Nearly two years after my last post, I'm resurrecting a blog that I originally only intended for sharing my experiences in Jordan and Morocco. Since then, a few things have happened. I spent a life-changing summer in Charlotte, wrapped up one last year at Davidson College, gardened in France, and began classes at Columbia Theological Seminary in Decatur, Georgia.
Anyway, I'm not writing to detail the events of the last 22 months, but to share experiences and reflections on the upcoming season of Lent. Last year, I made a resolution to give up fear. Why fear? Why not dessert or Facebook? Well, for one, middle school Julia did that a few times. I'm sure it's a fruitful spiritual discipline for some, but it mostly just made me hungry for cake.
Lent is a season of preparation, when we're invited to reflect on what keeps us from loving God and our neighbors with our whole selves. What keeps us from loving? Is it possible that the opposite of love is not hatred, but fear? After all, I haven't met many genuinely hateful individuals--though, tragically, recent news seems to be filled with them--but we're all afraid. We fear heights and snakes, those who are different from us and those who can break our hearts. We are afraid, and our fear keeps us from being vulnerable. But in order to love ourselves, others, and God, vulnerability is essential. Scary and uncomfortable, probably, but capable of creating the deep connection God desires for and with us.
So I tried giving up fear. How nice. What a perfect resolution for an idealist. My effort may have sparked some emotional awareness, but it was a challenge to sustain and measure, an outcome most anyone could have predicted.
This year, in an effort to anchor that lofty dream in concrete practice, I've resolved to do something every day that scares me or makes me uncomfortable. I'll only intentionally attempt one practice per day, but I hope that doing so will make me aware of other opportunities to choose fear, discomfort, vulnerability, and love. I'm making a list of practices that will stretch me spiritually, emotionally, physically, and mentally, and I welcome your suggestions! I expect that the conversations I have with others about fear will be at least as valuable as anything I personally do.
So here goes my first practice: I'm sharing my blog. Lent begins today, and publishing reflections on my fears makes me anxious, especially when they pertain to my faith. I'm both understanding of the assumptions people make about Christians and sensitive to way they might apply such assumptions to me. Since sharing my decision to attend seminary, I've received a range of reactions. Thankfully, most have been supportive, but others have wondered whether I fear the church's judgment (not really), whether I still drink beer (absolutely yes), and whether I've memorized the bible yet (ha!). For fear of these assumptions, I've tended to be selectively vocal about my faith. As I grow, I hope I can more boldly share my vision of God's just and loving world...a world that belongs to all people...a world in which the prisoners are released, the blind recover their sight, and the oppressed are liberated. Maybe this blog is practice to share that good news. Maybe it's a forum for 40 days of storytelling. Maybe I'll update it daily, or maybe less frequently. At this point, I can't say for certain how it will unfold, but I invite you to follow and reflect with me.
Anyway, I'm not writing to detail the events of the last 22 months, but to share experiences and reflections on the upcoming season of Lent. Last year, I made a resolution to give up fear. Why fear? Why not dessert or Facebook? Well, for one, middle school Julia did that a few times. I'm sure it's a fruitful spiritual discipline for some, but it mostly just made me hungry for cake.
Lent is a season of preparation, when we're invited to reflect on what keeps us from loving God and our neighbors with our whole selves. What keeps us from loving? Is it possible that the opposite of love is not hatred, but fear? After all, I haven't met many genuinely hateful individuals--though, tragically, recent news seems to be filled with them--but we're all afraid. We fear heights and snakes, those who are different from us and those who can break our hearts. We are afraid, and our fear keeps us from being vulnerable. But in order to love ourselves, others, and God, vulnerability is essential. Scary and uncomfortable, probably, but capable of creating the deep connection God desires for and with us.
So I tried giving up fear. How nice. What a perfect resolution for an idealist. My effort may have sparked some emotional awareness, but it was a challenge to sustain and measure, an outcome most anyone could have predicted.
This year, in an effort to anchor that lofty dream in concrete practice, I've resolved to do something every day that scares me or makes me uncomfortable. I'll only intentionally attempt one practice per day, but I hope that doing so will make me aware of other opportunities to choose fear, discomfort, vulnerability, and love. I'm making a list of practices that will stretch me spiritually, emotionally, physically, and mentally, and I welcome your suggestions! I expect that the conversations I have with others about fear will be at least as valuable as anything I personally do.
So here goes my first practice: I'm sharing my blog. Lent begins today, and publishing reflections on my fears makes me anxious, especially when they pertain to my faith. I'm both understanding of the assumptions people make about Christians and sensitive to way they might apply such assumptions to me. Since sharing my decision to attend seminary, I've received a range of reactions. Thankfully, most have been supportive, but others have wondered whether I fear the church's judgment (not really), whether I still drink beer (absolutely yes), and whether I've memorized the bible yet (ha!). For fear of these assumptions, I've tended to be selectively vocal about my faith. As I grow, I hope I can more boldly share my vision of God's just and loving world...a world that belongs to all people...a world in which the prisoners are released, the blind recover their sight, and the oppressed are liberated. Maybe this blog is practice to share that good news. Maybe it's a forum for 40 days of storytelling. Maybe I'll update it daily, or maybe less frequently. At this point, I can't say for certain how it will unfold, but I invite you to follow and reflect with me.
Prayer candles at the Rouen Cathedral in France, June 2014
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