"Here's my version of it: internal whirlwind"

(That's yet another Bjork quote)

I am in a confused time as I enter my 2nd year at MHGS. I woke up in the middle of the night a few nights ago, and feel something different in my nefesh. I have an awareness of something different in me, an awakening of a sort. I cry just about every day now. Compassion is coming forth from a hard soil that was once stoic.
Pastor Crystal asked me to write something for the folks at First Church about being a new(er) face in the crowd. You could come this Sunday and read it yourself... or read the unabridged version below. Enjoy. Ask questions.

I’m exhausted. Not only have I just completed a year of intense soul-engaged studies at seminary, but I have also spent the last decade giving all I had to various churches and parachurch ministries. I know what it is to run on fumes, but I’m unsure what it is like to receive.

I entered this congregation as a woman wounded, cynical, diminutive, and mute. As I cowered in the back pew, Pastor Crystal began the service by saying “You are welcome here”. Me? Really? But you don’t know my story. I’ve been deeply involved in evangelical churches. I’ve been to Pentecostal churches, and even spent 3 years in an emergent church. I’ve been around the church block. I love those family members, but feel the anxiety and pressure of not doing or being enough. Am I really welcome midst my anxiety, doubt, angst, and bitterness?

Recently I had coffee at Uptown with Pastor Crystal and she asked what First church could do for me. The question took me off guard. It sounded so foreign and took a few days to begin to register its meaning.

I’m used to the sermon (which I’ve given on more than a few occasions) “What can you do to serve the church?” or “You need to get right with God”. Not that those aren’t valid messages. The reality is such that I come with great need, an empty void, and need nourishment. These people of First Church, this diverse congregation that spans generations, welcome me in the midst of my mess.

I quickly discovered that the whole congregation is on a journey. It must be difficult for the oldest church in Seattle, with their rich history, to be “on the move” in more ways than one. First Church not only wonders how to share God’s love in the rapid change of the postmodern era, but are physically in between places. We are a people navigating an era with far less “black-and-white” assuredness than before. I hope that we all attempt to live in the questions and embrace mystery. I look around at my fellow pilgrims on a journey. May we, weary from our wanderings, all find home in the arms of God.