Seeing Abraham and Sarah at Walmart

Kendall is an educator in the public schools, just finished seminary, and is an avid lover of books, nature, and long walks. She is easily distracted by thunderstorms and loves a good conversation over coffee.

It was an ordinary day. In fact, by my standards, I could call it “sub par” because I had to physically go in to Walmart. I have a love/hate relationship with Walmart—I always find new stuff that I want, and, you just never know what—or who—you will see in there. I often feel worse about the world in which I live after a trip to Walmart, so needless to say, I avoid it at all costs. It’s an interesting place.

On this particular day, I had to return something I’d purchased. The line for returns is always longer than I think it should be. I got in line clutching my bag behind an old couple. They’d been through a lot, I could tell: long, scraggly gray hair, missing teeth, wrinkles…I studied them for a moment, wondering about their story.

As the registers beeped around me and people pushed wayward carts through crowded aisles, something strange happened. Suddenly, this couple transformed into Abraham and Sarah, from Genesis. You know, the ones who left their homeland and wandered to a new land? The ones for whom God had promised a family as numerous as the stars in the sky? The ones through whom God would bless the entire earth? Yep. There they were, standing in front of me at Walmart.

My heart softened towards them. I thought about how out of place they looked and suddenly it all made sense. They were foreigners in a strange land. And the wrinkles? The gray hair? The missing teeth? Their unkempt appearance? Of course! What else would you expect for a couple who’d been through what they’d been through. Weary travelers, decades of infertility, heartbreak, meeting angels, almost losing their only son…

Their presence brought a smile to my face and a deep gratitude to my heart.

Sometimes, God breaks into our humdrum reality with visions and experiences that defy explanation. We are suddenly made aware of a reality that exists outside of our normal experiences. A sunset becomes alive with God’s Presence. A bird flying through the air captures our imagination. The breeze whispers God’s reassuring message of Hope. The waves of the ocean settle us. The thunderstorm reminds us of God’s power and goodness. Abraham and Sarah show up at Walmart.

Are we paying attention? Are we open to the possibilities? It requires us to listen, to watch, to not be on our phones at every dull moment. I can’t help but share Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s often-shared poem:

Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God,
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries,
And daub their natural faces unaware.

I will tell you, I did not expect God to break through in that moment in the returns line at Walmart. Most of the time, I am too annoyed and distracted to notice. Dallas Willard writes that “heaven is here and God is here, because God and his spiritual agents act here and are constantly available here”. Rather than God existing out there: outer space, the skies, a faraway kingdom, Willard insists that this God is “literally with us in surrounding space”!*

Are we ready to see? Are we ready to pay attention? Do we expect to see God show up in the returns line at Walmart? Or are we occupying our attention with our phones? {OUCH} Let’s pay attention today. Earth’s crammed with heaven!

*Quotes are from Dallas Willard’s book, The Divine Conspiracy: Rediscovering our Hidden Life in God

When Should you Stop Reading your Bible?

Kendall is an educator in the public schools, just finished seminary, and is an avid lover of books, nature, and long walks. She is easily distracted by thunderstorms and loves a good conversation over coffee.

I’ve written before that I identify as an Enneagram 6. For those of you who are not familiar with the Enneagram, 6’s find themselves smack dab in the middle of the head triad. (There is also a heart triad and a gut triad) These triads recognize the ways that different people tend to process the world and make decisions. As a six, I love to gather information by reading voraciously, watching documentaries (who needs RomComs when you can learn about the Bubonic Plague?), and also find great comfort living in my head. I think thoughts, plan out my life, plan out the lives of everyone around me, and generally consider each and every possible future circumstance so that I can avoid pain and suffering. As you can imagine, I am a delightful wife and mother.

Being in the head triad, I tend to focus on and process most information through thinking. Not feeling, not doing—thinking. This has its advantages, for sure! And as any triad does, it also has its challenges.

One of the challenges I have noticed in recent years is how my spiritual life can remain a thought exercise. For example, I started regularly reading my Bible when I received a new one that smelled like leather and had my name embossed on it in gold letters. I was an 8th grader. Thanks to amazing Sunday School teachers, camp leaders, and parents, I knew that an important piece of any Christian’s life was to immerse myself in Scripture. This is how we come to know God and Jesus and all the things. For decades now, literally decades—I have immersed myself in Scripture. And I love it! It’s part of the reason I decided to go to seminary—because of this love of Scripture.

One winter, however, I realized that I was overloading my head with information, leaving little room for any kind of other spiritual expression or experience. I decided to try music as a spiritual practice, as something I could feel and engage with my heart more than my head. And for that season, it was a wise choice! It opened up other ways to experience God’s presence for me than simply reading the Bible. (To be honest, I was also reading seminary work plus a book on Romans, so yeah….overload!)

This summer I have come to another point where I have needed something else. My “norm” is to sit in a chair by the window in the early mornings and enjoy the view while drinking coffee, reading, journaling, etc. My stack of books that I’m currently reading through in the mornings is reaching double digits! But I’m also experiencing a bit of a dry period spiritually. You know, not the vibrant, close experience I’ve had in the past. Turns out, I can’t think my way to experiencing the nearness of God.

Rather than sit inside for my morning time, I decided to move outside this past week. We have beautiful spaces to enjoy the early morning—why was I holed up inside? So I’ve been enjoying my coffee outside, listening to the birds, contemplating clouds, and pondering the noises of the early morning. The mourning dove’s coo is my favorite. Here’s what I’ve noticed: I have felt in my body a settling, an assurance, a nearness, a wonder—being outside. It is an embodied experience, one that can’t simply exist in my head. And my knowing God becomes richer as I sit in the middle of this glorious creation. Each one of my five senses comes alive as I experience the morning’s happenings. This is so much more expansive than simply reading!

But what about the Bible? Shouldn’t it hold all of the answers we need? While in seminary, we learned of Karl Barth who believed that Scripture is God’s Word only when God speaks through Scripture, or when we encounter God’s Spirit in scripture. It is not magical incantations. The verses do not hold power apart from the God who inspired humans to write, to wrestle, and to witness to God’s work in our world.

Further, I have worked with individuals in the past who struggle with their idea of God, with the expectation that they read the Bible, who are working through trauma related to church or spirituality. And, although Scripture is God-breathed and useful for teaching and instructing,…it can also be hard to experience the Goodness of God only through our heads. It can be hard to find God in the Scriptures when they’ve been used to abuse, to submit, to be quiet, to obey. These passages that are supposed to give life can also be excruciatingly painful.

I have advised some to pause their Scripture reading for a season and seek other ways of experiencing God’s Presence. CS Lewis makes a similar point in his book Miracles, and he quotes the Psalm, “Taste and See that the Lord is good,” as instruction go and experience God’s goodness in the world. More recently, Janyne McConnaughey writes about Trauma Informed Spiritual Practices and notes that “the paths to joy for those impacted by trauma seldom fit the images of traditional spiritual practices”.* If this resonates with you: if you are struggling to feel the nearness of God and are reading Scripture or doing other spiritual practices (serving at church, praying, engaging in corporate worship) and still feeling empty and dry—I’d encourage you to find other ways of engaging with our Good and Beautiful Creator.

So, back to my original question: When should we stop reading our Bible? Or maybe a better way to ask the question is, “are there times when other methods are more helpful?” My opinion is yes. At least for a season. Sometimes the words of Scripture can become dull, triggering (depending on your experiences), confusing, or downright offensive. I have experienced all of these! And there is a difference between something being offensive because we are in the wrong, and being offensive because of how it’s been erroneously taught to us. Tyler and I are all for wrestling with Scripture. We’re allowed to do that!

But sometimes the most helpful thing is to take a break, and experience the Spirit of God working in other ways. If the God who inspired our Scriptures is the same God who also created the world—the entire cosmos!—then we can expect that God is working through every growing tree, every cooing bird, every blowing wind, every building thunderstorm. God’s Spirit is in all. May we experience that more fully this week!

*The book I referenced above is Trauma in the Pews by Janyne McConnaughey. It is an excellent read for church members and church leaders alike.

Who's the Irrational One Now?

“Millions and millions of people pouring into our country right now, from prisons and from mental institutions, terrorists, and they’re taking over our country.”

Kendall is an educator in the public schools, just finished with seminary, and is an avid lover of books, nature, and long walks. She is easily distracted by thunderstorms and loves a good conversation over coffee.

This quote was included by our former President, Donald Trump, in his response to his trial last week. He was found guilty on 34 counts related to his hush money trial. It is no surprise to anyone that he found a way to avoid taking responsibility for his own moral failures and instead tried to blame anyone else instead.

It is not a sign of strength to blame everyone else except yourself. That is a sign of weakness. It is especially weak to find and blame the most vulnerable in a society as the source of your political woes.

I am finishing up an excellent book, The Ungrateful Refugee, by Dina Nayeri (her brother Daniel also wrote an incredible book, Everything Sad is Untrue). She writes about her experience as a refugee, coming to America as a child—and the profound effects that experience had on her and her family. She, now an adult, is working around the world to help those who are in the same situation.

Her stories are enlightening. But what struck me most about her book was the way many (most?) countries avoid taking responsibility for those who are in real trouble. She describes the horrific conditions that people live through as they wait approval from their new country—waits that turn from months into years—living in squalid conditions with little access to resources. She describes how these refugees are often described as irrational, dramatic—and how rarely their stories of escape are rarely believed.

Dina writes, “Nativist fury, not an exile’s pleas for rescue, is the irrational spectacle, the unearned reaction, in today’s refugee narrative.” She’s describing the reactions from those in charge—those in power. Their ‘nativist fury’—the lengths they go to avoid processing and allowing refugees a place to live, a chance to move on with their lives—is irrational. Not the other way around.

A few lines later, she throws this punch: “Meanwhile, the actual hysteria, the insidious nativist rhetoric shouted down from safe perches, doesn’t sound like a lie at all—it sounds clever, rational, calm.”

Truth be told, she is writing about her experiences—both as a refugee and one who advocates for refugees—as being primarily located in Europe, although her work takes her around the world.

But we don’t have to look far to see this “nativist fury” in our own country. It is fueled by fear—the fear of losing power. What else would Donald Trump, with all of his access to money, resources, people, etc. have to fear? The only thing he fears is losing power.

I was reading the book of James in the Bible this past week. James 1:27 has stuck out to me since I first read it as a teenager: “Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself from being polluted from the world.”

Orphans and widows aren’t all that special. I mean, they are. But, what they point to is a measuring stick of how “true” one’s religion actually is. Orphans and widows were the ones who were the most vulnerable in James’ day. Even in the Old Testament, God gave Moses many laws that defined how the community of Israel would be expected to relate to foreigners and those without familial ties:

• Cities of refuge were available to Israelites and foreigners in cases of accidental killing (Numbers 35:15).

• Foreigners were to be included in festivals and celebrations mandated in the Law (Deuteronomy 16:14; 26:11).

• Some of the tithes collected by the priests were to be used to not only feed them and their families, but also to help provide food for foreigners, widows, and orphans (Deuteronomy 14:28­­–29).

• Farmers were instructed to leave the gleanings of their fields for the poor and the foreigner (Leviticus 23:22).

• The command to care for the stranger was so embedded in the Law that it was used as the basis for how God’s people were to treat each other: Israelites were to treat their own poor as they would the stranger or the foreigner (Leviticus 25:35).*

You see, it was an expectation that Israel, and then the later Christian communities, would take care of those in their communities who were most vulnerable. Orphans and widows lacked some pretty serious protection and provision because of their lack of a father/husband. In a culture where your family connections are the single most influential key to your survival, orphans and widows were left with nothing—and it was for this reason that James teaches the new churches scattered throughout the world to care for them.

Like Paul’s instructions in 1 Corinthians 13, our fancy speeches, thoughtful blog posts, gifts of prophecy, powers of persuasion, wisdom and faith are all meaningless without love that looks like love. Religion that is pure means taking care of those in our communities who are most vulnerable. You may push back and say that we can’t run a country this way. While I don’t know enough to engage in that debate, I will say this: If we call ourselves Christ-followers, then we’d better pay attention to Jesus and his teachings. He was not motivated by fear, but by love. He did not elevate himself (use his status as God) in order to protect himself, create power for the Jews, or save his neck. He didn’t play by the political rules of his day, even though he could have. In fact, a couple decades after his death and Resurrection the Jewish nation was essentially sacked by the Romans and the center of their worship, Jerusalem, was destroyed. Jesus predicted it would happen, but did nothing to stop it.

He demonstrated the power of a Kingdom that was foreign to everyone in his day: Enemy-love, a non-violent response, choosing to point out those who were least in the community to demonstrate the Goodness of God’s Kingdom.

Trump, from his seat of power and wealth, may truly believe that those entering the United States from other countries have evil intent. But that doesn’t disclose the full truth, only his perverted bent on it. From where I sit, I see hard-working people who have given up everything for the chance (mostly for their children) to have a better life. I see families who share homes, work long hours, send their kids to school, find community, share resources, and endure tragedy. They’ve lost home, they’ve lost their sense of identity, their occupations, their expertise in their home country. No one does this unless they are in danger.

The people who truly pose a threat to our nation/democracy are those who have enough wealth and power to operate above the law, to shape policy to their own desires, and to manipulate the courts into justifying their (clearly immoral) actions. And this doesn’t look like the Jesus I read about in the New Testament. It looks more like those he most forcefully opposed.

*This list of examples was created by World Vision

**Books mentioned here were:

The Ungrateful Refugee by Dina Nayeri

Everything Sad Is Untrue by Daniel Nayeri

Sleep as a Spiritual Practice

“It was evening, it was morning—Day One.”

— Gen. 1:5, The Message

I am a good sleeper. 

Kendall is an educator in the public schools, just finished with seminary, and is an avid lover of books, nature, and long walks. She is easily distracted by thunderstorms and loves a good conversation over coffee.

I fall asleep easily, and generally have no trouble shutting down my brain and giving in to hours of sleep each night.  It is a gift that I don’t take for granted.

Not only am I a good sleeper, I am a very vivid dreamer.  I can almost always remember and recount several different dreams I have had.  And although occasionally they are bizarre and puzzling–most of the time, I can see exactly where a particular dream came from.  Our brains work overtime to file away and organize the experiences, thoughts, and emotions that we experienced during our waking hours.  It is a marvel of the human brain!  

For those of you who don’t sleep well, I am sorry.  Truly.  For the purpose of this post, will you pretend like you do?  Or journey along with me?

I have wanted to write about sleep for a long time, mostly because I am really intrigued by it.  Because, think of how utterly useless we are when we sleep!  We are lying unconscious, oblivious to anything and everything around us.  Necessarily, our senses shut down, and our body devotes all of its energy to repairing itself.  It’s fascinating to study the science behind why we need sleep and how sleep is beneficial.  Start with this article, if you’re curious!  Biologically, it is an absolute necessity. 

I read Tish Harrison Warren’s book The Liturgy of the Ordinary several years ago and her chapter on sleep (along with her chapter on brushing your teeth) has stuck with me ever since. In it, she frames the need for sleep as a recognition of our limits as humans.  While we sleep, “we are unable to defend ourselves, to keep ourselves safe, to master the world around us. Sleep exposes reality. We are frail and weak. We need a guide and a guard.” 

Ruth Haley Barton writes, “There is something deeply spiritual about honoring the limitations of our existence as human beings–physical bodies in a world of time and space.” She writes specifically about the Sabbath, and I think this carries into our sleep, too.   

In a world where we can light up our houses and pretend like night doesn’t exist, it takes practice and discipline to honor the limits of our bodies.  Our ancestors didn’t have the option to create day when it was night.  For most of human history–this has not been an issue.  The sun sets, it is dark.  We go to bed—what else could we do in the dark?  But in our day, we can turn on all the lights and push through and continue working or watching or scrolling and ignore one of the basic needs of our bodies and minds: Rest.

Recently, I was reading the Genesis account of creation, and noticed that, in verse 5 of chapter 1, after light was created, the author writes, “And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.”   

It struck me that, in this account, evening was the first part of the new day, and morning came after.  In our modern world, we order our days upon our waking and end it with going to sleep.  But for these ancient people, it may have been the other way around.  In fact, even today, for many practicing Jews around the world, their Sabbath starts on Friday evening at sundown and continues until sundown on Saturday.  Thus, the pattern of night, then morning, continues.  

It reminds me of how the ancient Israelites were called to give the firstfruits of their gardens and produce and animals to God.  Meaning, the first of what they harvested was given as an offering.  It was a way of saying, “I trust that God will provide what I need.”  

Will you join me on a thought experiment?

What would it look like to reorient (in our mind, at least) our day?  How might things change if we considered evening to be the beginning of each new day?  

Here are some things I’ve pondered:

If we flip our thinking and consider evening to be the first part of the day, we start our day by saying, “I will spend the first part of my day resting, trusting God to orchestrate that which I cannot.”  God is at work while we sleep.  In our bodies, healing that which needs repairing.  In our minds, bringing order to the chaos that each day brings.  

Spiritually, it makes sense that the God who created us, the God who ordained a 6-day work week, along with an entire day for Sabbath rest, would also have a reason for creating sleep.  One-third of our lives are spent sleeping.  For those obsessed with productivity–this feels wasteful.  But what we fail to realize is that resting for one third of our lives makes the other two-thirds possible.  By sleeping, we recognize our limits. By sleeping, we recognize that we are not ultimately in control of everything.  By sleeping, we willingly give ourselves over to this restorative process in which we experience a complete loss of control.  Maybe this is why some people struggle to sleep?

By reorienting our day to evening first, then morning, we proclaim the following truths:

• I am vulnerable and I have limits.  I need sleep to function, and I am fully unaware of what is happening around me as I sleep.  I willingly give myself over to this, trusting that God watches over me.

• Someone is at work while I am not. Sometimes I wake up in the early morning, gaze out at the pitch black world, and think, God is at work while I am asleep.  Think about all of the processes at work in our world that are not ordained and run by humans!  

• Waking and rising and putting forth energy and being productive are second to who I am, not my essence.  When we orient our day with morning first, it is easy to fall into the trap of thinking that “I am what I produce”.  At the end of the day, we evaluate ourselves based on how effective or productive we were.  We then fall into bed exhausted, wondering how we can do better or be better or fix it all tomorrow.  But starting our day with sleep honors both our bodies and our Creator.  It says, I am willing to slow down and give my body what it needs most.  I will honor my limits.  And to our Creator, it utters deep trust and reliance upon the way we were created.  I am loved and held by a God who holds the universe together as I sleep.

• I am rehearsing the truth that I will eventually die and then experience resurrection.  Reorienting our day to evening first highlights our place in a much larger story.  Sleep–this vulnerable, unconscious state that we succumb to each night–isn’t too far from death.  Both Jesus and Paul make a reference to death as “sleep”: Jesus, when talking about Lazarus in John 11:11, and Paul, in 1 Cor. 15:51. They are both merging the two metaphors together.  And waking with dawn’s first light replays the centuries-old story of Jesus who was the first fruits of all creation–who died, descended into the darkness for three days–and then was raised again to new life at dawn’s first light.  Our sleeping and waking rehearses this humbling and hopeful reality each day.  

Ultimately, we are in control of very little. Giving in to sleep each night reminds of this. Sleep can also become a spiritual discipline where we voice our trust in the God who does not sleep. If you join me in this thought experiment, I’d love to hear what you notice and observe.

*Could I offer a caveat?  Many people do not sleep well.  There are many reasons for this!  Medical, biological, hormonal, and situational.  If you are not a good sleeper, I am sorry.  I hope you do not feel shamed by this post.  

**Books mentioned were Tish Harrison Warren’s Liturgy of the Ordinary and Ruth Haley Barton’s Sacred Rhythms.  I highly recommend both books!

Where Words Fall Short...Pt. 1

Kendall is an educator in the public schools, is almost finished with seminary, and is an avid lover of books, nature, and long walks. She is easily distracted by thunderstorms and loves a good conversation over coffee.

As I sit in my yellow chair and gaze out my window, I notice the wind whipping the branches in the trees.

If you are literate (which I’m assuming you are), you probably have a picture forming in your mind as you read the words above.  It is likely based on your house, your window, or maybe the type of tree you have in your yard.  If you’ve been to my house, then you have a fairly accurate picture of what I am describing.  Otherwise, your brain formed a picture in your mind, based on the symbols that are on the screen.  These symbols represent ideas. This process is known as reading.  You read the words I wrote, and they formed a picture in your mind, based partially on what you know and have seen.  

This, in the education world, is known as the science of reading.  Experts in this field now know that for reading to take place, the brain has to activate four different areas to move from hearing or articulating a word, to making meaning and ultimately, recognizing visual patterns that associate a word (visual representation) with meaning and sound.  Sound confusing?  It is quite a process!

I bet you didn’t open this link to learn how we learn to read, did you?  Well, to be honest, that’s really not the point of this blog post, either.  But I think it will help us to make a connection.

First, a story.  One of the words that all three of my kids learned first was “dog”.  They heard us use the word even in utero.  Once they were born and could focus their eyes on an object, they began to associate the word (sound) “dog” with the physical animal itself.  They learned that it says “woof”. And every time we’d go for a walk, we’d see dogs.  It makes sense that “dog” was one of their first words.

Once they grew to be 4 or 5, they began to realize that the letters D O and G combined to represent this word.  They could write it, and therefore, communicate to us in print!  Also popular with preschoolers?  L O V E, M O M,  and D A D.  It’s so exciting to communicate in written form!  We call this written form “words”.  

If you take those same symbols “D O G” and reverse them, we get the word “G O D”.  Put it together, and we have “God”.  WHEW!  I bet your brain just did some heavy lifting there!  If you’re like me, seeing those symbols smushed together into one word also triggered some somatic responses.  My brain reads the symbols, it creates meaning, and then connects to other parts of my body.  Did you experience that, too?  

(Did your pulse quicken?  Did your stomach drop a bit?  Did you create a picture in your mind?  Did your heart rate speed up?)

These three innocuous letters, when put in a specific order, connect us to something much larger.  This word immediately connects us to a picture and feeling. 

Back to my first example: you have likely never been to my house.  You don’t know what yellow chair I’m talking about, nor where it sits in relation to my windows.  You don’t know where the trees are in my yard, what type they are, whether they still have leaves or are bare branches.  But your brain was able to create a picture based on your experiences and what you know.  Brains are good like that.

I’m guessing that when you read the word GOD, your brain did a similar thing.  Faster than you can even imagine, your brain recognized the words, created a picture in your mind, assigned meaning, and triggered a reaction in your body appropriate to that meaning.  It was much less threatening when I wrote DOG, wasn’t it?

Our brains create mental pictures based on what we read and hear. It’s inevitable.

I bet you have a mental picture of the word “GOD”, don’t you?  Who, or what, do you imagine when you read those letters?  An angry judge? A man floating on a cloud in the sky? Does your God look like the images of Greek or Roman gods you’ve read about or seen in movies? Does your GOD look like Morgan Freeman?

My point is not to correct the picture in your mind.  (My picture is wrong, too!)

If God is Spirit, that makes it even more challenging to visualize who God is, because we don’t even get to imagine a form.  God is so other to our experience that words can’t even contain God’s essence! The words that we form to represent the Creator of the Universe, the Light of the World, the Lover of our Souls, Ultimate Reality, and so on…fall short.  G O D, those three letters, can’t begin to contain the fullness of who God actually is.

Richard Rohr once wrote, “All mature spirituality in one sense or another is about letting go and unlearning.”

I wonder if this might be true as we consider our mental images of God.

Who we picture God to be isn’t the fullness of God.

Our mental images of God are at best only a tiny piece of God’s fullness.

Our words can’t possibly capture the character of a Being Who is Ultimate Reality.

But, words and pictures are what we have. God is love, although our pictures of love may be deficient. God is beautiful. A walk in the woods demonstrates the beauty of God, if we are awake to that. God is good. We can trust God because God is always faithful. But this isn’t simply a cognitive exercise. This forms as a result of decades of seeing God’s goodness and faithfulness and beginning to believe it.

Our mental images of God definitely fall short of Who God Is. Part of the process of unlearning is to peel away the parts of this image that are faulty. Our mental images make God to be too small. (It’s inevitable! Our human minds can’t comprehend the Beauty and Fullness of God.) Making space for a God who is beyond our understanding is '“letting go and unlearning”. Recognizing that the God of Universe can’t be contained in the letters G O D pushes us to confront our too small images of who God might be what God is capable of.

May we continue to unlearn that which makes God too small and be open to the mystery of a God who is far better than our words could ever capture.

Waiting with Open Hands

When I write the story of my life, it will take a whole chapter to recap the winding roads and life circumstances and decisions that brought me to a little Anglican church. Suffice it to say, that’s a whole story in itself. I consider myself a feral Anglican – I hate labels anyway, because to me to say “I’m an Anglican” implies that I align with all of Anglicanism, which I most emphatically do not. However, I love the people at my church and I appreciate the way we do Anglicanism in our local congregation.

Amy Bloyer is a fourth-year seminary student at North Park Theological Seminary. She is a bibliophile and enjoys running, traveling and frequenting local coffee shops.

I found the church during a major life crisis and for months showed up in their midst like an exposed nerve ending. I found open arms and acceptance where I feared to find rejection, and I’ll always be grateful for that. I’ve been attending this church for close to two years now, and I’ve found a measure of healing in the liturgy of the Book of Common Prayer. I grew up in a congregational setting that was deeply suspicious of historical Church traditions (although that particular congregation had its own unspoken traditions, rules, and liturgies), but I’ve come to appreciate what Church tradition offers us moderns – fellowship with believers of the ages, and time-tested patterns which are only rote if you turn your brain off. This is easy to do, of course, especially in this distractable age of technology that encourages us to flit from one thought to another at lightning speed.

“I’ve come to appreciate what Church tradition offers us moderns – fellowship with believers of the ages, and time-tested patterns which are only rote if you turn your brain off.”

In one of my seminary classes, we discussed how orthodox church traditions and denominations can be viewed as different streams which all flow into the same river of faith. This image has been helpful to me in considering different opinions on doctrines. It became particularly meaningful to me when I heard my priest describe the liturgy as a stream which we can enter – we can dip in and out. It’s carrying us along whether we realize it or not.

There are some awkward parts of the liturgy, like passing the peace. I don’t know why that’s so awkward for me, but every single week it’s an internal cringe. There are also the “bells and smells.” Yes, literal bell-ringing and incense-burning. So strange when I first started attending! One of the weirdest of all is going up to the front of the church with open hands to receive the bread during the Eucharist. (Other churches I’ve attended called this “Communion.”) I stand before the priest with open hands. He says, “This is the body of Christ, broken for you” and places the wafer in my hand. I don’t take it; it’s given to me.

It took me weeks before I was brave enough to walk forward for the Eucharist. (It took even longer before I felt comfortable enough to drink from the common cup.) For someone who always took communion in the pews (taking the bread and juice from a plate as it passed), it feels vulnerable to stand and walk in front of the church to the front and hold out my hands in supplication. As time has passed, though, it’s become a deeply meaningful moment for me each week. I go forward as a child, seeking from my Father what I cannot take – or have, or do – for myself. And each week, I receive that which I need.

This is a type of formation that can happen without our realizing it. I have grown used to the way the Anglicans serve the Eucharist. We grow used to many things, of course. In fact, I would go so far as to say, this type of formation is happening constantly in all our lives. We are all being conditioned to something all the time. Think about any repetitive behaviors in your life – both positive and negative – and consider how you got there.

• I have a friend who takes long walks every single day. She’s made this a habit for so long that it feels weird and uncomfortable if she misses her daily walk.

• Spending hours watching sports until we see all of life as a competition and other human beings as either friend or foe.

• Scrolling our phones mindlessly habituates us to anesthetize hard emotions. If we reach for our phones first thing in the morning, it can set the tone for our entire day or influence what we consider to be of primary importance.

• I know of a few relationships where the individuals have conflict around the same thing repetitively. They’ve been formed – they’ve built a pattern of behavior over time and now they feel stuck.

• The music we listen to on repeat forms our brains. Have you ever had song lyrics pop randomly into your head?

• Holiday traditions can also fall into this category. “Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without _______.” Whatever holiday tradition you put in the blank – you’ve been formed to expect that thing. What happens if it’s missing one year?

I’m sure you can think of other examples.

A few months ago, I was worrying over something to do with my children. These were aching worries – you know the type, where you agonize over things in your kids’ lives that really are outside your control. As I worried over it, the image of my hands held in supplication during the Eucharist came into my mind. It seemed to me in that moment that God was reminding me to hold my children loosely because if I grasp them tightly for myself, I will crush them. (Plus, let’s be honest, parents. We think we know what’s best but we don’t even have our own lives figured out, let alone theirs.)

Tyler mentioned this recently when he talked about dependence and humility as keys to recognizing and accepting the good things God desires for us.

This image of my hands during the Eucharist has come into my mind many times since then. When I was looking for a job – hands open, God has what I need. When I was worried over a relationship – hands open, I am not in control. When I am feeling blue over lost holiday traditions due to unforeseen circumstances – hold it loosely, don’t crush it, God gives that which we truly need.

It’s been a years-long process, and I have by no means arrived. But in those moments of doubt, anxiety, and worry, I remind myself over and over of the ways God has provided for me, how He loves me, and how He comforts me. I even find myself putting my hands in supplication in conversations with my friends sometimes. (If you see my hands open before me, you’ll know exactly what I’m referencing!)

Through the formation of how I partake of the Eucharist, I’m learning how to hold the things in life I can’t control and the doctrines in which I believe. In this season of Advent, when the waiting is hard and the darkness overwhelms, I hold out my hands. Believing in the God Who Sees Me to provide. Filled with hope for promises kept. Trusting that I will have all I need.