I am on week six of a 12 week program to learn how to run and I’ve been surprised to discover that not only will I NOT die from running (who knew!?) but, I actually really love it.

It has become part of my self-care and of my spiritual practice.  It has been reshaping the way I understand myself, my embodied reality, my limits  and my abilities.

I have never been particularly athletic and growing up with health issues meant that I couldn’t participate in a lot of team sports or activities.  It also meant that I would be teased about it when I did try to do things, a fact that my sensitive little soul reacted to by retreating.  I have since had quite a few gym memberships and even used them regularly but never felt comfortable in my body. I would avoid eye contact or slink away from the locker room as if my body’s presence in the temple of fitness was somehow shameful or obscene.

Last year around my birthday I got myself a bicycle.  I love riding my bike.  It allowed me to experience some of the joy of falling in love with movement, with simply going!  It was a feeling I had only really had with swimming which is like prayer itself to me.

Now this experiment in running is opening me up to all kinds of possibilities.  What if, in fact, I am a fit and active person and I just never knew it? What if physical activity is not something to be ashamed of but something to relish? What if it’s okay to delight in my body and its movement, no matter its size or speed?  What if running is a new and different way for me to experience the world around me? What if it teaches me new ways to pray? What if I even end up looking forward to it!?

One of the lessons I’m learning from my adventures in running is about pace.  Because, when I say running it’s about the movement, not about the speed.  You could dash past me with a walker.  I am not fast at all.  But I am still flying!  The awesome moment in running when you are in the air is still happening, it’s just happening super slow.  And it has taken me some time to be okay with being slow.  Fortunately this running program emphasizes being slow as necessary while learning this new skill.  At first I would end up speeding up, especially around people, not wanting to seem as slow as I am.  I didn’t want to be seen as somehow incompetent at this whole running thing. But the thing I learned, and this is a huge revelation, is that you have to PACE YOURSELF! I could go fast for a quick burst of energy but then I wouldn’t have the stamina to complete my running segments.  I would feel miserable and not enjoy the rest because I would feel like maybe running IS going to kill me after all.  But when I remember to listen to my own body and go at the pace my body dictates, I enjoy my run, I SMILE while I’m doing it, even when I’m a little out of breath, even when I’m getting tired, it feels good to be moving.  I can’t go at anyone else’s pace. I can’t let my fears dictate my pace. I can’t let what others might think set my pace. I can’t let the fact that someone is passing me and they are just walking set my pace. I can’t even let my frustration at not being able to go faster set my pace.  I know how much I can push myself and if I go further it’s not good.  I had never realized that.

In life I tend to go full throttle, all out, balls to the wall and then collapse.  I have a tendency to get right to the precarious edge of burn-out before remembering to prioritize self-care and reel myself back, at which point I’m naturally going to be tired and less effective.  I tend to overcommit or multitask in ways that dilute my energy.

Pacing.

Or, I get too caught up in perfectionism and I freeze—doing nothing can be a great alternative to messing up!

Pacing myself is now a new skill I can use.

Pacing myself tells me that I need to drop one class this semester because 5 classes and a conference paper and a publication deadline and two jobs might be too much for one semester.

Pacing myself tells me that I can’t always do all the things I want to do, go to all the events I want to go to, accept all the speaking engagements extended to me… I need to pace myself so that I can ultimately hit my goals and targets and ENJOY IT!

I want to enjoy my life and this moment, this space between classes, this breath is my life. I want to enjoy it and not endure it.  I want to enjoy it and not struggle to cram more minutes into every hour. I want to enjoy it and if things don’t get done because my pace is incompatible with my deadlines, I am willing to take that risk.  I want to learn to put self-care as a spiritual practice in a place of high priority.  I need to be healthy and whole in order to serve God with my life.  I need to love myself to love my neighbor.
Running is one way I am loving myself.  Running is one of the ways I pray.

So if you see me smiling like a fool, possibly mouthing the words to some obnoxious club song, and trotting along at my happy pace, would you please offer me a blessing as you go on your way? A smile will do.

This is an amazing journey.

My first semester was a difficult transition.  Settling into the identity of religious scholarship and leadership was not an easy transition for me.   I was still kicking and screaming and wrestling with the loss of power and identity that this process entails. I struggle with the responsibility, with the misconceptions, with the newness… I struggle with surrender!

I moved to a new place that I have found less culturally warm than I had wished and has often left me longing for a sense of community.  It is also a beautiful place.  I am lulled to sleep by the yipping and howling of the coyotes and the melodic hooting of the owls—a welcome change from the incessant noise of the freeway I’ve lived with elsewhere.  I have a wonderful little apartment and I have the chance to live alone for the first time in many years.  I have been blessed with gifts of furniture and housewares and have a home for me and my Romeow kitteh that is warm and welcoming, where friends join us for meals, fellowship, and study groups.

I dealt with some health issues that were frustrating and scary as I am still navigating new place, new relationships.  But, I found caring and compassionate professionals who have been an important asset and instruments of healing in my life.

I dealt with a major depressive episode and it has been one of the best things that could have happened to me.  I have been able to receive counseling and support services and have started doing some really important healing work with professionals I trust.  I am finally taking care of myself instead of focusing all my care outward.  It has been a blessing to be able to make space for my own healing and growth.

I experienced the loss of a relationship that was important to me and in which I had invested a great deal of care and attention.  I also experienced the loss of my church denomination as I came to realize that in order to fully embrace my call I would need to leave the United Methodist Church.

And yet, with all these challenges, I managed to have a great semester.  I earned As and A minuses in all my classes.  I submitted a few conference proposals, one of which was accepted.  I found a new denomination that has been wonderful in affirming, embracing, and nurturing my call and my need for full inclusion and acceptance.

I made some new friends I am looking forward to growing with as this journey continues.

This past semester was, in the words of a dear friend, ‘emotionally rich.’

I have learned more than I ever expected.  Some of it academic (ask me about the Hebrew Bible!) but mostly I learned a lot about myself: my radiance, my resilience, and my courage.  Most importantly I have come to the realization that I may never understand how truly expansive, encompassing, and amazing God’s love is.  Each time I think I have a grasp on it, each time I think I’m safe and steady, I realize that there’s more of God, more than I can ever hope to articulate, to express, or to understand.  I expect that my process of discernment and exploration will, God willing, last the rest of my life.  I pray that I may never be so complacent or arrogant as to think I have arrived, that I have the answers. I pray that I may be emboldened in my surrender, empowered in my openness to love, and blessed with the ability to share the magnificent grace, love, and power, the healing and the mercy I experience daily in my walk with God.

As I head into my second semester I feel like I’m ready to be stretched and surprised.  Bring it on!

Faith takes inquiry. Faith takes action.   Faith takes moments of straddling the gap between the certain and the unknown.

It is movement and process and dance.

Therefore, restoring my faith in people, in love, in relationships, is a process I must choose to actively take part in.

Some of my choices have not supported the growth of my faith in people, in my sacred worth, in the delicious possibility of love in my life.

Some of my choices have supported the narrative I am moving away from, a narrative of lack rather than abundance, a narrative of shame rather than celebration. I am making new choices.

Faith.

I choose to believe. I choose to welcome into my life safe people and experiences who will affirm me, who will bring love and light into my world, who will share in my delight and not dampen my fire. I choose to welcome God’s best for my life.

I choose to receive God’s blessings in my life and revel in them fearlessly. I will learn to dance new steps. I will learn to dream new dreams. I will renew my faith each morning. I will lean into my strength and reveal my tenderness.   I will cultivate surrender and wait with anticipation as God’s blessings bloom. I will not fear anticipation. I will not fear tender mercies. I will not fear hope.

San Pedro Graffiti

Unless General Conference of the United Methodist Church leads to radical inclusion and removal of the item in the book of disciplines that states that the practice of homosexuality is inconsistent with Christian teaching, I will be shopping for a new church come Summer.

My thought: I can auction myself up for the highest bidder. All donations to go to an LGBTQ ministry.

Great idea right?

I could raise some money for a cause and finally (FINALLY) feel valued and belonging to a church.

Maybe not the healthiest idea ever. Okay back to the discerning board.

In my liberation theology class we were discussing the roles needed in liberation theology.  Some declared themselves storytellers.  Another colleague sees herself as problematizer.  And of course we have the encouragers.  I decided we need artists.  God needs more than words, theology as the study of the nature of God (only one of the many paltry definitions) would require more than words in order to liberate.  It would require that God be verbed, it would require that God be danced and painted and sung.

Weary of words I pray in colors to a purpling God who Greens us all.

Our Orange who art in Heaven,

Aqua’d be thy name.  Thy kin-dom of rose and buttercup crimson and periwinkle come.

Thy magenta be done on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily blue.

Forgive ME my grays as I forgive those who white against me.

Lead me not into colorless temptation and deliver me from coloring within the lines

for thine is the yellow, the sage green, the cerulean,

for ever

Amen.

It is my enemy.  It is nowhere near as aggressive, violent, or dangerous as homophobia.  And yet.

Heteronormativity:

It means that I am constantly invisible.  Because we conflate gender expression and sexual orientation as a rule, as a feminine cisgendered woman I am not usually read as Queer.  Even those allies who espouse the cause from their very heterosexual localities, are often surprised to learn that I’m queer.  And they haven’t all learned to disguise their surprise upon the discovery.  They assume I’m one of them.  I’m not.  My defense of lgbtq equality is not theoretical.  It is not an intellectual exercise in equality.  It’s not because “if one of us ain’t free none of us is free” it’s because if I’m not free I’m not free. Subtle difference.  Even in progressive circles where we’re all on the same page politically, I am invisible unless I am wearing rainbows from head to toe, talk about my imaginary partner (even if it means I have to make her up for this purpose because being single means I’m even more invisible and even less safe), or explicitly come out in uncompromising language, I am still not recognized as gay.  I am persistently invisible.

And then…

When I am in the delicious queer spaces where I will be read as such, or even better seen as a femme, I am invisible as a Christian.  Clearly this fierce femme couldn’t possibly be part of that mess.  Clearly she wouldn’t be coreligionist with Westboro Baptists.  Clearly.

Being in seminary has made me more poignantly aware of the intersections of marginality I embody.

My borderlands are bleeding into each other as I struggle to be seen, to be heard, to be wholly holy.

I recently had a conversation with a person in a leadership role in my denomination who asked some poignant questions of me.

I was asked if I was evangelical.  I think my face may have revealed my confusion.

I think I managed to articulate something along the lines of our shared denominational imperative to share the gospel.

The term evangelism has been used in really damaging ways as a justification for Colonial efforts, as a rationale for holy wars, as an instrument of oppression against those who do not share our faith.   And it has come to mean less of a gentle loving sharing and more of a judgmental cramming.  So, well, I like to operationalize the definition before answering.

I was questioned as to my understanding of the Bible.  Again, a loaded questions that requires some clarification.  Bible based can mean a lot of things. In this case it meant exactly what I hoped it didn’t and we went down Biblical inerrancy road. A statement was made about preaching the Bible and just what it says, not adding interpretation.  Biblical literalism is another place I can’t really go.  I couldn’t really adequately respond to that in the context so I was happy to move on.

Then I was told that this person and their ministry are conservative.  I was asked about my own position.  I asked what was meant by that word because I find the labels are often pretty meaningless and serve only to create artificial divisions where none may exist.  Or they are reductionistic and miss the nuances of fully articulating our beliefs.

The answer illustrates my point.

I was told that as a conservative, faith was very important.

Okay.  I don’t identify as conservative but my faith is central to my life.  I am in SEMINARY.  Kinda a big deal. Next?

I was told that as a conservative, they believed in the power of prayer.  That prayer was important to the life of the community and as a way to grow faith.

Okay.  After this conversation I was headed to Kresge Chapel at Claremont School of Theology for a prayer group that some of my colleagues and I have started as a way to build community and share our faith.  I have been part of amazing prayer circles.  I have seen healing of body, mind, and spirit.  I have seen the gifts of the spirit rain down tangible on a group of faithful believers in loving prayer.  Prayer is essential to my faith.  Next?

I was told that as a conservative, stewardship is important.

I agree with that as well.  I do not identify as conservative but I am invested in stewardship not only of my own personal resources but of the resources we have been blessed with as a community and as a planet. Next?

No really.  Stewardship manifests itself as tithing which is a Biblical command to give monetary contributions.

I struggle with tithing sometimes.  I feel like we are called to give but I don’t think that always means money and I don’t believe it always means giving to the church.  I struggle with tithing both personally and theologically.  But more than that… Biblical literalism makes my brain itch.

I don’t struggle with Biblical inerrancy.  I can’t find a single possible imaginable way to believe in literal interpretations of the Bible.  I can’t leave my brain at the door when I enter a church.  I just can’t do it.  It’s an anthology.  Written by a bunch of different people.  Sometimes two sources are given within a single sentence.  Oh yeah, and the divisions are artificial.   And it’s a translation.  Of something written um a few centuries ago… Inerrant? Literal? How does that even make sense?? Texts don’t really exist outside of interpretation.  Literalism has been used to defend misogyny, slavery, warfare, and now homophobia…

I was questioned about my choice to come to Claremont School of Theology instead of the more conservative Fuller Theological Seminary.  I spoke of my interest in interreligious dialogue and what that means to me.  But, as conservatives I heard that they believe in salvation as a priority.  Would that be a problem?

Salvation only through Christ making all other spiritual paths irrelevant and wrong? Yeah, I have a problem with that.  We came back to evangelism and the importance of saving souls.  I, as a non-conservative, really don’t think that saving souls is MY job.  I kinda leave that to G-D.  

I was able to share that I am not conservative.  I am not socially conservative. I am not theologically conservative.  My home church is not conservative.  My pastor is not conservative.

My theology is not conservative.  My theology is one of liberation.  I believe in a liberating Christ.  A loving Christ.  My faith is central to my life.  It is part of my love for justice, my call is to share God’s love and not God’s condemnation.  And I love God, with all my heart, all my strength, and all my mind. (Luke 10:27)  I also believe in every human being’s sacred worth.  I also believe that I have an ethical, moral, and spiritual responsibility to work for justice.

After some shared prayer I left feeling blessed by the opportunity to have this exchange.  But I also felt sad for the loss of an opportunity.  I felt sad because it fits in with my questioning of my denomination.  And angry.  It makes me angry to behold the arrogance of assuming that only those with theologically and socially conservative views would be faithful.  It is so presumptuous to believe that prayer is somehow only the province of those who identify as conservative.  As if those of us on the left are somehow less faithful, somehow less Christian.  And it makes me angry that the face of Christianity most people see is the inerrant evangelizing side.

So, I walk away, walking humbly with my God and praying that God lead my steps and take me where I am needed, where I can be a blessing and where I can be authentic in ministry. The whole conservative thing.  Yeah, it’s a problem.  But no, it’s really not.   Except when it is.  Clear?

I am angry at my church.  Oh it’s been brewing for a while but I am angry at my church and I’m getting vocal about it.  I’ve tried it the nice Methodist way and I can’t sacrifice my authenticity any longer.  I promised myself two things when it came to my being a big ole homo Methodist:

1. That I would begin the process of candidacy for ordination.

2.  That I would not leave the church before General Conference in 2012.

That gives me some time to be an advocate in the best way I know how.  Not potlucks and measured discourse but holy, sanctified, righteous anger.  I will speak truth with love, because I love this church: I would not be hurt or angry if I didn’t love my church.  I want my church to measure up to its own stated intentions of inclusion, love, and justice.  But meanwhile, the fact is that my church is not stepping up.  My church is happy with committee meetings and potlucks.  My church is scared of splintering over the sexual orientation issue and in the meanwhile my church is colluding.  My church is driving away young people.  My church is not a safe space.  My church is participating in excluding people while other mainline protestant churches have become reconciling.  My church is acting out of fear and status quo.  I am not okay with that.  Individual congregations can be affirming and welcoming but as long as we are all part of a denomination (one of the few left) that systematically excludes lesbian, bisexual, gay, transgender, and queer folks from positions of leadership we are participating, and contributing to, a culture of exclusion.  My church is being harmful because if even ONE person walks out thinking that being gay is inconsistent with God’s truth and God’s love, that is ONE person too many.

I am ashamed to say I am a Methodist.  I am ashamed of my church and I’m not going to hide that any longer.  If we say the structure is not supporting what we know to be God’s will for the church then overturn the structure, splinter, split off or otherwise grow a set and step up.  Lukewarm is not good enough for God and it’s not good enough for me.

I won’t give up on my church without a fight.  It’s time to start fighting.

My prayer for the United Methodist Church is that we have the courage to take a close look at what we are becoming, what we have been, what we are today and look to see how we are reflecting God’s love back into the world and that we act to bring God’s church back into alignment with God’s will for God’s precious and much loved children.

Amen

I came to Christ from the margins.

I came to Christ with eager reluctance and bold hesitation.

I came to Christ against the odds having heard from sources near and far that: Christians are bigots.

Christianity is for idiots who can’t think for themselves.  Gay people are not welcome in God’s kingdom

Christians are boring.  Christians are hypocrites.  Christians supported wars, slavery, misogyny, homophobia, racism, religious oppression. Christians don’t ______ (Smoke, Drink, Dance, Wear make-up, Leave the house without makeup, Have sex out of wedlock, OR marry people of the same sex, Eat too much, laugh too loud, curse and a million other admonitions).  Facing a life of ascetic denial, abstinence, and legalism did not seem like “hav(ing) life abundantly” to me.  And still I came.

I came to Christ because I recognized Him.  I came to Christ because I heard the gentle whispers of a call long before I even knew what it was, because I knew that love is a sacred act, that righteous defiance is a sacred act, that working for justice is a sacred act, that prayer is walked and shared and lived.  I didn’t know the rituals of church-in-a-box.  But I knew Christ and I came to Him because I recognized my heart in Christ and I had to follow.

I came into leadership reluctantly and I continue to wrestle with my place in the church.  I had an experienced pastor who, having wrestled with angels of his own, would gently disregard my misgivings and put me in positions that challenged me and blessed me.

The first time I remember recognizing my call as a call, accepting my call and its sacred weight, was under expansive dusk streaked skies, with the reassuring murmur of the river singing in the background, my bare feet digging into the grass we sang that “we are standing on sacred ground” and so it was.  I took bread and broke it, a sacred and beautiful act reaching back across origins of our faith.  I took bread and gave praise for soil and toil, for wheat and grain, for breath to praise with and for the opportunity to commemorate the words of Jesus and share this holy meal.

Under open skies I held precious people in prayer and I confess that I was terrified.  As people stepped into my arms, stepped into my assurance that they were not alone, that they were never for one single second unloved, that they were worthy of prayer, I knew. I poured out everything I was in prayer with and for people and afterwards I crumbled under a tree, under the stars and I wept.  It has taken me close to a decade, many years in social justice work  and many confirmations of my call to get this far.  My road has had its twists and its turns and yet I come humbly, gently, boldly, and consciously to the  foot of the cross, to the point in my life’s journey and my faith’s journey where I know I cannot be lukewarm, I cannot have life and have it abundantly if I don’t serve my God of love.

I am called to be part of refreshing and renewal.  I am called to be a source of renewal for those who are tragically disconnected from spirituality because the lies being told under the name of Christianity have been louder than the voices of reason calling us to do church differently, do faith differently, interact, build, restore and create differently. I am joining those radically courageous voices of change as we work to ensure that we all have access to communities where we can be fully human and spiritually alive.  While I am called to preach and to teach, it is not only from the pulpit that sermons are shared, I am called to live my sermons by finding new ways to work for justice and for inclusion.  I am called to challenge and find creative and relevant ways to live God’s love and justice in community.  I am not always sure what this looks like which is a blessing and a challenge.    I hope to continue to grow into my calling and to expand into new ways of walking humbly with my God.

I am looking forward to the next month as I take time to heal, to rest, to connect, and to recenter.  I will be going to sacred ground, well, sand.  For years, most of my life really, I’ve gone to these beaches to find God, to find healing, to find myself.  Heartbreak, discouragement, hope, fear, joy, have all been brought to the water.  I have let the salt of my tears be washed away by the waves’ gentle lapping diving into the source of life.  I have kicked at the waves, I have taken swings at evasive fish working out my anger at life, cushioned and rocked by the arms of my loving mother, rocking away the rage, rocking away the fear.  I have floated peacefully embracing sun and wind, one with the world, one with my God.  I have celebrated milestones.  I have shared love and laughter, hours of stories, read great books, dreamed powerful dreams.   My heart sings with the murmur of the swaying palms.  I am whole.

There are so many places to find God.  The comforting ritual of a mass.  The lighting of a candle.  The push glide rhythm of a skateboard.  Sharing a beer with a loved one over a campfire.  A hike. A powerful song.  So many opportunities for divine encounters.  The sweetness of a strawberry.  The burst of color in the first blooms of spring.  Laughter shared with a friend.  A slow dance.  The brush of angel’s wings.

As my physical, financial, social, spiritual landscape changes, I am looking forward to discovering new ways of meeting God and new ways of sharing God.  But first “I’m gonna lay down my sword and shield, down by the OCEANside…”