January 1, 2012

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The labyrinth is an ancient tool for prayer. Similar to a maze, but with only one path into the center (so you can’t lose your way), the labyrinth has guided spiritual pilgrims on their journeys for at least 4,000 years.

It began to be used in Christian churches as early as 350 CE, and has made a comeback in recent years by offering a chance to take time out from busy lives to reflect and pray in a different way. Walking a labyrinth offers the opportunity to pray with our bodies. It has been a meaningful practice for many throughout the ages.

Everyone is welcome to drop in anytime between 12:00 and 5:00pm on New
Year’s Day (following our regular worship).  Brewster Hall will be transformed into a beautiful, sacred space for prayer and reflection.

I will never forget the “God Moment” that taught me about the beauty of a Christian community.  It was a moment of true community, true love, true sharing.  I was 15 years old, ending my first experience on a mission trip, and it was our last supper together as a group.  All week we had worked, sweated, shed some tears, shed some blood, and worked to accomplish something bigger than ourselves.  We were in Waukesha, Wisconsin, a suburb of Milwaukee working on a Habitat for Humanity house for a family of six:  mom, dad, three sons and a daughter.  We were building their home.  Through 90+ degree heat, humidity, and bugs, we kept working:  decking floors, raising walls, making windows and doors.  It was a week of memories, and after it all, we had just one meal left together.

It is an understatement to say we had gotten to know each other that week.  We had done everything together: sharing all our meals, our bedrooms, our bathrooms, the showers, the work site, and all of our free time.  We were not just a community; we were an improvised family.  And now, all that we had created as a group was coming to a conclusion.  It was a time to celebrate with a meal out.  We were at a restaurant, in a room to ourselves.  Throughout the meal, we shared stories and laughter, food and friendship.    We were raucous, but we were among the noise and din of a busy restaurant on a Friday night; no different from the rest, other than being a large group with the room upstairs reserved.  We were apart from the crowd, enjoying some of the last times that the group would be a unique entity.

Dinner drew to a close, and our pastor stood up.  As is tradition at the end of the week, it was time for communion, in honor of the (real) last supper.  He had obtained bread and wine from the wait staff, and as he held them up to bless them, he painted the picture of our situation.  We were in an upper room, as the first last supper had been.  It was a time of celebration, a successful trip and the end of the work week for us, where it had been Passover for them.  This was our last meal as a group, as it was the disciples last time all together.  The timing was at the end of an accomplishment, and although it was an ending, it was also a beginning.  The unplanned coincidence lent a beauty to the situation.

We had become a close-knit community by striving for something greater than ourselves, hoping to do something that would help the world around us.  In a week, we had learned to love one another like the family of God, seeing the foibles and errors alongside the abilities and gifts.  We were part of our group…and that being together was a gift from God.  Taking a moment to recognize and appreciate that gift of community, of God’s love among us was a transformative moment in my life.

Click on each individual title in order to read and comment.

Bringing Home Our Daughter, by Ronda McLean

In Blessings and Crises, by Grunewald

Spiritual Imagination, by Sandy Evenson

Princess Street, by Diane Worthey

God’s Love Among Us, by Sarah Anderson

Come for carols, candlelight, and a charming retelling of the story of the birth of Jesus–complete with the usual characters plus a lion, a unicorn, and a donkey!  A string quartet will provide pre-service music, so come a little early and relax on this special night.

On Christmas morning, we’ll have a family friendly worship at the usual 10:30 am time.

Childcare is provided for infants and toddlers during each of the above services.

Check out the photos below.  (Is that a penguin?)

Princess Street is far from our Pullman home. Located in the northern industrial city of Preston, England, it is surrounded by remnants of abandoned cotton mills. These mills once ushered in the Industrial Revolution. Now they stand empty and crumbling.

No “princess” lives on this street. Vacant lots full of garbage pepper the neighborhood. Smoky pubs have sprouted on every corner. The people in the market say, “Why are you here?” “You, the lucky American family on sabbatical, why are you HERE?” “You can travel anywhere in England- to Oxford, Cambridge, Durham…Why Preston? Why here?”

It’s true, we could have gone to countless places for Guy to do research. How and why we ended up in Preston, England is a “God Moment.” To me, a “God Moment” is an experience that isn’t planned, and it can’t be repeated.

Preston, England wasn’t in our plan. We had hoped to spend sabbatical in Australia, until the funding fell through. A colleague of Guy’s in Preston came to the rescue and offered a workable deal. What we thought was purely a research opportunity for Guy and a tourist opportunity for the rest of the family quickly became a “calling”.

The divine element of our trip began to take shape over a conversation with my mother. Upon hearing about our upcoming adventure to England, she said, “If you get a chance, visit Preston. That’s where your great-grandfather emigrated from. He was a weaver in the mills, and came to America during the cotton famine of the 1800′s.” Although I knew my great-grandfather was from England, I had no idea that he was from Preston. From this moment on, the trip became a quest to find out more about my mother’s family. I wanted to know how they lived and where they worked. I wanted to know why my great-grandfather boarded a crowded ship to America with his young wife and children, leaving behind his entire extended family.

I began to read and learn everything I could about Preston life during the late 1800′s. Because of the American Civil War, the Cotton Famine hit Britain with a vengeance. Mill workers lost their jobs as the mills shut down. People starved. Some burned all of their furniture to stay warm. Others survived by eating the gruel that was meant for their animals.

As I learned about Preston’s history, I began to appreciate, with a strange sense of sadness and thankfulness, why my great-grandfather chose to risk coming to America. I marveled at his grit and resourcefulness. Most importantly, I began to feel extremely humble. All of the comforts we enjoy seem royal and decadent compared to the life that my great-grandfather’s family led. Even today, our life in Pullman is rich compared to the average Prestonite’s. Could this be the message that God was trying to communicate to me by bringing us here? Could God be telling me to appreciate the sacrifices of those who came before me? Could he also be telling me to appreciate my Pullman life more than perhaps I have?

What transpired in the next 6 months regarding our genealogy project still gives me pause. All in all, we added 23 people to our family tree and traced the family back to the French Revolution before losing the trail. As we neared the end of our sabbatical stay, we came across a census record listing my great grandfather’s street address as being on Princess Street. Curious as to if we might be able to find the address on foot, we quickly turned to the city map. I can’t describe in words the emotions we felt when we realized that out of thousands of apartments available to lease in the city of Preston, we had unknowingly chosen an apartment located only one block away from my great grandfather’s Preston home. All along our journey into the past, we had been gazing at the same brickwork and walking the same cobblestone sidewalks that my great-grandfather had walked. This….was a “God Moment”.

As I was walking across campus, from my office to the Dean’s, I overheard a scrap of conversation among three young men. One was wearing a short-sleeved white shirt, dark slacks, and a tie. He must have been the leader of a Bible study and said something about faith and “God’s plan for you.” As I continued on my way, I mused about that expression – God’s plan for you – and how it is the traditional Christian version of Joseph Campbell’s “follow your bliss.”

According to Campbell, you need to ask yourself what you are meant to do in this world, a calling, if you will. Every society has stories about “the hero’s adventure” in which an Everyman has one special gift that happens to be the very thing that is needed to save the day. David and Goliath, Gilgamesh, the Ramayana, Frodo and the Ring, Star Wars, and Harry Potter are all stories of the hero’s adventure. For Campbell, everyone is her own hero in her own life adventure. If you follow your bliss, the doors will open – the way may not be easy, but it will be clear.

I bought into the follow-your-bliss concept ever since I felt called to graduate study. The doors opened – I got the major professor I wanted, met people who eased my path, was funded to go to India, met my husband, got the job of my dreams, had the best baby, bought a house with a cat door, achieved tenured full professor mainly by writing books – and then wondered what was next. I followed my bliss and got it. What is my new bliss?

I’ve been asking myself that question for the last five years. I had the opportunity to try my hand at university administration and a two-year stint as interim director has become six. Is it my bliss? Should I go back to teaching? I have agonized over this to the point of exhaustion.

And then I had a game-changing experience, minutes after overhearing those young men discussing faith and God’s plan for individuals.

Being a department head is one of those jobs that someone has to do, and I figured it may as well be me. I’m a creative problem solver, not ambitious, good with money, and want what is best for the faculty. But, I’m no Sojourner Truth. I’m not a leader. In fact, I usually describe myself using that expression, “Either lead, follow, or get out of the way.” I like to stay out of the way. And I was raised to be a nice girl and not make waves. So, as an administrator I always felt inauthentic because I’m not political and really dislike confrontations. And that is much of what administration is, especially during a recession and after budget cuts. The good news is that I have learned to negotiate.

But, on this day, my dean and my faculty were not seeing eye-to-eye. A policy proposal was being contested – backs were up and tempers were frayed. I needed to communicate to the Dean how the faculty was interpreting his words and how I was interpreting has actions. I was creative in my approach. I was firm and direct. I was tenacious. And I was successful. The Dean leaned back in his chair, spread his arms, and said, “OK, I’ll back off.”

Even as I thanked him and the discussion moved on, I knew I had experienced a “speak truth to power” moment. David and Emma knew I was engaged in this on-going and painful negotiation and that it was ripping me apart. That evening Emma asked me how my meeting with the dean went. All I could do was smile and say, “I won.” The next day David called to say he thought I had really made a breakthrough as a person.  I was glad my daughter got to see that capacity in me.

But now I am on the other side. I feel like a different person. Like after Emma was born – one day I was Sandy Evenson and the next day I was Emma Trayte’s mother. Last Thursday I was Sandra Evenson, but who am I today? I’m not sure I like the kind of person I had to be.  It was emotionally and psychically about the most painful thing I have ever endured. If doing this thing was part of God’s plan for me, what on earth does he have in mind for me?

I was grateful to drive up to N-Sid-Sen alone on that Friday afternoon, the Day After. I was amazed that the programming for the week-end had to do with using one’s spiritual imagination to interpret experiences, to discover the kingdom of God in those events, large and game-changing or small and quiet.

As I write this, I am in the middle of the interpretation. Right this minute, I’m not sure I see the kingdom of God in being the kind of person I had to be to speak truth to power. Maybe.  Maybe not. All I really know is that my best tool is my spiritual imagination. I have felt very far from my faith in recent years, but it is still down there, the only foundation upon which I can build meaning – and maybe figure out “God’s plan for me” or even my new bliss.

December 4, 2011 Advent 2

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Christmas can be a painful time for some. It may be the first Christmas without loved family members or friends who have recently died. Our society’s emphasis on family and togetherness can highlight the loneliness of those who are separated from loved ones. The anguish of broken relationships, the insecurity of unemployment, the weariness of ill health, the pain of isolation – all these can make us feel very alone in the midst of the celebrating and spending. Many of us need the space and time to acknowledge our sadness and concern. We need to know that we are not alone. The Longest Night provides an opportunity to do that with ritual, reflection, and singing. On Thursday, Dec. 15, 7:00 p.m. you are invited to gather with people from the Moscow/Pullman area to remember the light of God’s presence in the midst of the darkness.