A New Found Appreciation for the Universal Language

Seeing as how I am such a verbal person, I have always enjoyed words. I wish I knew how many I used a day. I’m sure it would be way above that of the average person. I began speaking in full sentences at an abnormally young age. When I was 12, I wrote poetry because I thought I was in love. I have never been afraid to speak in front of a crowd. In college, I chose speech communication as my major. When it comes to preaching, I’m not bad for a white girl... well, sometimes at least. I enjoy reading. My favorite professor earned his status because he is such a word smith. I get upset when people have broader vocabularies than me. I am attracted to men who have a way with words, like Donald Miller and you know who. I love to hear good sermons. Recently, I have acquired this passion for writing my thoughts and feelings on paper, or typing them into a computer. Quoting people is my new hobby. All of that to say, words are the primary vehicle through which I express myself. Who I am can best be discovered through these things called words.

I used to be very bothered by quiet people. I could not understand why they were not more like me in constantly verbalizing thoughts and feeling through words. This just goes to show what I always say to my junior high students, “One of our biggest problems is that, although we would never say it, we think everyone should be just like us.”

This particularly bothered me during my first few weeks at UBC. Worship leaders I encountered before had always preached sermonettes between songs. Some would even verbally give instructions to worshippers during in the middle of praise choruses. David Crowder was uniquely different. The only things he ever said were at the beginning of a service, and they were usually cheesy or funny. I asked Josh, “Why does this guy never talk?” This was indeed a mystery to me.

A few weeks back I went to a worship service led by a young man who would yell out to an audience of youth, “Consecrate yourselves before the Lord”, along with a stream of other very churchy phrases. I looked at the 7th graders thinking that there was no way in hell they knew what that could possibly mean. As a 25-year-old seminary student, I am not even sure that I understand it fully. The thought that kept reoccurring in my mind- “Why can’t this guy just shut up and stop inhibiting my worship with all these words? Boy, I miss the David Crowder Band.”

There are times and experiences for which words cannot adequately express that which one longs to communicate. I think Derrida talked about that, about how words are limited. When one fully engages oneself and becomes aware and sensitive of God’s all encompassing Holy presence, words never feel like enough. Today in my class on emerging worship, we talked about whether music conveys theology through words or if music itself can be theology. If theology is the vehicle through which we study God, then I definitely believe there is much we learn about him through music. The crazy thing is we might all be learning something completely different through the same song. Music stirs different things inside each of us. Though I am thankful for the doctrines that word in songs has taught us, I have become equally thankful for those times in which I can freely and uninhibitedly relate to my creator through notes, harmonies, and rhythms. While I may only and always be verbal, thank God for people like Dave, Hogan, B-wack, Jack, Mike, and Jason who expand our vocabulary of praise through the language of music.

Humbled, Blushing, Crying, and Barely Able to Breathe

It is both rare and interesting to be able to see yourself through someone else's eyes. My friend Sam Davidson gave me that opportunity last night, and the title of this post states the reaction I had to his words.

I had the privilege of meeting Sam and his wife Lynnette almost three years ago when we all worked M-Fuge in St. Louis, Mo. They had the good fortune of meeting each other there, and I was a mere eavesdropper in the theological conversation that cemented, at least in Sam's mind, that this was a wonderful match. Lynnette and I bonded instantly because, although our personalities are pretty different, we both had been traumatically affected in the best possible way by a book we just read. No. You don't have to guess. It was A New Kind of Christian. She also told me about her church, University Baptist in Waco, TX, and how this diverse group was seeking to live out a new and genuine way of following after Jesus. Little did I know how much this young woman and the community she loved so dearly would impact my life in the years to come.

Sam... Well that's a different story. If I've ever had a literal love/hate relationship with anyone in my life, it is Sam Davidson. He was relentless in teasing me for things like being from Mississippi, which was particularly funny considering most of his family is also from there. As much as we annoyed the crap out of each other, we really did like one another, and we still do. Sometimes I would get frustrated with him, and my friends would tell me not to listen to anything he said because "He's so far to the left." When somebody tells you that, it usually means one of two things: 1) The person is extremely sheltered. He or she may have only been exposed to one theological view point...ever. Your friend has yet to comprehend just how relative the terms "left", "right", "conservative" or "liberal" truly are. 2) Or even worse, this person may have heard other perspectives, but indoctrination has done it's destructive work and being open to any other view point besides your own or that of those who have indoctrinated you is almost a mortal sin. (Sorry to get off on my soap-box. Maybe that's a little harsh, but from where I'm sitting right now, that's how I see it. )

However, I did like Sam, regardless of where he stood on the what I now believe to be hokie "theological, political spectrum." It soon became obvious that sarcasm and constant ribbing were signs of true affection. My father died less than two months after leaving camp, and Pastor Sam was the first staffer I called. I quoted Sam in Daddy's eulogy. The one thing I remember more than any other from his sermons is how he said, "my favorite theologians are those that apply their theology"... the people who actually live out what they believe about God, life, and loving other people. This was true of my Dad, and after last night, I am reminded of how true it is of my friend Sam. We may still be very different, but years from now, I'll read what he wrote about me, and I'll still be encouraged and humbled. Sam has eloquently and precisely described the change that is continuing to occur in me, and I will forever be grateful.

I'll put the link here. I feel a bit like a braggart in doing so, but if you know me, love me, or seek to understand me at all, you should definitely read it. You may just find a little of yourself in Sam's words too.
http://www.samdavidson.net/articles.aspx

Prayer and the Art of Honesty

After a weekend of doing little or nothing, I'm exhausted! I did go to two Baylor athletic events- a girls' basketball game yesterday and a baseball game today. Now that seminary students get in free, I may become a true Baylor fan. After all, I missed out on cool Division I stuff in college.

Once again, Kyle's talk was amazing! He's doing a series on prayer which has been kickin' ass right and left. He read Matthew 6 from the Message which talks about how "the so-called prayer warriors are really prayer ignorant". In our worship classs last semester, a guest speaker said that the songs we sing on Sunday mornings are giving our children a praise vocabulary." He was advocating a variety of different styles, hymns, and choruses. I'll buy that. On the same note, I've definitely acquired a prayer vocabulary over the years. As Kyle said this morning, for those of us who grew up in church, prayers have often been staged and full of cliches. My favorite quote from this morning: "What if the real prayer warriors were the fumblers and bumblers. Their prayers may be low in zingers but high in substance."

If prayer really is a conversation, and I think we've established that it is, at times it can be the most natural thing in the world, and at other times, the most awkward. Maybe it's okay to be awkward as long as you're real. Funny it took me 25 years of growing up in church to hear that. Funny how it's something I've probably always known and yet was never encouraged or taught to emulate.

The Third Place and the Future

So I'm in America's favorite third place this afternoon. Otherwise known as Starbucks. Whatever will I do when I graduate and I'm unable to sip my white chocolate mocha while playing around on my free wireless internet? What a disgusting consumeristic American I am!

I just had a conversation with an acquaintance from seminary that really got me to thinking. When this guy graduates in May, he's going to move to Austin. I asked him what he was going to do and he said he had no clue. I looked puzzled and he explained that he's going to move there with a group of friends because, "Life is more about who you are with than what you do."

I really like that. I don't know if I could commit to moving wherever my friends are going yet, but I like the idea of being driven by relationships and not career goals. When ministry is your career, it seems to put a slightly different spin on where you go and why you go there. Should it? I don't know. That's a part of the whole "calling" conversation that I' still having with myself and those around me. How do we confuse calling with giftedness? Just because you are good at something, does that mean God is calling you to do it? It's another one of those things we try to formualize, and when I look at the Bible I don't see any kind of consistent formula for calling to ministry or to Christ for that matter.

Well, there's a tangent for ya. Anyways, does anybody want to move to some place cool and just live together and simply be? That sounds idealistic to me, but I think I could be persuaded.

Blaah

So I'm really in the mood to write tonight, but I have nothing to say that you really want or need to hear. It's one of those times that I hate almost more than any other. I want to do something and say something, but there's nothing in the world that I can think of that I would really love to do and even less I'd like to say. Blaah. That 's the only word I have for it.

Aaaah.....

I'm totally digging the Iron and Wine song, "Such Great Heights" which can be heard on the Garden State CD. Thank God for the musical likings of Zack Braff. That Cd has carried me through the past three very intense weeks.

As for "Such Great Heights", it makes me wish that there was a special someone in my life, just so I could hold his hand. Aaaah.... to dream.

Exegesis

It's 11:06 pm, and I am still in Jesse Jones Memorial Library, Baylor University, Waco, Texas, United States of America. I've been here for 10 hours the past two days. Doesn't sound like a lot, but for us non-academic folks, that much time in a library feels like eternity. It wouldn't be so bad if I hadn't been here every other day, besides Friday of last week working on the same damn thing. I'm not sure it will ever end.