Growing into the Space

Stock Photo: Not my plants!

One of the challenges of moving includes the downsizing of houseplants. (Which also means that my friends were gifted many houseplants prior to my move!) Upon arriving at my new home last year, I had a small selection of plants that had survived the journey westward. They were planted carefully, and given some time and extra care to adapt to their new environment.

That strategy succeeded, as this weekend I spent some time re-potting some of the plants, that were outgrowing their containers. Some were ready to be divided, as their roots were crowding their pots. Others simply were re-homed to a larger container with some fresh soil. Some are doing just fine as they are, and they didn’t need to go through any re-potting.

In unearthing the roots of one particularly enthusiastic grower, my mind recalled the adage “bloom where you’re planted” – always good advice, to engage with the environment you’re in, to the best of your ability. Putting down roots is wonderful, and being given the space and encouragement to grow stronger and more vibrant is exciting!

This little plant made me consider that had it been ignored, its growth would have stagnated. So, a larger pot should allow it to continue to bloom – and thrive. It’s not that it needed a change of venue, for it seems to quite enjoy the light and warmth it gets in the window – it just needed an amendment of circumstances.

Too often, we get accustomed to one way of being, and we can get stuck there – the lack of growth isn’t noted as a problem. Our spiritual journeys, our prayer lives, our community involvement: we are designed to do more than just survive as we are – we are encouraged to thrive.

Perhaps we too might consider a spiritual re-potting – of ourselves and our faith communities. While we can survive well as we are, I cherish the hope of spiritual growth with an increased opportunity to grow myself, and to be an encourager in allowing otherrs to thrive in their space.

The Light Seeps Through

When I was attending the UNCSW last month, I found myself once again in the chapel on a daily basis. The chapel there has a long history of being safe space for people of faith to grapple with the call for justice and equality, as we are faced with some of the nuanced and intersectional challenges of the world.

The chapel is a place of healing; as one would wish for any space that is marked as holy ground. (One could easily argue that all ground is holy, it is our refusal to acknowledge its holiness that creates problems. But that’s for another blog reflection.)

This year, we had one person identify a sense of belonging in the chapel, that they have felt decreasing in their home faith community.
Another found ongoing healing in the courage and encouragement to tell their story, and have it held in trust by those listening.
Someone else revealed deeply rooted hurts, and in sharing that truth felt ongoing healing to be renewed and refreshed. They spoke from scars, not wounds.
One sang of the power of God’s love to transcend earthly challenges and setbacks.
One unknowingly relinquished justified anger towards an abuser.

Undoubtedly, many other healings happened: the chapel is a sacred space.
Healing seeps in; like light through the stained glass window. Amorphous, evolving, uncontrollable, beautiful.
And undeniably holy.
It is a force one hopes that everyone who seeks healing can find; regardless of location or circumstance.

1Jn 1.7 if we walk in the light, as He is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us

On Deck Chairs and Churches

I had a grand conversation this week with a friend, about deck chairs.

Yes, the proverbial ones, the ones that get re-arranged whilst the boat is sinking… and the people that do that.

It’s an amazing thing, with good friends, when you can unpack and parse out multiple meanings and implications of overused adages, in ways that can shed light on possible applications.

With the deck chairs, we talked about how the surface level concept is that some folks end up in activities, that ultimately are useless. So we started pondering the why.

We considered that perhaps some folks rearrange those chairs because they don’t actually realise, or simply can’t acknowledge, the bigger picture of change.

Some do it as it’s all they know how to do, and they can’t imagine any other ways of doing things.

Others may find comfort or solace in the repetitive patterns – even if they realise the futility.

Some chair re-arrangers, despite evidence to the contrary, actually believe that their rearranging behaviours are addressing the root problem.

Perhaps others engage in the activity knowing the inevitable outcome, but with a need to present a calm exterior – for their own benefit, or for the other folks in the chaos.

And then, there’s the folks who are just lounging on said chairs, ignoring (willfully or otherwise) the impending outcome.

That discussion led to some interesting tangents, as we started discussing ideas and experiences that we’ve had, where sometimes we’ve been those people.

And, as people who work with people, we identified that we can so often see other folks in those chair-rearranging activities; and how we do our best to help them find healthier, more productive ways to expend their energy.

The conversation with my friend left me pondering. Our recent times have highlighted the need for change in many of our institutions – churches included. While every congregation and community will have its own contextual experience, the entirety of the church of God is changing – evolving – adapting. Which means that we need to change along with it. Elsewise, sitting in the ‘comfortable pew’ will be akin to lounging on the deck chair.

What great privilege we have, then, to recognise the role and responsibility we have to focus our energy on what matters – the boat – rather than getting stuck thinking about deck chairs. It will take courage, conviction, hard work, and some pain is inevitable; it will take faith, too – but I believe the church is on course to a bright future, where the glory of God is of a much higher priority than the positions of the chairs.

 

Locked in the Jam Jar

I keep a very small jar in my office.

It came to me from a friend before Christmas – her advent calendar was one with tiny jams, and she was sharing of her abundance with our lunch group. The glass jar has a lid that fits, and could easily be reused for any number of purposes.

Mine sits empty – for it is full of meaning! (I am a visual person.)

I have put forgiven negativity in that jar – and screwed the lid tightly on.

When something against me has been dealt with, and I know I have forgiven, it goes (metaphorically) in the jar. It helps me to be reminded of the scope of the comment or action; in the grand scheme of life, it’s no longer an overwhelming reality. (If it is a life-altering thing, then it’s not ready for the jar yet, and I employ alternative methods for addressing it.)

It’s important for these issues to be remembered, however; for it means that I have learned the lesson from the experience, and that I will change patterns of behaviour in future to not fall into the same patterns. It also reminds me that I may need to revisit the lesson from the past, and by keeping it accessible (though not overpowering) it can be reconsidered.

Woundedness happens; hurts are felt; and this does not diminish them, but instead gives them a place when they are fully ready to be part of the past. Like a scar shows the healing of a past wound, without denying it happened; we each carry our pasts with us. How we choose to engage with them denotes how we embrace the present.

And so: I have a jar. A small, important, sealed jar, in the corner of the desk. Where such life lessons belong.

Theological Boxes

This week I received a shipment from an online order. I was expecting a small box or bag; I received a much larger box than expected! I started wondering if I had misread the dimensions in the online shopping, or perhaps ordered multiples of the object, or...?

After hastily opening the box, I saw that the order was correct. I also noted that the majority of the space was filled with those plastic bags, whose entire purpose is to cushion items in boxes. I remain disappointed that our society has developed an entirely new product designed to be empty air... not a cushioning bubble wrap or protective peanuts, or even crumpled paper. My disappointment grew as I noted that several of these pillow bags were broken from the pressure forced upon them in the delivery.

While I appreciate the benefit of limiting the number of box sizes at the warehouses that ship these products, it made me wonder about the acceptance of the emptiness, the void, the vast space, needing to be filled with more empty space, in order to conform to some arbitrary standards of convenience.

I reflect that sometimes our theology can be like that: a little bit of substance, and a bunch of extra space, all fitted into someone else’s standard size. What we use to fill up that requisite space may be equally unsubstantial; or even worse: it’s forced to be filler, to the point of wasting other resources.

So how do we then, respond to our theological boxes?

Our first reflection is of course, to do a careful and prayerful assessment of ourselves. This is not easy work, it is a process of discernment with other folks who can guide our soul's paths and hold up the mirror for us to gaze into.

When we find the empty spaces, we can be challenged to consider how and why they are empty. Have we forgotten to include something? Has our theology changed shape as we grew and matured, and thus may not fit the way it used to?

And once we have this assessment, we ponder what action we might take: do we consider changing the size? Shifting away from the norm of box size—or someone else’s theological constructs—may not be easy, but it’s one way to reduce the useless filler.

Maybe we don’t even want to be IN a box (I’m a big fan of outside-the-box thinking)! Maybe our shape is a sphere, or tube, or some other form.

Perhaps our response is instead to change the content of the box. We might increase our theological substance in such a way to decrease the necessity for filler.

Alternatively, we can choose what filler we might use—re-use something already existing, find something that can then be of future benefit, maybe for ourselves or for others.

Whatever we do, I hope that we can recognise in our lives that God has priority status; that God is the purpose of the theological box, not something tiny that’s lost in the corner. I hope we can adjust our own theology in such ways that we know it doesn’t need to be limited by society’s accepted norms, or stuffed with arbitrary useless filler. I hope we can reject the complacency that accepts a void to be filled unproductively.

May we know that the liberating mercy of God ensures that we are not bound by whatever framework the world would assign to us, but invites us to live our faith such that no filler is needed.

Inflated

A companion on my spiritual journey asked me to come up with an analogy for ministry. I had several; but one that we dove deeper into went like this:

Ministry is like air in a tire. (simple, but easy to understand!)

The air in our tires is something that is necessary. Without air in our tires, we would cause damage to the rims, possibly other parts of the vehicle (car, bike, whatever). And so we need to pay attention to the air in our tires.

Most days, everything is fine. Nothing needs to be done - but a quick glance is a good thing.

But sometimes, we start to notice the air is getting a bit low. We can get by, it's just a little low, but if we don’t do something we might get into trouble. And there's an easy remedy, that we can attend to ourselves. 

Sometimes we notice the air is very low—and that means there’s imminent challenges and potential damages unless we take action fast.

Sometimes a tire can be too inflated, causing the tire to stretch in unhealthy and unhelpful ways—a different type of damage.

Sometimes, a sharp obstacle or pothole can cause a tire to just blow out unexpectedly - certainly something we need help with!

To be sure, a slow leak is more common, and more fixable, but you never know what is on the road ahead, and you can’t always avoid hazards, and who knows what inner, unseen stresses may be causing some weakness. Beware the hidden potholes!

A flat tire is unhelpful for the journey.

A flat ministry is also unhelpful for the journey.

Ministry is like the air in the tires—it needs to be checked on a regular basis. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it needs a bit of a top up, sometimes it needs some immediate attention to prevent irreparable damage, sometimes damage can happen when we least expect it. Sometimes we can address concerns on our own, sometimes we benefit from involving others. 

But the air in the tires, of our ministry, should always be checked as part of the journey.

May our ministry be examined and maintained like our tires are, and repaired when necessary, to ensure that the journey goes as smoothly as possible.

What is your analogy for ministry?

Cloud Bouncing

I am a word-nerd. I like playing with words, appreciating their history and etymology, their evolution, and their use. So often we use words without due consideration – not out of malice, but because they are culturally acceptable, or we do not understand the implications.

One such example is the word “triggered” – it refers to an emotional response, usually negative, caused by a particular action, process, or situation. It comes from the root of a mechanism being activated, usually in a violent way – a gun firing, or a siren sounding.

When used to address legitimate trauma response, identifying a trigger can help address healing. However, the use of the word has become so ubiquitous that it has lost its meaning – I overheard a conversation this week where a woman complained that someone ordering a latte with oat milk was “triggering” to her. (While I personally don’t enjoy oat milk, I can’t imagine it would cause trauma.)

Chatting with a colleague (who also heard the oat milk lament), we decided that we preferred the term “agitated” – something which can arouse concern, or disturb. I noted that the imagery evoked in me the imagery of my washing machine – whose central mechanism (yes, I have a top-loader) is called an agitator. It stirs up, but with the intention of cleansing. Again, our goal is to healing and healthy communication.

My friend and I then spent some time being playful with words – noting that we are both intentional about not using expressions that can cause hurt, or are rooted in systematic oppression or racism (and our vernacular certainly has a lot of those!)

We were just about done when she said “I think we’ve fully mined that resource!”… which caused me to question that expression; with its colonial roots in taking whatever we feel like. As an eco-geek, wanton resource depletion bothers me – so we opted to choose another image.

This time we decided that fully exploring the issue could be described as being surrounded by a cloud of gifts; bouncing around as we were enhanced by the experience, tickled by each gift that we collided with. Yes, it was overly poetic, and is not like to catch on – but it got us laughing some more, and continuing to be careful about what we say.

It’s a practice I try to use; being intentional about words and phrases, cognisant of how my very vocabulary can help denote my commitment to equality and dignity. It’s a small step, but an important one; as a reflection of my faith and my values. Especially as we promote our faith, using scriptural words that are often unknown or antiquated, and phrases that have been coopted by culture or evolved to very different things: ensuring that the message of love and inclusion is indeed as we intend.