bleeding heart of our Savior desiring communities to reconcile, beating the weapons of hate into plowshares ready to harvest the fruit of the kingdom. I saw this in Pastor Victor who visited aging church members too feeble to make it for services, delivering communion and the gift of presence. I saw it in the eyes of shrunken wrinkled faces startled by the presence of white ministers, yet soundly appreciative of our presence. I offered many prayers in English and only two families could understand my words. Most we visited got nothing from eloquent prose or our seminarian tongues. The gratitude came from the simple fact that we entered their huts and broke bread with them. In essence, gratitude sprung from the formation of Christian community. 

The longer I spent in Impendle, the less awkward and out of place I felt. My initial feelings of discomfort and temporary isolation gave way to genuine love for my neighbors. Discomfort became joy and hesitation became renewed strength. The answer to hate will always be love. In order to love we must embrace our concurrent human condition and remember that Christian community must include all communities. Hate prevails when we fail to remember that the forms we pass by on the roadside unheeded, have beautiful souls yet undiscovered. I had no voice these last two weeks. I was not readily understand, but I was readily accepted. Truly such relationships cannot be far from the kingdom of God.

Until we blog again,

Jamison

South Africa - A Spot of Reflection with your Tea (Part 2)

Hey Gang,

This will be my last post for almost two weeks. Today I leave for the Bulwer District to work in a Methodist circuit. Clerical collars are required for this leg of the trip so I look forward to sharing photos of my South African Sunday best. Below is another reflection submitted as a component of my internship this summer. I reflect on the diverse face of ministry in light of a personal call.

A Call to Listen

Throughout the multitude of tasks and paperwork one is required to comply with on the road to Methodist ordination, there is always that poignant call to ministry that accompanies the candidate. This call often leads the individual to plow head first into church work, taking up worship planning and climbing the scaffolding into the pulpit. In essence, with a call comes a desire to preach and have one's spiritual voice heard. Why else would God have called us to this duty? What is a pastor without a steady routine of preaching? Such thoughts do considerable justice to my own inclinations concerning my role in the church. I, Jamison, have been called to be a leader, a teacher and a preacher. I feel called to parish ministry because I enjoy fostering relationships and inviting people into the glorious work of the kingdom in which God calls us all to take part. Even in my writing, I begin preach thinking about my desire to preach. Garnished here though, like a flawed ruby caught in the midday sun, is the slight twinkle of entitlement garbed in divine mandate. I have been called by God, so others should readily receive the fact that I have come to preach and be their pastor.

Call it typical American arrogance or the folly of youth, I arrived in South Africa expecting to do exactly what I had always done, embed myself in a church and take a pastoral role among South Africans. Yet, this did not occur. People were not lined up at the airport, banners waving, vuvuzelas blasting, greeting the young bright American preacher from the academic landscape of Duke University. OK, no parade, that is to be expected. As the weeks progressed however, opportunities never surfaced to participate in the liturgy let alone perform an exegesis on Luke. I found my time filled with home visitations in which only the native tongue Zulu was spoken, my contribution to the conversation was simply being present. I worked to shore up the facilities at Walk in the Light so that other American missionaries could pitch upon their impending arrival. Frustration began to mount, doesn't anyone see that our Duke team isn't being used properly? We all have spiritual gifts and callings already demonstrated in placements. We have earned the right to be an active part of ministry because we have already done the grunt work. I have already done the grunt work. 

 

I smile now about such ridiculous notions after a debriefing conversation with Chaplain Peter Grassow who listened to my description of struggling to understand how my call to ministry fits into the current context. He gave a simple yet profound response, “What makes you think you have anything to say worth listening to in South Africa?” This was not directed as a rebuttal of my concern, but intended as a springboard for further reflection. Let us be clear that much reflection ensued. Such moments, of simple truths finally voiced, have a profound way of soothing an irritation and regaining perspective. I have been in South Africa for a little under a month now. True, back in the States I had fulfilled many common pastoral duties. I grew up in the States though and have lived there all my life. By living in a place among those which I now feel called to minister, I had earned the right to speak as one of them. Why should I expect the same leeway with a people I have hardly known and who certainly have yet to get to know me. A pastor's office is grounded in community, but first, one must become a part of that community for that office to be recognized. 

 

God articulated this reality through my times of silent observation. I was reminded through others performing the role of pastor to the ailing and infirm that this calling is not an entitlement or privilege. This calling is God's grace made manifest in vocation. I have been called to my post by no merit or effort previously put forth. The title of pastor is not a rank for congregations to salute and stand at attention as I pass. Humility and respect for the origin of the call must be maintained at all times. God calls out in the night, “Whom shall I send?” I will go Lord, use me as you will, mold me as you will, for the ministry laid before me.

I look forward to recounting my exploits as a clergy fella in the foothills of the Drakensberg Mountains. Reports of snow have already come in, so it should be a good time.

Until we blog again,

Jamison 

South Africa - Heavy on the Light, Easy on the Darkness

Hey gang,

Another week has passed with a fair share of meaningful experiences. Over the last bit, approximately Wednesday to the following week Friday, our team has worked with an agency known as Walk in the Light located in the Haniville township near Pietermaritzburg. I noted some of the specifics of this agency in my previous post, but a majority of our work revolved around prepping the agency facilities to receive an incoming group of missionaries from the states, California co-eds to be exact in every detail. Now I know many of you out there are praying for me, so rest assured that all due respect was paid to the young college female missionaries that now occupy Walk in the Light's residential facilities. To avoid any confusion on this subject, for the remainder of my blog I intend to refer to them as my mission minded colleagues. In order for my mission minded colleagues to find suitable rest and accommodations, the staff supporting Walk in the Light were busily prepping new buildings and fixing up old structures in order to rearrange ministry personal and ensure that feather stuffed pillows equaled the number of heads in need. In other words, the agency made great haste to finish necessary renovations before my mission minded colleagues arrived.

How does our team fit into this equation? Well, we painted and scraped walls, moved furniture and possessions to different rooms for staff members, and became acquainted with sugar soap, a powerful mold fighting agent applied through liberal applications of muscle and sponging. The work we preformed was not all that glamorous. I must admit that I don't find myself waking every morn with a strong desire to scrub toilets and moldy paint jobs. Can this really be the ministry I was called to do this summer? Of course it is friends. Some may say that this type of ministry lacks a certain pizazz, spice, even sexiness, if that word can be used in the ministerial context. Yet, I say that having such a mindset should almost compel one to seek out such opportunities because ministry is dirty, grimy and the every day. Ministry does not revolve around our expectations or preferences. God does not call us to enter the church candy shop and select our favorite flavors. Without this realization, one might think that black licorice or the like is the only sweet available. How do we avoid such a gloomy conception of ministry as all work and no play? This is accomplished by realizing that ministry is about meeting the needs present not the needs we wish were present. If I had a choice, I might never allot my time for scrubbing and cleaning grime. If we examine the question closer though we see that what is being asked what do "I" will, and not the always appropriate, what does God will. Reflecting upon my time so far at Walk in the Light, I find this valuable lesson an invaluable component of my growth this summer. I have begun to the see the fruit of cultivating a simple desire to serve without expectation or reservation.

So, in summary for those of you reading and to Bruce, Walk in the Light's fearless director, I would not have traded these last few days for any other experience this summer. I will look back fondly on things learned as seeds for future ministry.

Jamison

South Africa - A Spot of Reflection with your Tea (Part 1)

Below is the reflection assignment I turned into my supervisor covering my thoughts from my first few weeks in South Africa


June 5, 2011

An Unmitigated Challenge for Reconciliation

When someone uses the word impoverished, often this conjures up the homeless or less fortunate. Imaginations shift to thinking of emaciated forms, laying in rubbish, holding out gaunt slender arms with tattered rags for clothing, begging for just enough to go on. In some strange way, as alarming as this image may be at first, comfort is found in the images predictability and recurrence. Poverty is best handled when kept to isolated street corners or appropriate venues of the mind. Often in the States, cities excel at hiding poverty in certain sections of town. Poverty will be dealt with, but that doesn't mean that we can't tidy up the place a bit before we do. Keeping poverty quarantined from the general masses allows for reconciliation and relief to progress at the comfort level of those providing the relief. Out of sight, out of mind, or something to that effect. One shouldn't have to get dirty in order to help. 

Yet, I think the obvious rebuttal to such convenient talk on disparity and economic disconnect becomes readily apparent to anyone willing to lend an ear; poverty is not a condition that can be systematically diminished through institutionalized financial rations that lack holistic relationship components set on empowering the soul of the individual. Poverty is not just an economic issue, but a human condition. The church must not fall under the dangerous assumption that soup kitchens can substitute for the nourishment that only the Gospel can provide. Both of these are required. 

While poverty may indeed be easier to escape in the States due to the heightened level of the common citizen's affluence, South Africa affords no such comfort. Walking the streets of Pietermaritzburg, one is constantly reminded of the financial decadence observed by the few and the monetary hardships burdening the majority. People attempt to hide themselves from this reality not in sections of town, a la the States, but in individual compounds surrounded by gates and bars. I mention this not out of ignorance of my own attachment to concrete structures of security, but instead, choose to highlight this as just another attempt to shield the conscious mind from thoughts of poverty. Having walked through the streets of the city, I noticed that across from luxury are shanty towns and within ear shot of exorbitant living are the cries and outstretched arms of those in need. My conclusions from such observations, the disparities between those that have and those that don't, and the willingness to rectify such economic hierarchical relationships, represents a struggle that spans continents. What I have realized within days of working in the townships and surrounding area, may of taken years back home. South Africa paints a clear picture through its urban and rural demographic landscape of things that must be changed out of regard for the readily identifiable nature of things. If one is going to go to church, and profess belief in a God who loves and cherishes all, then in South Africa, one will find conviction to reach out an able hand to assist the neighbor who lies in despair at your doorstep.

I point now to a powerful instance of the need to reach out into communities through my pastoral care visits carried out through the Masibumbane and Ethembeni HIV/Aids relief agencies in Mpophomeni. The drive up to the township portrays the ideal golf side community on your left with a certifiable shanty town on your right, picturesque scenery across from human misery. These two worlds are separated by a two lane highway. Over the course of a week, I worked with these organizations visiting clients stricken or affected by the Aids pandemic, and providing prayer, scripture and interactive devotions. I was exposed to families fearful of leaving behind young children as their parents succumb to the dreadful disease, infants already infected through birth and pantries worn bare under the weight of 80% unemployment. Comfort will not come to these families by way of a governmental check. Voiced were concerns of well being, family unity and security, all matters of the soul. 

I am convinced, now more than ever, that in order to address poverty , one must take material relief in one hand and the Gospel in the other. In this declaration, I suggest first and foremost, that one must go. Poverty has a real face and it is a beautiful human one. The face of a woman who gladly speaks of a powerful restoration in her health and family life declared with absolute certainty as God's work. The face of children praying, young faith like fertile soil freshly tilled with the seeds of the Spirit. A resounding sign of hope captured in the smile of a woman happy to eat and read from her bible in order to share a devotion. These encounters are possible only when the Church is willing to step into people homes and care for them, resisting the temptation to involve their efforts in distanced mail-order ministry. I can no longer escape the reality that when I return home, back to a society able to neatly keep poverty from encroaching on the everyday, that much work has to be done. Ministry does not occur with your eyes closed, but by looking at the world through the eyes of Jesus Christ. Only then can we say that we reach out to touch our neighbor, and only then, does the long road to reconciliation begin.

- Jamison

South Africa - A Walk to Remember

Wow. Well there you go folks. I knew I went into the spiritual recollection business with the right gal. A sermon in every post guaranteed free of charge. Thank you for that wonderful word Katherine.

Well it has been a bit since you last heard from me. This week I worked with two aids/community relief organizations with Ethembeni in Mpophomeni and Walk in the Light nestled within Haniville. Ethembeni is similar to Masibumbane in that both organizations seek to instill hope and resources in a community ripe with the despair of the aids pandemic. Ethembeni specializes in emergency medical relief through their four bed hospice unit located in the township. Patients are nursed back to health through a holistic medical program including pharmaceutical aid coupled with scheduled transportation to clinic appointments. Spritual care is also offered in daily prayer and scripture reading in Zulu by the in-house care team. My responsibilities lay with the home visit team performing weekly check ins with volunteers of the agency. Monday revolved around urban visits while Tuesday expanded visitation into the foothills surrounding the community with the rural homes. My experiences with these vists has led to complicated emotions: sadness, hopelessness, anxiety, shock, etc. Beneficial to those reading this entry are not detailed depictions of the many individuals I visited. Words can not do justice to their conditions or challenges. I will not insult them though an inept attempt to do the like. Rather, I seek to give a summary account of my exposure and the many things I continue to process through in its aftermath. As I said, I was considered a pastor among volunteers so scripture lessons and devotion direction was the name of the game. I read scripture, spoke in jumbled English and prayed over clients often with the laying hands through the help of a translator. I spoke of grace and mercy in one bedroom houses with sinking roofs and crumbling walls. I spoke of God's healing touch to a mother stricken with aids and her one month old baby in her arms also carrying the same terrible disease. I spoke of the joyful chorus captured in the poetry of the Psalms to families decimated by death and hunger. I spoke of light into some the darkest places of the human soul I have ever encountered. I looked into the maw of despair and felt my spiritual strength buckle beneath its ever present stare. Poverty is not a word but a human condition that affects the soul when drawn within. I spoke and felt almost nothing of what I said.

Yet, as my hope faded, the strength and conviction of those I sat with seemed to blossom. Clients would also seek to pray or offer testimonies. Through tears and uncertainty, they spoke of God's goodness and compassion. They spoke of their mighty Savior Jesus Christ who guided and sustained them day by day. Mpophomeni is one of the poorest, most economically destitute place I have ever visited, and still smiles abound on the faces of those I passed on the streets and those I visited in homes. As I sank into despair, they stood tall. Vibrant, strong and full of a hope in God's ability to radically transform their current condition. I do not mean to downplay the circumstances of their current condition. I seek to use that bleak reality as a juxtaposition for the wondrous fruit the Spirit is growing in this place. Where my words seemed as nothing more than idle jabber from an over-educated oaf, God's word, blowing forth like a mighty wind from scripture, breathed life into decay and raised anew that which was ash. Charismatic worship often receives a bad word on the denominational streets of our fair cities, but here, believing in God's active ability to restore that which was broken need only be observed through muffled gasps and awe. I stood on the mountain side overlooking the whole of the township and gazed across a vast landscape of oppression, recovery and healing. On that mountainside, I witnessed God's active hand sweeping across the valley, ushering in the good works of the kingdom here and yet to come.

Now on to day three. In most of my blog posts I have hesitated to give a day by day account of what transpires while I am serving, because frankly, I don't want the wondrous ministry done here to sound as routine as my bowel movements. Spontaneity is the spice of life. So let me give you a brief preview of what to expect in a subsequent blog post when I summarize my overall experience with Walk in the Light. Walk in the Light is a broad sweeping community outreach that seeks to generate sustainable jobs and employment with members of the Haniville township as well as minister and give support to families affected by HIV/Aids. Clinic runs and hospital visits are given regularly. Yes, yes you say this all sounds familiar, just like reaching for a soft absorbent patch of toilet paper. Hold on I say, for Walk in the Light has an amazing vision of building a community center in the shape of the southern cross, a notable constellation south of the equator, through a vibrant agriculture program that specializes in the development of rose geraniums. What are rose geraniums you ask? Well it is a cute little plant that can be processed down through an apparatus that Bruce, the current director of Walk in the Light, describes as a moon shine machine into a profitable extract used to make perfume without the cumbersome alcoholic aftermath. So ladies, and gents if your special someone is not around, go into your powder room and inspect that delightful fragrance you adorn yourself with everyday, and chance will have it often, that rose geranium will have been used in its creation. I have seen the fields and they smell delightful. I even keep a small sample of the plant in my breast pocket near my bible. So once again, agencies here find ways to become relevant and viable sources of relief in the surrounding townships.

A closing comment to Katherine, I hope your first day experiencing and living into the mighty call God has layed on your life goes off like Pentecost. I know your friends and family, both near and far, send out their prayers and wish they could be there to experince the mighty ministry God will carry out through your efforts this Sunday and many Sundays to come. We love you kid, and God bless.

Also, don't hesitate to share a few of your thoughts with the blog enthusiasts out there, I know we are all eager to jump in with our waders on.

Jamison

Wilmington, NC - Blooming Tulips and Waiting

I reckon it's about time the Presbyterian end of this outfit started putting in her two cents.  I don't claim to have quite the same way with words as my Methodist counterpart, but I will do my best to keep pace with that giant-sized stride. ;)

First things first, and as I promised Jamison I would do, we decided we should probably explain the title of our blog.  "Bloomin' Tulips" is a bit of word play, and our goofy attempt to combine our Methodist and Presbyterian traditions into a single idea or phrase.  The acronym "T.U.L.I.P." is often used to sum up Calvin's doctrines and theories about atonement; however, as a small disclaimer for myself and my denomination (in case any of our bloggers actually look these up--I know there are some of you nerds out there!), these are a rearticulation of Calvin's thoughts by those after him, and in my humble opinion, a rather fundamentalist articulation of them.  That being said, Bloomin' Tulips uses "Tulip" primarily in jest. ;)  Now, on to the significance of "Bloomin'".  While "Tulip" is a reference to the Reformed heritage, "Bloomin'" is our nod to the Methodist tradition, which heralds Holy Living and Christian perfection and sanctification.  Thus, a Tulip that is "blooming" is not only justified solely by God's grace (as a good Presbyterian might say!), but also continuing to participate in that grace, "blooming" onward on their path to sanctification and holiness (as a good Methodist might say!)  So there you have it.  Together, we are Bloomin' Tulips.  And we believe we are better for it.  Of course, after explaining this to my dad, he lovingly reminded me that "the grass withers and the flower [i.e., the bloomin' tulip] fades, but the word of God endures forever" (Isaiah 40:8).  Preach it, Dad.

While Jamison writes from distant shores and (at least for most of us) unexplored terrain, I write to you from Wilmington, NC, the sunny Carolina coastal town where I did most of my growing up.  I am working in my home congregation this summer--a sizable PC(USA) church downtown, right across the street from the high school I graduated from and where my mom still teaches AP Biology and Chemistry.  Oddly enough, in many ways I would feel more "at home" serving in South Africa.  I started hearing inklings of a call to ministry on mission experiences in college to Africa and Latin America.  This summer will be the first time that I have assumed a ministerial position working in a church that serves my own demographic.  Honestly, I don't think all that much will be different.  People are people, and at our core, we all hope and long for the same thing.  Above all, I know that we all long for a relationship with Jesus.  The only thing that changes is what things in our lives serve as obstacles and distractions from growing in relationship with Jesus and with our neighbors--and those things tend to vary depending on what life circumstance we find ourselves in.  All I know is that the most beautiful thing to witness in this life is God the Creator continuing to work and move in people's lives, in all kinds of situations, struggles, and events.  Getting to be an observer, a listener, a conversation partner with someone who is experiencing God's transformative presence in their lives is just about as good as it gets. And that being said, I couldn't be more thrilled (and floored!) that I am called to be a pastor.

At the same time, I couldn't be more terrified.  Beneath all my excitement for the strenuous Duke seminary classes to come to a close and the real "get your hands dirty" practical ministry to start this summer, is straight-up fear.  I have not wanted to admit to myself that a substantial part of me is just plain scared.  My internship at St. Andrews-Covenant Presbyterian officially starts this Sunday, June 5th, and thus this whole week I've had nothing to do but be a beach bum (I know, woe is me! lol) and wait.  I have tried so hard to be a good beach bum (and I even have a sun burn to prove it!)---but I cannot help my two-fold emotional state of joyful excitement, but also anxious fear.

Fear is really a funny thing, and because of my roller coaster of emotions this week, I've been thinking a lot about it.  It even worked its way into my portion of the liturgy for worship this Sunday.  In Job, the only true wisdom is "fear of the Lord" (Job 28:28).  Yet, 1 John claims that perfect love drives out all fear, because fear has to do with punishment (1 John 4:18).  Thanks be to God that we have a Savior who took the punishment for us, so that fear need not consume us any longer.  We need only "fear" the Lord and God's wisdom--a wisdom that is ultimately loving, ultimately compassionate, ultimately good--and thus, we really have nothing to fear at all... we "shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living" (Psalm 27:13).

I've been reading Psalm 27 about every day this week because it addresses fear head-on.  Not only that, but the heading in my bible reads "Triumphant Song of Confidence"--which let's face it--I think I need one of those right about now. ;)

"The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?  The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?" (27:1)
Well Lord, that's a really good point.  If you are the salvation and the stronghold, and I am not, then I really don't have much to worry about.  Please Lord, help me refocus and give this summer all to you.

"One thing I asked of the Lord, that will I seek after: to live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his temple." (27:4)
Yes God, the fact that I want to dwell and serve in your temple is about all I know right now!  I love this beautiful verse--it articulates what my soul longs for so perfectly--to dwell in God's house, and to behold God's beauty, and to inquire about God's mystery and majesty all my days!  Yes!!!

"Now my head is lifted up above my enemies all around me, and I will offer in his tent sacrifices with shouts of joy;  I will sing and make melody to the Lord." (27:6)
God, when I can't gather the strength or will to lift up my own head; when I feel ashamed and unworthy of this calling, unworthy to offer sacrifices in your holy tent, I feel you lifting up my chin with your outstretched hand, and telling me that I am your beloved; and before I know it, I'm singing.  I'm singing your praises.  It is you, Lord, who even gives me the ability to offer sacrifices to you in your very own temple, who gives me the very voice that praises you.  It is all you, God.  From Alpha to Omega, from beginning to end.  And I pray that you might come to me and take me over again; grant me the joy of singing in your temple once more, that my little life might be a testament to the wonder of who you are.

"I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.  Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!" (27:13-14)
God, it is your goodness alone that gives me strength, that fuels my feeble faith.  Help me wait for you.  Help me trust you.  Help me trust that when my mouth gets parched in front of 200 people on Sunday morning, that your words of truth will pour out from my mortal tongue.  May your goodness overwhelm my fear, so that all that is left is you.

Amen.