the bus ride

I wrote this about five years ago now, when I was serving on my internship. When I wrote it, I imagined it looking like a bus on the way to church camp. Sometimes when I'm riding the bus with my youth to camp I remember this story and wonder if this is what it will actually be like.

The bus bumped along the dry, dirt road kicking up a billowy cloud behind it. The bus driver was an older woman with strong hands and kind eyes. She didn't say much as she drove that big yellow bus, but she had a quick and kind smile that made the passengers feel comfortable and at ease.

They sat nervously in their seats, silently eyeing the rest of the passengers who they did not know; trying to get some idea about the people they would be sharing this experience with. Some stared out the window, watching the scenery as it silently tumbled by. Others timidly started conversations with their neighbors, asking where they were from, and if they were nervous, too.

All of them had been expecting this trip. Some had known it was coming for quite some time. Others were surprised that it crept up on them as quickly as it did. None of them had ever been there before, so none of them knew quite what to expect. And this made them nervous.

The anxiety in the bus rose to a new level the minute the bus veered off of the main road and onto a smaller trail, passing through a wooden gateway that arched overhead. What little conversation there had been was now silenced as each passenger was straining to see out the window, to get some idea of what this place looked like; what kind of things they'd be able to do while they were here.

Light shone through the leaves of the trees, giving the air an ethereal golden-green glow. The bus trudged along this tree lined path for what seemed quite a while. The passengers were getting more nervous, sitting on the edge of the seats; craning their necks to get a view out of the windshield, to see if they could catch a glimpse of buildings or something that would let them know they were getting close.

And then suddenly the tree line opened up. The light, no longer blocked by trees and leaves, seemed so fresh and golden. There arose an excited murmuring on the bus. The passengers were excited to get off, to stretch their legs, and to see what it would be like outside. The bus driver slowly pulled the bus to a stop. She rose to her feet and turned to look at the group of nervous passengers. With a kind smile she opened the doors to the bus and said, "We're here!"

There was a mad rush for the door. The passengers quickly rushed down the aisle, down the steps and out into the warm sun. As they spilled out of the bus, the passengers were greeted by a group of welcomers that seemed even more excited and happy than they were. The greeters were smiling and waving, overflowing with enthusiasm and offers to help.

At first, the passengers were a little overwhelmed by this welcoming committee, this group of unfamiliar people who were so excited that they were finally there. The passengers hung back close to the bus. But the more they looked at this group of welcomers, the more comfortable they were becoming. Then, suddenly and without warning, one of the passengers shrieked, "GRANDPA!" she broke from the group of passengers and into the waiting arms of one of the greeters. Then another passenger yelled, "MOM!" and rushed forward into her loving embrace. And then the air was full of laughter and crying and yelling. People were rushing into the arms of their loved ones who they had not seen for some time. At first they had not recognized them in this place, there was something different about them. Something better.

Those who had been sick were now glowing with health. Those who had been broken were now completely whole. Those who had been distant were now wonderfully close. In the warmth of the sun, all past hurts were forgotten and there was only excitement and forgiveness and love.

And watching it all was the bus driver with the strong hands and the kind eyes. She stood on the ground outside of the bus, watching this wonderful homecoming, with a wise and gentle grin playing across her lips.

Were You There, or My Junior Choir Trauma

I'm not sure if I have shared this story on this blog before. And rather than search through the archived posts, I will just go ahead and share it again. That's my way, really. My friends tell me I'm a story repeater. Oh, well.

It was a number of years ago, about this time of year. I'm reminded of this story because I planning an upcoming service and one of the songs we are singing is "Were You There." It's an old familiar hymn. Most regular church goers have probably heard it more than a few times. Anyway, I was in grade school and I belonged to the junior choir. I loved to sing, although I was not the most confident in my abilities. I joined the junior choir because most of the kids in my grade that went to our church were in it, and it gave me the opportunity to sing.

For one church service, our director decided we were going to sing "Were You There," and she wanted soloists to sing a few of the verses. I'm not sure if she asked for volunteers and I raised my hand or if she asked me explicitly, but somehow I ended up with the third verse.

When we performed the song during the service, each soloist was to leave their place in the group and stand out front for their solo. When it came time for me, that meant I had to walk out from behind the entire group (I always have been one of the tallest...). So I made my way through the group and stood in front and began to sing.

"Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?
Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?

Oooh-ooooh-ooooh-oooh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they crucified m-"

And that's when I realized I was ending the third verse with a line from the first verse. I had messed up, made a huge mistake, in front of everyone! I should have calmly finished the verse, walked back to my spot and pretended like nothing had happened. But that is not what I did. Instead, I stopped singing. Then, I burst into tears and pushed my way to the back of the group.

Everyone was exceedingly gracious. They complimented my singing, and many people shared stories of how they had messed up while performing in front of a crowd. It made me feel much better about my mistake.

But to this day I cannot hear this song without flashing back to that day. I can see the church, the choir director standing in front of me, the peoples' faces in the pews. I remember the feeling in the pit of my stomach when I realized I had made the mistake, and the wave of embarrassment. All of these things add up to mean that this song is not my favorite. I don't think it's bad, but it's just not for me.

I also thank God that we are saved by grace and not on account of our ability to sing songs correctly.

Getting on my soapbox

You know what really bugs me? Well, I mean besides when the pizza guy takes too long to get to my house?

It's those stupid forwards that I get in my e-mail that share some religious story, often kind of sappy or sentimental, and then say something like "If you really believe in God/love Jesus/are a true Christian then you will forward this e-mail to all of your friends."

I don't like them at all. For a couple of reasons.

First, I don't like them because they are based on shame. They are shaming people into forwarding them. What they are telling people is if they don't send them on, then they must not really believe in God or love Jesus or be a Christian. As if their identity as a child of God is somehow dependent on clicking the "forward" link and sending that silly message on to others.

I think we have enough stuff in our lives telling us that we are not good enough, that we are somehow not living up to what we should be. We don't need some silly little chain letter putting its voice in the mix to heap more shame and guilt and "not good enoughs" on us.

And they're lying. Absolutely lying. Because our identity as children of God is in no way determined by our ability or willingness to send an e-mail. In fact, our identity as children of God is in no way determined by anything that we could do, have done, will do, might do or could ever do. It has already been determined by God through Jesus Christ. We are children of God because God loves us. Not because of our abilities or choices or circumstances.

Second, I don't like them because they have got it all wrong. They say that if you love Jesus/believe in God/are a true Christian then you should show it by forwarding that e-mail. I'm sorry, but there are TONS, no MILLIONS of better ways to do that. How about moving away from the computer and actually reaching out and helping someone. Share a smile. Do a good deed. Help a friend. Help a stranger. Serve in a soup kitchen. Volunteer at a food pantry. Shovel your neighbor's sidewalk. Mow their lawn. Donate your money to a worthy cause. I could keep going. The thing is, if we were to create a list of ways to prove that you believe in God/love Jesus/are a true Christian if forwarding an e-mail was even on it, it would most likely be near the bottom. Jesus told us that if we love him that we are to feed his sheep and that whatever we do to the least of these we do to him. Those who are hungry and poor and lonely and sick and broken-hearted and homeless and abused and addicted could probably care less if we sent a sappy little story to all of our friends. They would probably appreciate a friendly smile, a kind word and a helping hand a lot more.

And besides, if you DO forward that e-mail and then go on to share in some gossip, or ignore the needs of your neighbor, it gives people a much clearer idea of what is important to you, anyway.

back when i was a parent

I haven't blogged in a while. Not because I haven't had anything worth blogging about it's just that things happen, my life gets busy, I guess the blog sometimes gets pushed to the background. But the thing is, I usually like blogging when I actually sit down and do it. So that's why I keep coming back. Hopefully you do, too.

Today I opened a package from a ministry organization that has a child sponsorship program. They included a packet of cards with the pictures of the children and information about them. I don't currently sponsor a child through a program like that because I've heard stories such as not much of the money you send actually goes to the child, and that multiple people have pictures of the same child (although I guess that part doesn't matter, as long as money is going to the child I have a picture of, do I really care if it's mine or someone else's?).

But in college two of my best friends and I sponsored a child through a similar program. His name was Albeiro and he was from somewhere in South America. I want to say Colombia. Anyway, we took his picture with us everywhere. We'd seat belt him into the car with us and we'd goof around and talk to him like he was a real child.

One evening we decided to go on an outing to Perkins, a local 24 hour restaurant. Of course Albeiro came along with us AND he got his own seat in the booth (but we didn't ask for a booster). We got to eating and talking and having a good time and then we got up to leave. When we got back to our dorm, we realized Albeiro was not with us. We had left him at the restaurant!

My friend Peter called the restaurant and started to explain that we had left our child there, failing to mention to the woman that he was a 5x7 piece of paper. When the woman on the other end of the phone started to freak out, Peter realized what was happening and told her that Albeiro wasn't an actual child (at least the Albeiro in the restaurant). The woman, much relieved, said that they did, indeed, find Albeiro and would hold him until we got back to get him.

I'm not quite sure what happened to little Albeiro. As they do, our friendships changed and we no longer spent as much time together as we did. We graduated and moved on to other places and things. I know that I did not end up with custody of Albeiro, and I'm not sure which one my friends did. Who knows, maybe they still are sponsoring him and taking him for nice drives and out to eat...

Bound together and tightly woven

Today proved for me, once again, how our faith makes us a family.

My senior pastor has been very gracious with me these past few days, allowing me opportunity to grieve and to process my feelings. Today, before worship, he approached me and said that he was going to talk about the earthquake in Haiti, but he would not say anything publicly about Ben and Renee and Jon, that he would leave that for me to share with others as I saw fit.

As he finished talking about Haiti, he then asked if there were any more announcements. That was when I knew I needed to say something. I said I had something to share and then I told my congregation about my friends. I shared what I know and asked for prayers and then I sat down.

Afterward, many people shared their condolences with me. They said they had seen the story of Ben on the news and had been worrying and praying for him and his family. A few said that they remembered him from my ordination service when he, Jon, Renee and our friend Elly sang (I wish I knew how to get video off of the DVD and into a format that I can share online, it's a wonderful song made even more beautiful by my friends singing it). Almost everyone who spoke to me about this said that they were praying for me, as well, and if I needed anything to let them know.

This is what the Church is supposed to be, I thought. A family. People who care for one another, who bear one another's burdens, who reach out in times of grief and tragedy, who celebrate together in times of joy. A family of people, bound together and tightly woven with the love of God that is revealed to us in Christ Jesus, the love that we are called to share with others. The love that calls us, compels us, to help our brothers and sisters in Haiti and around the world who are suffering.

It also proved to me, again, how small and tightly woven this ELCA world is, too. A member of my congregation told me that her brother is a pastor and that he went to college with Judd, Ben's father. Another woman said that her daughter was college roomates with Liz, Jon Larson's sister. There is another family whose brother-in-law is a pastor near LaCrosse, Wisconsin and knows the Larsons that way. This shows how small and interconnected we truly are as Christians and as Lutherans.

And those are both things that I need right now. I need to know that I belong to a Family who cares, who is willing and able to reach out and care for those who are in our midst but who are also compelled to care for those in other places and countries who are in need of help. And I need to belong to a community that reaches beyond time and geography to be together. A community who, in the face of a world that can seem big and harsh, reminds me of how close and personal we really are as Children of God.

And Ben, you have reminded me of both of these things.

Godspeed, good friend.

A friend and fellow seminarian, Ben Larson, is presumed to have died in the Haiti earthquake. He was over there with his wife, Renee, and cousin, Jon. They are all good friends of mine and sang at my ordination service. I'm still struggling to accept this whole thing. It doesn't seem real.

The article from CNN is here.

It's hard to find the words in situations like this. So I turned to some that have already been written.

Why I Do Not Like Raccoons

This is an attempt at video blogging, or Vlogging. Let me know what you think!