Relating, Creating, Transforming

Posts tagged ‘moving’

Moving Day

John 1:35-42

Moving day box
The last couple of years I have been wrestling with a question that probably I should continue to wrestle with:

Where am I going?

It’s really a question akin to what is the meaning of life I suppose, but where am I going rings truer for me, because I like movement and I’m not always sure that everything has meaning. But I do think everyone and everything has a path. So we are all going somewhere…

Where am I going?

Sometimes that question is asked in a literal sense, because maybe you and I, we are going to a place. People move; humans are migratory just like other living creatures. At times we go to a physical place that is a different town, community, state, or country. We move. When we go to that new place things look different, feel different. Even the food tastes different. And we see things differently. I’ve moved a TON in my life. Each place where I have lived has been different.

desmoinesRecently, I returned to Iowa, the place where I was born and where I spent my adolescence. It had been 10 years since I last went to Iowa. It sure looked different. Honestly, I felt almost no connection the place anymore. The sights, sounds, smells, and tastes I experienced as an outsider, a visitor. It didn’t feel like home at all.

Though the place felt like that, I experienced something different with the people I encountered. I reconnected with family members I hadn’t seen in a long time. For the most part, it was great. They were able to see with new eyes [for I have changed] and I was able to see them with new eyes. We stayed together, ate together, shared laughter and shared stories. When I returned to Philadelphia, I felt that I had come and gone from a place that had no meaning, and that now I was returning to a place that had no meaning as well. The places felt like that to me, but not the connections to the people.

You can probably tell that I’m not very nostalgic about places, but I certainly appreciate and embrace human connections. In fact, I think that human connections are why places come to have any meaning at all. I work with a Christian congregation. Almost 2 years ago, this congregation decided to sell its original building. That building was and is just a physical space, but for some, that place holds great meaning—only because of the people they met and connected to there. There is a reason why people drive by their old school, church, or home and feel something. In those places they had strong connections with others. In my opinion, I think we often take such connections for granted. We assume that friendships or strong relationships will always be there. We stop caring for them and nurturing them; we can even forget to be grateful for them.

So when we move somewhere else, it becomes clear, doesn’t it? Wow. Those connections really mattered to me. And if we step back and reflect, we can experience gratefulness for those wonderful connections to others.

Movement and place are two critical aspects of the spiritual life and two repeating themes in the stories about Jesus of Nazareth. Take a look at this Gospel story. John, Jesus’ cousin, the son of Elizabeth, saw Jesus walk by. He saw him going somewhere. John was intrigued. “Look!” he shouted to anyone who would listen to a locust-eating, crazy looking prophet-dude. John’s voice must have been convincing or at least loud enough, because John’s own followers left him and walked towards where Jesus was walking. They changed their path. Jesus noticed, and asked them a simple but loaded question: “What are you looking for?” They didn’t answer him, but instead asked Jesus a question: “Teacher, where are you staying?” They were not only interested in where Jesus was going, but also where he would stay. Jesus replied simply: “Come and see.” They did go and they did see. One of the people who went and saw was called Andrew. His brother was called Simon. Andrew went and found Simon and told him about this whole following Jesus and seeing thing. He even brought Simon to Jesus. And then Jesus gave Simon a new name: Cephas, Peter.

You see, Jesus was always going somewhere, and he was always calling others to go somewhere.

Journey
They were always on a journey. Jesus left his place of origin. He left those who were most familiar to him. He was always going somewhere, and he always invited others to go with him. Along that journey, they all connected to each other, they saw the world [and themselves] differently. Those who gave into inertia [the stubbornness of staying put] became sad, angry, or just completely stuck. I resonate so much with this movement of Jesus, and how he continually called all kinds of people to move with him, towards love, towards compassion, towards health and peace and fullness.

So what if we all ask this question:

Where are we going?

And not just related to place, but where are we as people going. Are we going towards the things that give us life, bring us joy, and fill us? Are going towards acts of justice in our communities, walking with those on the margins, journeying with those who feel pushed down or forgotten? Are we going, expecting to see God’s Spirit at work in all these places and relationships and activities? Are we? By asking this, we place ourselves on a path of movement. We orient ourselves towards transformation.

Friends, we are made to move, to grow, to learn, to connect and re-connect, to change.

It’s moving day. Every day is moving day.

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New Things, Beautiful and Changed

Mark 2:21-22  

Have you  moved a lot in your life?
I know I have. I have way too many memories of packing up stuff and cleaning out an apartment, a dorm room, or a house.

That’s the worst part of moving, isn’t?

Each time I moved, I had to come to that awful, eye-opening revelation that I just had too much stuff and now what am I going to do with it all?

It’s overwhelming.

Well, at least it is when you’re in the midst of all that packing and cleaning.

And yet, something happened to me every time I moved—whether as a kid, or a teenager, or a student, or an adult—once all that stuff was gone or packed, I felt pretty great.
In fact, I felt light as air.

And if you’ve ever been in a “temporary” living space for a while, unable to have all your “stuff” by your side, the first few days are frustrating, but after that, something happens.

Again.

You feel liberated.

Some of my fondest memories in life involve an empty house in Indiana; an unfurnished studio apartment in Honolulu, Hawai’i; a bare-bones dorm in Princeton, NJ; and a period of many months when my partner Maria and I did not have any of our stuff because it was in storage somewhere.

Why is that?

Perhaps you have your own answers to that question.
For me, the reason I felt so liberated each time I moved was because the change made me aware of my attachment to all the stuff in my life, and I’m not just talking about furniture, clothes, or knickknacks.

I mean my attachment to the past—to a life I lived somewhere else that was now over.

My attachment to memories and places.

In this case, I agree with the Beatles when they state in their song In My Life:

There are places I remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
In my life I’ve loved them all

 

But the song continues with a realization:

And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more

Sure, this may be portrayed as a love song, but it’s always resonated with me as a love song for our memories. Yes, I do stop and think about all the places I’ve lived and been; I do think about the people who have come in and out of my life; and I do have affection for those memories.

But today, in my life in this moment, I see something more important.

I love this moment more than my memories, because it’s real.

I love the people and things in my life right now more than my past.
That doesn’t mean that my memories are worthless or harmful.
It simply means that I embrace today more than yesterday.

And such a change should not scare us.

Maybe that’s why this Jesus saying about wine and wineskins that appears in the Gospels of Mark, Matthew, Luke, and Thomas has always spoken to me.

Funny, though—it’s basically an argument.
Jesus is arguing with his own disciples [and others] about the memories of tradition.

Hmmm….maybe this wasn’t written in the 1st or 2nd century?

It all sounds so familiar.

People were arguing with Jesus because they noticed that he and his disciples didn’t follow the “normal” religious rules. They weren’t fasting as much as they were supposed to and when they were supposed to.

Of course, this was about more than fasting.
Jesus was also criticized for healing people, remember.
That’s right—you heard me.
He was criticized for healing people—for doing something so amazingly wonderful and life-giving.

Healing wasn’t a tradition on the Sabbath. But don’t be fooled into thinking that this is just a criticism of Judaism—it’s a criticism of religion in general.

Christians are no different than the Pharisees and disciples who were more interested in protecting the memories of the past than actually living compassionately today.

Curious, isn’t it, that while Christians claim to believe in a God who is a God of change and claim to follow the Jesus of change and claim to be guided by and filled with the Spirit of change—most Christians fear change.

There’s a sense in the church institution that things were always better way back when.

Remember when…

But Jesus throws down a teaching here that is significant for any century.
Don’t put new wine in old wineskin.

If you have chosen to be a person of faith, and this spirituality you choose to develop is a “new” thing or at least something that “renews” you every day–why in the world would such a thing feel heavy?

If you choose to be a person of faith, this should not be a burden to you. It should not weigh you down; it should not be about “I can’t do this or that”; it should not make you legalistic, rigid, or limited.

So why then, is much of religion such a burden and so heavy?

Puzzled male shrugging wearing lab coatIt’s heavy, because we keep trying to put new things in old things.

In the Gospel story, wine is a metaphor, of course, but real wine was indeed a staple of the culture of Jesus.
No one would never put new wine in an old wineskin.
It would ruin it!

New-wineIt’s really a simple metaphor about embracing change and letting the past be the past.
But I’m quite sure you’ve had moments [or days, or week, or months] when you wanted to put your past behind you but just couldn’t.

You wish you could do that so you could move forward in your life.
But you keep hearing [and feeling] that you have to hold onto your past for some reason.
So you keep trying to introduce new ideas or experiences into that old life, it just doesn’t take.

Hey, I understand.

Every time I moved in to a new place and tried to introduce the same old things from my old place, it just didn’t feel right. It didn’t work. I had to rearrange or get rid of some things altogether.

The difficult truth we all have to hear is that we need to let the past be yesterday.

It’s difficult, but we have to let go of anything that weighs us down or keeps us from moving out of the past and into the present moment.

This affords us the opportunity to be free.
And, it enables us to be creative, to love, to help, and to fully live.

The past is something that can cause fear and confusion. It can make us believe that some things are impossible and that some things will just never change.

A couple of years ago, the congregation I serve decided to put up two signs [one a rainbow design] that clearly welcomed the LGBTQ community in a public way.

People left the church.
Founding and long-time members quit. Others continued to grumble. Eventually, because of what those two signs led to [more freedom and less fear of change], more people left. The first rainbow sign, after it was put up, was even stolen.

Many members of the congregation who stuck around started to be more active in their community. They welcomed and helped people who had no place to go and sometimes no food to eat. They formed more partnerships with people of different religions and those who didn’t claim a religious background. It was new wine.

And yet, there was still grumbling; and fear; and resistance.

The new wine was bursting the old wineskin.

And the more they interacted with people who were atheistic, agnostic, Hindu, Jain, Muslim, Baha’i, Sikh, Buddhist, gay, lesbian, transgender, yellow, brown, pink, orange, and black; speakers of languages other than English; loud and energized toddlers; inquisitive and skeptical teenagers; suburban, urban, and rural folk; those with money and jobs and those with neither; families with kids and those without; single moms and dads; straight and gay couples…

The wine spilled out.

The old wineskin just didn’t function anymore. The heavy religious stuff didn’t make sense.

And for those who were able to embrace this, it freed them.

Yes, it’s true. Though it is difficult sometimes to do, we should not fear change.
We should actually embrace change.

Because the Creator is always doing NEW things.

And we are created and can become creators ourselves of new things.

We are all liberated from the way it’s always been done

You have the opportunity to be new–to embrace all people for real, and to show them that something new is being created in them and in you.

And whatever those heavy things are from your past—whatever weighs you down—know that you have the freedom to let go.

Today [and every day] new wine is poured.
New things are created.
So welcome it.

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