Idle and Blessed

I have a serious problem with people tearing the Bible apart for term papers. I have a problem with the prerequisite of scholasticism being a complete disregard for intuition, mystery, and the movement of the Spirit. I have a serious problem with redaction criticism, because it's worth maybe 15% of our time and demands 90. I have a problem with myself and my peers for sitting in classrooms three days a week thinking we're doing Christianity when we can't name one person living in poverty in our city. If Jesus were sitting in the circle with us, he'd probably discuss the meaning of the scriptures, sure. He was a Rabbi. But he knew plenty of people who did that all day long, and he had a name for them. Hypocrites. It seems very presumptuous of us to make claims like "Proverbs perpetuates an evil system of economic inequality," and get standing ovations from each other. And an A. I don't know, that's probably true about Proverbs, in one sense or...

I didn't think it was possible, but autumn has come and made the east side of Atlanta pretty. These trees turn colors too, it turns out. Not like the Tennessee ones, but in their own way. Instead of pollen my car is now covered in yellow and red crunchy things, and soon there will be nothing to cover it, which is great news for someone who never washes her car but bad news for someone who isn't ready to admit winter is coming. I don't have the luxury of time anymore. My weeks are never ending, speeding along like Marta trains on infinity loops that begin where they are supposed to end. The to-do lists grow long each day and no moment can be wasted until night comes back around. It's a busy life, this work-and-school life, trying to make sure neither one screeches to a halt or goes up in flames. I don't have the luxury of shopping anywhere except Walmart and the world market, because there is a foreseeable future in which I will be unable to pay rent. I part with...

I think God wants us to walk in the rain sometimes without an umbrella. Let our skin get cold after a long hot summer. Feel a part of the elements of the earth, covered in them, breathing them in like mist or an inhaler. I think it involves surrender and simplicity because your hair gets wet and clothes stick to skin, and it's hard to keep your eyes fully open to see. I think God wants us to watch the sun wake up some mornings and realize how fast it happens. Watch how the night flees from it. Let it teach us something about waking. -JAY

I wrote recently about my inkling that running could be prayer. Like anything that unites body, mind, and spirit under one intention, it brings a meditativeness that goes straight to the core of us. I know running is prayer because I am my most generous self out there. By generous I mean my heart is open to people; I mean my heart chooses to think the best of people. You know that feeling when you drive down I-285 in the traffic and suddenly you realize these people probably all had long days too? Or when someone flips out on you at work and you notice it's just been too way long since they took a yoga class? That feeling is generosity. Your soul is making enough space for theirs. And when I run, about four miles in, I feel this generosity and thankfulness and love toward the people in my life and I think up extravagant ways to thank them. I wish I followed through more, really. I always think I solve the world's problems on runs and then promptly forget. Anyway, I know r...

A story is like water that you heat for your bath. It takes messages between the fire and your skin. It lets them meet, and it cleans you! Very few can sit down in the middle of the fire itself like a salamander or Abraham. We need intermediaries. A feeling of fullness comes, but usually it takes some bread to bring it. Beauty surrounds us, but usually we need to be walking in a garden to know it. The body itself is a screen to shield and partially reveal the light that's blazing inside your presence. Water, stories, the body, all the things we do, are mediums that hide and show what's hidden. Study them, and enjoy this being washed with a secret we sometimes know, and then not. Rumi

Dr. Allen has been the second most helpful professor to me here so far. We all know who the first is. I'm still doing a good job not stalking him though, by the way. So anyway, Dr. Allen is really earning my trust, which is the only reason I would listen to someone talk about calling God by feminine terms at this particular time of my life. We were in class talking about the names we use for God while praying. I said I wasn't comfortable calling God feminine names like 'Mother' and I don't do it. It's not that my theology prevents it. I know God is neither male nor female. I know God is masculine and feminine together. I just can't pray to my God as She. He affirmed me by saying we can have all the right theology about how God isn't masculine and still have a hard time not picturing God as a man. Right? I mean, I don't care how theologically progressive you are, if you pray to the Christian God as 'Mother' you're in the minority. ...

Running down Henderson Mill yesterday I started thinking about how running is prayer. Prayer has been defined (by Richard Rohr maybe? Robert Benson?) as what happens in the moment when your body, mind, and spirit are all in accord and working toward a singular purpose. When I run and running is good, or even when it's really super hard, there are split seconds when I feel what I feel in prayer. Body, mind, spirit dwelling intently on one reality. I think running, done well, can be prayer. And while I was thinking this, a parallel conversation was happening in another part of my brain. It was debating how heretical it is to call running prayer. I have this parallel conversation at least once a day as a seminary student. At least 38% of the time I conclude what I'm hearing, saying, or thinking in class is heretical. But I've decided that most of us are silently heretical, and if I'm going to be a heretic, I want to at least know why. Like Martin Luther, I want...