Service and Discernment

From the top of Dun-I, I could see the abbey and beyond it the grey Scottish sea. I breathed in the fog that had dampened my clothes and given the world a delightfully mystical quality. I exhaled and sent out a prayer of thanks for having found myself in such a place. Here I was working on the Scottish Isle of Iona as a volunteer children's worker at the Iona Community. For several years I had dreamt of going to work on the island, but the actual experience of living in an ecumenical community for three months proved to be more spirited and more life changing than I had any inkling for. I went to Scotland because I felt a tremendous pull to work with the issues of social justice, peace, and poverty. The Iona community was founded on taking up these matters, and I longed to work with others who also felt the corruption and brokenness of the world weighing on their hearts. Over the course of my stay, I met many ministers, seminarians, and lay people who had worked in Africa, or inner cities, or their hometowns with those who were suffering and repressed. Often at a meal I would find myself sitting across from an abbey guest with the most amazing story to tell of work done, setbacks endured, and prayers prayed. Somewhere in and among all these conversations and worship services for peace and justice the idea of one day studying theology myself softly crept up on me.

My experiences on Iona brought me into a world of religious inquiry coupled with open, creative spirituality. Conversations about how faith should inform our political and social lives kindled my spirit just as endless cups of tea warmed my hands. More than anything, I left Iona with a profound sense of community. I have often felt that I lacked a place in the world. I naively believed that I would never find a place where all were accepted and encouraged to do work informed by their faith and with all the strength God gave them. I was blessed to be proven wrong on a daily basis. This newfound sense of common purpose has given me freedom and confidence that up to then I lacked. It is with this sense of congenial resolve that I try to discern whether spending three years in seminary is part of my destiny.

In many ways I am surprised to find myself here. I have always insisted that I would never go to seminary. Somehow, though I often admired my minsters, I couldn't see myself standing in a pulpit every Sunday morning telling a congregation what that day's lectionary readings meant for their lives. Living in community this summer served to show me where I was lacking with helpful regularity. I have difficulty with listening to my own intuition while at the same time I fear having to confront others when it is necessary. Though I am ever embarking on quests for self discovery and improvement, I am not sure that I can muster up the qualities needed to lead a congregation. What I am sure of is that we live in a time of tremendous fear and upheaval. I live in a country that pays for expensive bombs and military equipment, while at the same time refusing to provide adequate services for the sick and needy among us. These sentiments were what inspired me in years past to pursue a career in Waldorf education. At Sunbridge College in New York, where I earned my MS Ed, I studied the spiritual philosophy of Rudolf Steiner and how it relates to the education of the whole human being: body, mind, and spirit. In becoming a teacher, I found a balm for the world's woes. By educating children in a way that respected them as spiritual human beings, I imagined I could find a sense of purpose and create a more just world. Nevertheless, this past September I found myself far from my classroom carrying little with me besides the feeling that my destiny lay somewhere outside of it.

"Buen Camino! Buen Camino!" I heard as several cyclists whizzed past me. "Buencamino," I replied with a wan smile and a voice too soft for them to hear. I gave my backpack a perfunctory adjustment and continued on my way; putting one foot in front of the other down a Spanish road headed to Santiago de Compostela. As I walked the 550 odd miles of the Camino pilgrimage this Fall, thoughts of the past and the future filled my mind and accompanied the even cadence of my sneakers' crunch, crunch on the gravel. I thought about St. Andrews Episcopal, my church in Denver, and how inspiring I found the growth and the activist nature of the congregation. I found myself telling a fellow pilgrim about being a volunteer at the St. Francis Center, and how meeting and speaking with homeless men face to face had fostered compassion and respect in me. I stopped in the evenings to practice centering prayer in dimly lit medieval churches, and wrap myself in the silent memory of prayers whispered for hundreds of years. The word "Camino" means "to make your way," and as I flew home I had a sense that I was still "making my way" towards something. I wasn't sure of much beyond a commitment to continuing to walk the path of peace and work towards empowering fellow travelers, who have been left by the wayside, to see Christ in themselves and each other. Even so, this is enough to compel me forward into a time of study out of which I hope to gain the insight to make my passions causes for which I can work. For whether one is on an island in Scotland, or in a classroom full of children, or walking across Spain, there is work to be done.

The Bible, Jesus, and Universal Healthcare

"In case some one of your brothers becomes poor among you in one of your cities, in your land that Jehovah your God is giving you, you must not harden your heart or be closefisted toward your poor brother. For you should generously open your hand to him and by all means lend him on pledge as much as he needs, which he is in want of... You should by all means give to him, and your heart should not be stingy in your giving to him, because on this account Jehovah your God will bless you in every deed of yours and in every undertaking of yours. For someone poor will never cease to be in the midst of the land. That is why I am commanding you, saying, 'You should generously open up your hand to your afflicted and poor brother in your land."
(Deuteronomy 15:7-11).
I would be surprised if any Christian, liberal or conservative, progressive or traditional, would deny that compassion for the poorest among us is one of the most central tenets of Christianity. How is it then, that one of the most church going nations in the world continues to elect leaders who push forward legislation that does everything but care for the poor? More specifically, how can anyone call themselves a Christian and not be in favor of healthcare for every citizen?
If we as Christians are trying to walk in Jesus’ footsteps, we cannot continue to elect leaders who preserve the status quo. We should be asking ourselves how we can use our votes to create a more just and loving society. A policy of universal healthcare would go far towards creating such a climate outside church sanctuary walls. The time has come to stop gripping our tax dollars with sweaty palms. As Christians, how can our tax dollars be better spent than on healthcare for all of our fellow citizens? If we as a country can afford to drop bombs on innocent women and children in far away lands, then we can afford to provide prenatal care for women and children in our own towns and cities. The time has come for us to open our eyes. We cannot "pass the peace" to the granny in the pew behind us and promote everything but peace with our actions. We say, "Peace be with you sister," knowing full well that she might be one of the millions of elderly Americans who cannot afford their medications. We are to honor our fathers and mothers, not leave them to be swallowed up by a corrupt system. We promote violence in our ignorance and inaction.

"One of the teachers of the law came and heard them debating. Noticing that Jesus had given them a good answer, he asked him, "Of all the commandments, which is the most important?" "The most important one," answered Jesus, "is this: 'Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.' The second is this: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no commandment greater than these."
Our highest commandment is to love God and love each other. Love. That is it. There is nothing else; nothing higher. This commandment should compel us to make political choices which demonstrate that love for every human being. That means, grannies, drug addicts, immigrants, and grocery store checkers. We are all beloved by God. This is not about big or small government, family values, or fiscal responsibility. All that is merely weightless rhetoric. Those of us who carry God’s universal love and compassion in our hearts have only one clear path: elect leaders who will see to it that no one is left to suffer unaided. Let us not forget that what we do to those in need we do to Christ himself. Let us not be swayed by this who would distract us with party politics in a thinly veiled attempt to serve the rich and the powerful. We are called to generously open up our hands to the afflicted and poor. Anything less is unacceptable.