Apologies

I’ve been volunteering at DMCW for 9 months now and when you’re a staff volunteer, you see the same people come through every week. First, you get to know names and faces. Then you learn things like how Stanley takes his coffee and how when Kim asks if you have noodles she means ramen noodles and nothing else. You learn that Jimmy prefers donations of black socks to white ones and that if anyone is mouthing off, Annie will most certainly have your back.

The longer I’m here, the more I learn not just about preferences and personalities, but about what happens on the other side of the street when our doors have closed for the day. I am only privy to seeing the tip of many icebergs, but it’s enough to keep me from living in comfortable ignorance of what lurks beneath the water where I float.

I can fill a plate, clean and bandage cuts, drive someone to detox, or offer my undivided attention and a hug. But all the love and good deeds in the world don’t change the fact that at the end of the day I’m the one sleeping inside when it’s below zero outside. I’m the one who can raid the fridge at night if my stomach is growling. I’m the one who can work. I’m the one with a car to take me to work. I’m the one who goes home to people who aren’t abusive or tweaking. What do I do with the privelege I carry as I attempt to live in solidarity with these nieghbors of mine?

 

There have been several times I’ve asked one of our guests a question, completely unprepared for where the conversation would go. Totally unaware that I just signed up to have my ears violated. I’ve had some real good sob sessions in my car lately as I drive and decompress from all the information I take in. I hate, hate, hate, HATE that most of the time all I can do is say, “I’m so sorry.”

I’m so sorry that your husband beat you until your eyes swelled shut and you could feel your mouth fill with blood.

I’m so sorry that you’ve been shot 9 times and can show me the scars scattered across your abdomen.

I’m so sorry that you’re finding it impossible to stay sober and it’s ruining everything.

I’m so sorry that 3 of your 4 sons died when they were just kids.

I’m so sorry that your fingers are frost bitten.

I’m so sorry that you were forced into prostitution and that you feel trapped and violated.

It feels like there are apologies constantly pumping through my bloodstream. All I know is that I cannot burn out, get cyncical, and angry. I cannot disengage. In this place where I live, contemplation and action are connected. Connecting to Love allows the community to stay engaged working for some semblance of peace and justice when the presence of pain is so thick and tangible. I believe this house is holy ground and these neighbors are immensely loved in the only way we know how: to show up, to see and listen, to stand together, and to know how they take their coffee.

God, I hope it’s felt and that it’s enough.

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Love,

Taylor

P.S. I know this is kind of heavy, but I promise most of the time there’s a lot of joy and good vibes all around.

 

 

The Challenge of Change

I’m one to give people (and myself) the benefit of the doubt.

I’m quick to say, “Oh, that’s just the way he is/she is/I am wired.”

I tend to believe that we are victims/products of our histories, environments and circumstances.

The love I have for people and the dislike I have for confrontation often overrides my need to bring up anything I find bothersome about someone.

BUT. I also get hung up on the idea of potential. Not what someone should be, but what they can be. I have this nagging desire to make people see this potential they possess (and to live up to my own, obviously). It’s horribly annoying because acting on that desire potentially becomes overbearing or offensive. Reaching potential requires changing. People don’t always like change. People don’t always believe they can or should change. I will be the first to admit, I am one of those people.

I re-read Viktor Frankl’s ‘A Man’s Search for Meaning’ recently and it was very convicting for me in regards to this topic. Here are some excerpts:

“For what matters is to bear witness to the uniquely human potential at its best, which is to transform a personal tragedy into triumph, to turn one’s predicament into a human achievement. When we can no longer change our situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.”

“Man does not simply exist, but always decides what his existence will be, what he will become the next moment. By the same token, every human being has the freedom to change at any instant.”

“In some ways suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning, such as the meaning of a sacrifice.”

“A man who becomes conscious of the responsibility he bears toward a human being who affectionately waits for him, or to an unfinished work, will never be able to throw away his life. He knows the ‘why’ for his existence, and will be able to bear almost any ‘how’.”

“Between stimulus and response, there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”

I’ve probably written this 50 times already, but this year has been the most emotionally, mentally, physically, spiritually exhausting year of my life. I can appear cool as a cucumber, but you guys: I’m mostly a mess. Yesterday I stayed in my pajamas all day. I ate ice cream and M&M’s for lunch. I didn’t really want to see or talk to anyone, so I didn’t leave my dorm. I sat in my bed and stared at the wall. It’s tempting to do this every day when you’re sad, but I can’t. I know I’m better than that. From an internal standpoint, I have been operating below my potential. I have wanted to shake off ‘suffering’ rather than choose into letting it transform me. I’m an extremely reflective person but I detest turning my attention inward. I hate focusing on myself. Hate, hate, hate, hate it. I understand that I am wired this way, but if I simply accept it and allow that to dictate my response to life, that won’t foster growth or freedom. Its hard to truly believe I have the authority to choose/change my response in hopeless situations that are out of my control.

I’m working hard on this one wee thing (‘wee’ is my favorite new adjective to use. Also, ‘dodgy’). I am committed to notice when I’m doing it, admit what I fear, and let it go again and again and again. It kills me when I see people who want to change something, who have all the resources and capabilities to do so, and they choose out. I know that if I want my relationships, career, and self to become something beautiful I have to be willing to stop the distractions. Pray. Listen for inner Tay. Ask questions. Mess up. Put some elbow grease into the process. And when I do everything I possibly can and it doesn’t work, will I keep fighting? When the advice, tactics, and tips make me feel like a failure, will I keep showing up? Am I willing to listen to myself, to find my own way, even when the way other’s have traveled isn’t working? Am I brave enough to create my own roadmap?

YES!

Amen.

Game face on.

 

Love,
Taylor

7 Things Sunday

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Since it is Easter…
7 (of many) reasons I think Jesus was the man:
One. Jesus a radically awesome friend to women. There is a Jewish blessing that goes, “Blessed are you, Lord God, Ruler of the Universe, who has not made me a woman.” In Jesus’ day women were essentially seen as property. Men didn’t speak to women in public. Rabbis were not to teach women.  And yet we see many accounts of Rabbi Jesus teaching women, even one-on-one. He included men and women as disciples. We see Jesus interact with women intimately and personally. They flocked to him. They used their resources to support his ministry. Jesus violated the morals and traditions of his society to give women honor and respect.
When the religious leaders were tired of Jesus’ popularity, teachings, and rule-breaking, they thought they could bring a charge against him. So they instigated a mob and drug a woman caught in adultery (which was punishable by death) before Jesus. They said to him, “Teacher, this woman has been caught in the act of adultery. Now in the Law, Moses commanded us to stone such women. So, what do you say?”
Jesus has a lose-lose situation, here. If he shows her mercy, he ends up condoning adultery and getting arrested or at the very least he proves the Pharisees’ point. If he agrees with the stoning, then so much for all his teaching on mercy and forgiveness. So much for his unique and against-the-grain treatment of women. So what happens?
He bends down and writes something on the ground (what he wrote remains unknown, but I like to think it said something like, “Suck it, Pharisees!”). Then when they continued to question him, he stood up and said, “If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw the stone at her.”
BOOM. No takers. No condemnation. Walk away, people. Daughter: go home, live your life, don’t cheat anymore.
Who stood at the foot of the cross when Jesus’ male disciples fled? Ladies.
Who did Jesus choose to first appear to when he rose from the dead? Ladies. WHAT?! This is amazing. Women had such little standing in culture and certainly no authority to be religious spokespersons. And here Jesus is, giving them this role to be the first to tell others of his resurrection.
Two. Jesus was really annoyed by self-righteous religious people and legalism. Amen, me too. Thank God. Literally. Jesus told the crowds in Matthew 23, “…don’t follow their example. For they don’t practice what they teach. They crush people with unbearable religious demands and never lift a finger to ease the burden. Everything they do is for show.” He goes on to say to the Pharisees things like, “What sorrow awaits you teachers of religious law and you Pharisees. Hypocrites! For you shut the door of the Kingdom of Heaven in people’s faces. You won’t go in yourselves, and you don’t let others enter either…For you cross land and sea to make one convert, and then you turn that person into twice the child of hell you yourselves are!….You ignore the more important aspects of the law- justice, faith, and mercy…Outwardly you look like righteous people, but inwardly your hearts are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness…Snakes! Sons of vipers!”

That’s pretty intense stuff. As with the parable of the tax collector, Jesus consistently and intently made it evident that God looks at each individual’s heart posture. Only he knows, only he can make judgements. The rest of us are commanded to love.

Three. Jesus understands suffering. I take comfort in knowing this. That when I grieve something or someone, he’s doing it, too. I won’t even begin to compare any of my suffering to what he experienced. But he knew the pain of being betrayed by close friends. He knew the gut-wretchingness of seeing insane injustices all around him. He knew hunger. He knew accusation. He knew the pain of giving up family. He knew the pain of death. He experienced all the emotions I experience. I love worshipping a God who’s response to human suffering was to enter into it- to endure it with me and for me.

Four. Jesus was grace. The crucifixion story amazes me because I see just how jaw-droppingly full of grace God is, even in torture, awaiting an unjust death. His first words on the cross are to ask God to actually forgive the people who are killing him (Luke 23:34). Then, the criminal who hung on the cross next to Jesus, acknowledging Christ’s innocence, asks to be remembered when Jesus enters his kingdom. He doesn’t start confessing his sins or asking how to ‘get saved’, he simply asks to be a part of the kingdom. In his last seconds of life, hanging in excruciating pain on the cross, Jesus assures him they’ll be in paradise together that day (Luke 23:43). And then his last words on the cross moments before he dies are, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Five. Jesus was a “come to the table” guy. He was known disapprovingly as a friend to prostitutes, tax collectors, lepers, and a whole assortment of social outcasts. Jesus chose to wine and dine this crew. Even the disciples were a bunch of kids who hadn’t made the cut. Jesus seemed to do a lot of his ministry during mealtimes. Jesus’ first miracle (while full of symbolism) was turning tons of water into the best wine to save a bride humiliation and keep the reception dinner party going. During dinner one night, Jesus exemplfies the servanthood of leadership by washing his students’ feet. Jesus taught that the kingdom of heaven is like a wedding feast. Then, most infamously at the last supper he first offers himself as the Eucharist using bread and wine.

Six. Jesus was a story-teller. Who doesn’t love a great storyteller? The endless parables used to get on my nerves a little. If Jesus was worried about making everything clear and not leaving much up for interpretation, I don’t feel like he did that. He was a man of symbolism. I’ve come to hold a deep appreciation for that and what I assume his reasonings are for teaching this way. Parables, or stories that parallel a principle with an easily understood illustration are for one, memorable. They also allowed him to teach controversial lessons without getting in trouble with religious authorities for heresy. They indicate people’s spiritual condition, being lost on those who are resistant to instruction, while piercing the hearts that are open. And ultimately, I think it was because Jesus wanted to show us God, not lecture us about his principles. Jesus illustrates that he wanted us to understand how good God’s kingdom is and what it means for us as broken, fallen people. Jesus was constantly confronted with ways in which God’s intention had been perverted by human brokenness. God’s way had become all about religion and rules, not about humility and love. 

Seven. Jesus meets you where you’re at and has faith in you. Obviously, there are a lot of stories where Jesus is talking to a large group of people, but I’m always most amazed by his one-on-one interactions. He didn’t use a system or have a method when it came to healing and drawing people into relationship with him. He used various methods of speaking commands, asking questions, being touched or touching, forgiveness, compassion, to convey God in the way that specific person needed to receive it. He knew where each person’s faith was at, and he got on that level to call them into restoration. To call them to follow. I love this (paraphrased) part of Rob Bell’s “Dust” sermon…

If you are a disciple, you have committed your entire life to being like your rabbi. If you see your rabbi walk on water, what do you immediately want to do? Walk on water. So this disciple gets out on the water and he starts to sink, so he yells, “Jesus save me!” And Jesus says, “You of little faith, why do you doubt?” Who does Peter lose faith in? Not Jesus; Jesus is doing fine. Peter loses faith in himself. Peter loses faith that he can do what the rabbi is doing. If the rabbi calls you to be his disciple, then he believes you can actually be like him. As we read the stories of Jesus’ life with his disciples, what do we find that frustrates him to no end? When his disciples lose faith in themselves. He doesn’t get frustrated with them because they are incapable, but because of how capable they are. 

So Jesus, at the end of his time, tells the disciples to go make more disciples. Then he leaves. He dies. He promises to send his Spirit to guide and direct them, but the future of the movement is in their hands. He doesn’t stick around to make sure they don’t screw it up. He’s gone. He actually trusts that they can do it. God has an incredibly high view of people. God believes people are capable of amazing things. I’ve been told that I need to believe in Jesus, which is a good thing. But what I’m learning is that Jesus believes in me. 

 

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 Love,
Taylor

Ode to Advent & God Removal

Right now we are in a season of advent. A season in which we remember Emmanuel- God with us. Jesus came not to explain the existence of pain and suffering, nor to rescue us from it. His response to human suffering was to enter into it himself. He came to endure it with us- for us. God is here in the midst of our suffering.

There are no words for what happened in Connecticut this weekend. But my thoughts, along with everyone else trail to, “Why, God? Why?” I hear people claiming that these terrible things happen because we have removed God from our schools and political platforms. It kind of baffles me really, that people who claim to know God would say that. Suggesting that we have the power to remove the creator of the universe from our school buildings and society. That somehow we have just kicked Him out and kept Him from entering in. That He isn’t present in people and places everywhere. The God I have read about and come to know isn’t easily dictated by humanity, and he certainly doesn’t give up quickly.

In Hosea 12, God says, “My heart is torn within me, and my compassion overflows.” Our God feels and knows pain. The book of Jeremiah is loaded with images of God’s heartbreak and desire for the Israelites to turn back to Him. It doesn’t matter how many times they mess up or how many times they “take Him out” of life- He’s there. Waiting. Watching. Involved. When God saw what humankind was capable of in Genesis, He responded with grieving. What kind of God chooses to feel the pain that mere humans feel? Emmanuel- God with us.

In Jesus, God sent someone to take on all our mistakes, our burdens, our suffering. He was innocent! His “crime” was being crazy enough to suggest that to be the first, you must be the last. Declaring that God’s blessing was upon the poor, not the rich. For telling the religious, self-righteous bastards to shut up (Matthew 23) and justifying the sinner with a repentant heart (Luke 18). And that it’s not enough to just “love” people.

The crucifixion story amazes me because I see just how jaw-droppingly full of grace God is, even in torture, awaiting an unjust death. His first words on the cross are to ask God to actually forgive the people who are killing him (Luke 23:34). Then, the criminal who hung on the cross next to Jesus, acknowledging Christ’s innocence, asks to be remembered when Jesus enters his kingdom. He doesn’t start confessing his sins or inviting Jesus into his heart, he simply asks to be a part of the kingdom. In his last seconds of life, hanging in excruciating pain on the cross, Jesus assures him they’ll be in paradise together that day (Luke 23:43). And then his last words on the cross moments before he dies are, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34). Jesus knows pain and suffering better than I ever will. God knows the pain of losing an innocent child.

I’m not going to bother trying to comprehend the incomprehensible. But I will take comfort in knowing that God is well-versed in issues of pain and suffering. When I don’t understand I choose to put my hope in Him.

Lamentations 3: 19-30 (MSG)

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Love,

Taylor