Gathering Voices: Faithful Conversations from The Thoughtful Christian

Movie Review - The Tree of Life

        A Gathering Voices post by Ed McNulty

Rated PG-13. Running time: 2 hour 18 min.

Job 38:4-7; Matthew 5:45b

Terence Malick’s new film is a difficult but rewarding one for people of faith. He begins with a quotation from the Book of Job, and might well have included Matthew 5:45b as well. As in The Thin Red Line, he explores the big questions of life, of good and evil, beauty and joy, and especially why bad things happen even to those who are trying to live their lives according to God’s will.

The film is a series of shots from the life of a family and from nature, micro and macrocosmic in scope. The family is the O’Briens living in Texas during the 1950s. Almost abandoning the narrative structure of commercial films, Mr. Malick forces the viewer to decide whether to pay close attention and piece the narrative together, or to give up in confusion and despair. Those who choose the former are richly rewarded, one of the joys being a visual ride near the middle of the film that explores the history of the universe, the most exciting visual sequence since Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: Space Odyssey. Indeed for people of faith, perhaps better, as they will relate it to God’s question to the suffering patriarch in Job 38:1, “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?”

The O’Briens consist of a strict father (Brad Pitt) who represents the way of nature (or law), and a nurturing mother (Jessica Chastain), who opens up the world of grace for the surviving son (his brother’s death early in the film leads the distressed and father to raise questions while fellow mourners ply them with pious platitudes (this is similar to the funeral scene in Rabbit Hole.) Mr. O’Brien’s remark about the unfairness of his son’s death is followed by the above-mentioned cosmic trip, starting with the Big Bang, spiraling gasses and galaxies, nebulae and star clusters, the sun and the earth, microscopic life, fish, plants and mountains, and dinosaurs. Quite something to behold, as well as it should be, with the master of special effects Douglas Trumbull being in charge (he worked on 2001)!

The latter half of the film shows the pensive older son Jack O'Brien (Sean Penn) thinking over his past relationship with his father and mother. He now realizes how frustrated his father must have been not to have achieved his dream of becoming a professional musician, settling instead for a career at a power plant, raising his family, and playing the organ at their church. His mother, however, had sensitized him to the wonders and joys of creation, and the importance of being aware of and celebrating the beauty of the moment—there is a lovely scene in which a butterfly lands on her hand and she gazes at it in rapture. We often see flashbacks to her and the two brothers dancing with her, sometimes indoors, and sometimes outside amidst the coolness of a lawn sprinkler.

Those church leaders able to convince a group to watch such an unconventionally made film should have a glorious time exploring together the wonders and joys of God’s world, and the importance of the kairos moment when nature seems to spill over with the presence of the divine. (The group should sing at the end “This Is My father’s World.”) The darker side of nature, of suffering and death, so present in Mr. Malick’s film make this a fine film to use with a study of the Book of Job. It follows the Cohen Brother’s Job-inspired film A Serious Man, but, unlike that film, emerges on the brighter side of the realm of suffering and death.

For my review raising far more issues in the film (because it’s three times as long, go to www.visualparables.net

Can a "real" friendship begin online?

A Gathering Voices post by Lynne M. Baab

A while back I posted a link on Facebook to a blog post I had written about friendship today. Here’s a comment I got in response: “Lynne, a friend and I got together last night and shared the opinion that FB and email are great for maintaining good friendships that were formed in person, especially when separated geographically, but perhaps not very effective for building friendships to begin with. The face to face time is really important.”

I agree to some extent with that comment, but I would also want to affirm that mixing up means of communication matters a lot. Here’s an illustration:

Seven years ago, I “met” my editor at InterVarsity Press, Dave Zimmerman, through email as we worked on our first book together. Through the process of partnering on three books, we have emailed hundreds of times and talked on the phone at length probably a dozen times. I have asked him for advice on numerous subjects related to writing. I trust his judgment and respect his opinion. Dave is a colleague I value highly.

Two years ago we became friends on Facebook, and in that medium I have learned quite a bit about his everyday life. I posted funny comments last year when he experienced repeated invasions of various kinds of insects, “What next, Siberian tigers?” I posted encouraging comments when his booklet was published. When he blogged about his church experience, and posted links on Facebook to his blog, I read those blog posts and emailed him once or twice in response to what he wrote.

I feel like know Dave pretty well. I consider him a friend as well as a colleague. I know could ask him for help in numerous ways. We have a real relationship. Yet we have never met face to face.

A variety of means of communication really does make a difference in nurturing friendships. I have communicated with Dave through email, phone calls, Facebook, and through reading his blog. I know his voice, and I have seen pictures of him. We have worked together on projects, and I have asked his advice. Our relationship is multi-faceted, both in the forms of communication we use and in the things we communicate about.

Evaluating the facets of a relationship can be helpful. When I did the interviews for my recent book Friending: Real Relationships in a Virtual World, I talked with several teenage boys who enjoy online games with a headset so they can hear the voices of the people all around the world with whom they are competing. They told me that hearing the voice makes such a difference, and they have become friends with some of the people with whom they frequently play games.

Yet one of those young men decided to quit a particular online game because he found it was taking him away from relationships with his family members and dorm mates. He chose nearby friendships over distant friendships, and he said he often feels those friendships formed online were “relationships without a context.” Perhaps my friendship with my editor, Dave, works because there is a context: the books I have written and he has edited.

When my husband’s sister died a few months ago, and both he and I posted the news of her death on Facebook, I was interested in the variety of responses. Some people expressed their sympathy on FB, a few wrote cards or called him on the phone, and one person brought him two big chocolate bars the next day and said, “I wanted you to know I’m thinking about you.” I love it when people mix it up and move between different forms of communication.

Nothing is private on Facebook

 

            A Gathering Voices post by David Maxwell

I’m waiting to see if my nephew un-friends me on Facebook. I won’t be surprised if he does, though I will be sorry. Facebook has been a priceless way to keep up with the activities and antics of friends and relatives near and far, especially nieces and nephews who are kind enough to friend me.

A current adolescent game is to take a friend’s phone and log on to his or her Facebook account and post an embarrassing comment for that person. It appears the person just said something nasty or rude about themselves.  Until this morning it has been rather funny to watch some of my nephew’s posts that obviously were written by one of his friends as he would never say these things, mostly sexual.

But today a racist comment was there for the entire world to see. There, sitting on the high schooler’s Facebook page front and center, in racist black and white, a comment I am sure he would never say in front of his 456 friends, many of whom are black.

For the record, I’m no saint. I am a product of the same racist, segregated society he inhabits. Despite us both having exceptionally great parents, tasteless jokes were told among friends at this age. Thank God no one else heard (especially our parents) some of the hateful things repeated while our young minds grew and we learned how wrong we were.

Facebook breaks this privacy and my nephew risks being labeled a racist and losing some friends, all thanks to his friend playing a stupid prank. I hope he can delete the post before many see it, but he will have to live with that.

The awkward dynamic for me here is how to react to a post like this one. What is the older adult’s responsibility in a situation like this, now that I have seen it? An overkill reaction risks pushing a kid this age, trying to become more autonomous, to defend himself and is probably not helpful. Yet, as there is no privacy on Facebook, the world knows we have all seen it. Isn’t to say nothing to approve of this act? Here are the options I considered:

• Delete the post from my Facebook feed so that none of my friends see it.
• Write my nephew a private message expressing my concern.
• Write “Don’t Like” as a comment under his post.
• Write a self-righteous comment on his page challenging him to do the “right” thing and pull the post off and dump his friend who was no friend to him.

After some consideration I did the first three. What action would you have taken?

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - Part 2

                A Gathering Voices post by Ed McNulty

Rated PG-13. Running time: 2 hours 30 min.

Related Scriptures: Isaiah 53:12ab; Matthew 16:24-26.

 

The long awaited climax to the Harry Potter series has not disappointed its fans, some of whom report already that they have seen it two and three times.

The film starts out slowly, with Harry kneeling at the grave of his beloved house elf Dobby.  (No one should go to this without having seen Part 1.) Harry, Ron and Hermione are intent on finding the three remaining Horcruxes, objects that contain a portion of the Dark Lord’s soul. Only by destroying them will our heroes be able to defeat him.

Harry makes a deal with the spiteful dwarf Griphook for sneaking into the vault of the Gringotts Bank where one of the Horcruxes is hidden. There follows a tense, exciting time of action involving a wild roller coaster ride, a white dragon, betrayal, and for some, when the Dark Lord shows up, death.

Harry’s saga ends where it began, back at his beloved Hogwarts School, where Professor Severus Snape has become the headmaster, but when Harry shows up, most of the professors and students rally around him. Snape flees to Voldemort who mounts a siege with his minions of wizards and monsters. Plenty of exciting action and a lot of going back into the past where some fascinating background facts are provided concerning Harry’s nemesis, Prof. Snape, Harry’s parents, and the boy wizard’s destiny. All is not what we had been led to believe—not only concerning the past, but also the fate of Harry, “the boy come to die.”

What has been implicit in the previous movies, Harry’s cruciform life style, is much more explicit this time, with even a neat bow to the Christian theme of the Communion of Saints. The themes of love, self-sacrifice, and resurrection are blended together to present a fully satisfying moral parable of the Good Life.

Also very intriguing is Harry’s connection with his evil adversary, so close that at times he shares the Dark Lord’s thoughts, even as Voldemort can “see” him. This might call to mind the apostle Paul’s description of an inner conflict (Romans 7) raging within us all. Author Rowling’s world does not consist of all-pure good guys battling all evil villains. How anyone can believe that this epic tale of Good vs. Evil is anti-Christian just because of the heroes’ use of magic is beyond me.

Companionship (koinonia?), and thus not having to go it alone, is also emphasized in this film. Near the climax, when all seems lost, it is Neville Weasley who comes into his own, his St. Crispin’s-like speech rousing the battered students, and a little later, saving an important life.

Parents of very young children would do well to heed the rating due to the violent battle scenes and scary dragons. The film’s 3-D is fair to middling, but totally unnecessary, so to save money you might want to attend a 2-D showing. David Yates, who directed three other Potter films, and screenwriter Steve Kloves have done themselves (and J.K. Rowling) proud, giving us a film that we will want to go back to many times in order to appreciate its richness of character and hidden theology and moral lessons.

Image is (c) 2011 Warner brothers

The memory of a turning point

A Gathering Voices post by Lynne M. Baab

I’m visiting in Seattle, the city I called home for most of my adult life until we moved away four years ago. Last week I had lunch with the new minister at the wonderful church where I served as associate pastor from 1997 to 2004. She had a number of questions for me about my time at the church, including questions about why I left.

I told her several aspects of my decision to leave, but it wasn’t until later that I realized I had forgotten one significant event in the leaving process, a labyrinth walk that opened my heart to God’s future for me.

For several months I had been feeling unsettled in my role at the church. Nothing big, just a series of minor things: a small conflict, a nagging feeling that something wasn’t right, and a decrease in the joy that had accompanied my work there. Suddenly I wondered if God was preparing me to leave the church, something I really, really didn’t want to do.

I had the opportunity to walk a labyrinth, which I had done a handful of times, each time a very different experience. This time I found myself praying on the way in, “I don’t want to leave. I really don’t want to leave. God, please don’t make me leave. I really don’t want to do that.” I got to the center, and stood there peacefully, aware that I had expressed to God all the depth of my desire to stay at the church, and feeling a sense of rest because I had been honest and forthright about my own desires.

On the pathway out from the center, my prayers completely changed, and I expressed my willingness for any future that God might want for me. “It’s up to you,” I found myself praying. “My life is yours, and I’m open to listen to your guidance. You know my desires, but my desires aren’t the only reality. Your desires for me are more important to me than my own, and I’m willing to hear and follow the voice of your Spirit. Thank you that you have guided me this far, and thank you that you will guide me into the future.”

Two weeks later an event happened that made clear that God was calling me to leave the church, and six weeks after that, I read an article in Christian Century describing the need in seminaries for people with ministry experience and a PhD degree to teach practical ministry courses. I felt a very strong call as I read that article. I applied for a PhD program at the University of Washington, and in the last year of the PhD I applied for teaching jobs at 9 American seminaries and a university in New Zealand. To my complete and utter surprise, my husband and I ended up in New Zealand, where I have a teaching position that is close to perfect for me.

The memory of God’s clear guidance to me, which I was able to receive at least in part because of that labyrinth walk, has been filling my mind for the past few days. The preciousness of God’s guidance is not anything I want to take for granted. Ever since the conversation that triggered the memory, I’ve had a wonderful time reflecting on the gift of that labyrinth moment when God helped me shift from “no, no, no” to “I’m willing to embrace your future.”

Eugene Peterson: Pastor, Author of 30 Books, and RUNNER

A Gathering Voices post by Adam Copeland

Upon a good friend’s recommendation, I recently picked up Eugene Peterson’s memoir creatively titled The Pastor: A Memoir. OK, no points for creativity, but Peterson makes it all up with the prose.

If your familiar with the venerable pastor Peterson’s other work (books I’ve read include Under the Unpredictable Plant, Working the Angles, and of course Peterson’s Biblical translation The Message), the memoir won’t upend your view of him, but it should fill in the picture of Peterson’s pastoral life in helpful ways. Peterson's reflections, though at times clearly from another era, are firstrate, wise, and well worth reading.

His main pastoral experiences occurred when he started a new Presbyterian congregation in Bel Air, Maryland. So, as a new faith community leader guy myself, I particularly appreciated his reflections on the joys and challenges of the call.
 
So, yeah. It’s a good book. I recommend. But one chapter particularly caught my attention as I train for the Twin Cities Marathon this October. Peterson is a runner. A big-time runner. A marathoner -- and a fast one at that. He qualified for Boston!

In college, Peterson ran for the track team but he did not continue running in grad school or when he became a pastor. This all changed, however, when he found himself in the “badland years” of his ministry, a time when “the color had drained out of both vocation and congregation, and [he] didn’t know what to make of it.” In these troubled times, he took up running again.

He subscribed to Runner’s World, bought a pair of shoes, and started running again in the neighborhood. He did this most afternoons, building up to five miles, and appreciated “the meditative dimension to long-distance running: the uninterrupted quiet, the metronomic repetitiveness, the sensual immersion in the fragrance of trees and flowering bushes and rain, the springiness of the soil on park trails, the Zenlike emptying of the mind that felt like a freedom to be simply present, not having to do or say anything.”

That’s maybe a bit rich for me, but on the whole, I get it. Yes. Indeed. Running helped Peterson out of his “badlands,” his vocational funk. Plus, the congregational leaders at his church supported and sustained Peterson's running pursuits even insisting once that he skip a Sunday leading worship to run the Philadelphia Marathon.

The life of a pastor can be awfully rough sometimes. It’s comforting to know Eugene Peterson, in all his wisdom and new church development skills, struggled significantly at points. And it’s a comfort to know something as straightforward as running helped him outpace tough emotional times.

I’m not going to write as many books as Eugene Peterson. I’m not going to translate the entire Bible in conversational English or qualify for the Boston Marathon. But I know I will face tough times as a pastor, and with my other support networks, I pray that running might help me through.

This Hopeful Broken Heart

 

A Gathering Voices Post by Lara Blackwood Pickrel

 

“ohhhhh…”

The collective sigh went on for at least a minute, thickening the air around us with sadness and grief.

 

They had gathered for two afternoons of our denomination’s General Assembly to participate in a youth ministry learning track.  Seasoned and green, clergy and laity, professional and volunteer – all came together for an open source sharing of wisdom, experience, hopes, questions and fears.  Participants moved from circle to circle, blending voices in a sort of haphazard rotation.  If you can imagine a fusion of World Café and speed dating, you’ve pretty much got the picture. 

The first day was filled with lighter questions:  What do you share in common with the youth you serve?  What do you miss most about being a teenager?  If you were a youth ministry superhero, what power would you choose?  The laughter-filled conversations built relationship, composing a prelude for deeper discussion. 

But now it was day two.  We’d asked the forty-some youth ministers, sitting in circles of five or six, to spend time sharing their answers to the following question:  What has broken your heart about this work?  And before any words could be spoken, there it was – that heavy, weary, pain-barbed breath. 

There is so much pain in this ministry we share.  After events we send some kids back to neglectful homes – or situations in which they can’t count on their next meal.  When a situation is abusive, we make the reports and pray for the best, but often there’s not enough evidence to save the child from her family.  We lose kids to gangs, to suicide, to addiction, to apathy or self-loathing, to a culture of materialism and self-destruction.  We serve congregations that don’t always understand our role as deployed staff during the summer, who ask us how our vacations went when we return home from weeks of camp and mission trips.  Many of us are expected to pump up our numbers with “good kids” at the expense of those who need our presence the most.  The heartbreak is thick and the list is long.

It is tempting to only find God in moments of beauty or “perfection”.  A reconciled relationship, a perfect sunrise after the storm, a Youth Sunday worship service that goes precisely as rehearsed – in these we sigh and marvel at God’s presence.  We don’t want to whine, to be negative, to give in to cynicism – so we box up and tuck away the hurt.  Youth ministry is supposed to be cheerful, right? 

But sometimes the Holy Spirit is present in our shared sorrow.  In those moments of despair, in crushed dreams or that sigh, pregnant with heartbreak – when we share those moments with one another we experience the presence of God.  And, more than that, we also practice the kind of relationship our teens really need.  They need to know that we are there for them, not because we want a full van or a flashy program.  They want us to be there simply because we love them – just like God does.

In this week, filled with so much of this sharing, my own bottled up grief has poured out.  It has been uncomfortable, unsettling, even agonizing.  But I’m glad for it.  I’m grateful for this community of peers, for their vulnerability and passion.  And I’m thankful for what I’m learning through these relationships: in the quiet loving presence of others, which embodies the presence of God, even heartbreak can be hopeful. 

 

**If you'd like to read more of the conversations that came out of these gatherings, you can search the #dymn hashtag on Twitter or go to www.npartnership.org

 

 

Be Still

A Gathering Voices post by Lynne M. Baab

Be still and know that I am God. Psalm 46:10

I’m early for dinner at a friend’s house. She lives in the upstairs apartment in a big old house, and on her front porch is a table and two chairs. I decide to sit on her porch for 15 minutes, until the time we had planned that I would arrive. I settle into one of the chairs, hoping that these 15 minutes might give me the opportunity to enjoy God’s presence and God’s world.

Two huge camellia bushes with shiny leaves shelter the front porch. I can see out, but the few people passing on the street don’t see me. Two women walk by, chatting. I can hear their voices but not their words. Two different birds are singing. I find myself wondering why I never learned to identify bird songs. A man walking three black and white dogs, and carrying a big handful of plastic bags, passes by on the other side of the street. I hear the noise of a plane overhead. A minute passes, then comes the noise of another plane.

I hear a car pull into a driveway. I see a man get out, and then I hear his footsteps as he walks toward his house, coupled with the clink of dishes. From his house? From someone else’s?

The cool air of the shaded porch washes over me. I marvel that God knows all the people, animals and sounds in this neighborhood. I try to rest in the wonder of that fact, but my mind races on to other thoughts.

I am so very bad at sitting still in God’s presence.

Two weeks ago I wrote a post for Christine Sine’s blog, Godspace, about experiencing God in everyday life. I described the 15 minutes when I sat in a marina waiting for my husband to browse a gallery. I tried to enjoy God’s presence for those brief moments. Can it really have been two weeks since I sat still – with nothing productive to do and no one to talk to – in this way?

Prayer isn’t as hard for me as sitting still trying to enjoy God’s world. I pray in bed in the mornings and at night, and I pray in brief moments during the day. My husband and I pray together every week as a part of our Sabbath observance. But sitting still, by myself, enjoying God’s presence is something else.

I hear the noise of another plane, and this time I look toward the noise. I’m north of the airport, and the plane has taken off toward me but is now banking in a long slow turn to head southeast. God always helps us turn at the right time, when we want to obey and when we ask for guidance. What turn is God preparing for me?

A green SUV passes slowly by, and I can hear the thumping bass from the car radio. Because of the thumping, I expect to see a teenage boy at the wheel. Instead, a middle aged woman is driving. I love that moment of surprise, when my expectations are turned upside down. That’s how God so often works in human lives, in my life. What unexpected surprises are in store for me? Will I receive them with joy?

Two metaphors for God’s work in my life: a plane turning and a surprising middle aged woman with the bass turned up. I hold onto those two pictures, grateful that God never stops speaking to us when we stop and try to listen.

In PC(USA), "Minister" no more. Now: "Teaching Elder."

A Gathering Voices post by Adam Copeland

I’ve struggled with living into a pastoral identity ever since I started seminary. I blog on it from time to time (e.g. here, here, and here). When I served as a parish pastor, some people called me “Pastor Adam,” and that was fine but I never really became comfortable with it.

I recommend Eugene Peterson’s new memoir, The Pastor for addressing some of these issues. Though Peterson once did not anticipate ever becoming a pastor, he later embraced a pastoral calling full-on, with major reflection and many helpful publications for other pastors as well. In his memoir he writes, 

While being a pastor certainly has some of these components, the pervasive element in our two-thousand-year pastoral tradition is not someone who “gets things done” but rather a person placed in the community to pay attention and call attention to “what is going on right now” between men and women, with one another and with God -- this kingdom of God that is primarily local, relentlessly personal, and prayerful “without ceasing.

While I like this pastoral definition and approach of Peterson’s, his distinction between pastoral identity and non-pastoral identity grates me somewhat in his memoir (not to mention his talk of the call of the pastor’s wife!). But that’s for another post.

I write this all with a huge change in the Presbyterian Church (USA) in mind. As of Sunday, our constitution has changed so that “Minister of the Word and Sacrament” is no longer the preferred way to speak of a pastor’s office. "Minister" is replaced with "Teaching Elder." So now rather than a denomination led by those called "Ministers of the Word and Sacrament” and "Elders," we are a denomination led by two types of elders: Teaching Elders and Ruling Elders. So while you might call your pastor “Pastor _______” you can now refer to her as “Elder _______” and be just as accurate.

The old “Minister of the Word and Sacrament” language still is included in the new constitution, but it’s in parentheses and doesn’t show up much. Overwhelmingly the language now isn’t “Minister” but “Teaching Elder.”

As I understand it, Teaching Elders can be called to serve a church as pastor. We still have pastors -- plenty of them -- but those we serve as pastors do so because their ordained Teaching Elders rather than Ministers.

The new language states that “Teaching elders shall in all things be committed to teaching the faith and equipping the saints for the work of ministry (Eph. 4:12). They live out this role in different ways of service.

So, for example, “When [Teaching Elders] serve as preachers and teacher of the Word, they shall preach and teach the faith of the church, so that the people are shaped by the pattern of the gospel and strengthened for witness and service.” The constitution also speaks of Teaching Elders' service at font and table, as pastors, and as presbyters.

Please note: as opposed to what some folks are saying, the new language does not replace “Pastor” with “Teaching Elder,” rather it uses “Teaching Elder” as the broader office that is lived out in particular ways -- as pastor, as teacher, as preacher, as steward of the mysteries of grace.

There’s a lot helpful with this change, I think. For one, it emphases the parity of Teaching Elders and Ruling Elders. Ruling Elders are ordained to spiritual leadership roles. They serve the local church on the Session, and also serve on other councils of the church. As the constitution says, “Ruling elders are so named not because they “lord it over” the congregation (Matt. 20:25), but because they are chosen by the congregation to discern and measure its fidelity to the Word of God, and to strengthen and nurture its faith and life.”

Teaching Elders, just like Ruling Elders are ordained to service because the church recognizes they have particular gifts for ministry. But being a Teaching Elder is no fancier in the Spirit than serving as a Ruling Elder. Different gifts. Same Spirit. One Lord.
 
But I’m also a bit uncomfortable about the new language for a few reasons. First, Teaching Elder, at first hearing, doesn’t seem to encompass as much -- in my mind at least -- as Minister. So I wonder if people will hear “Teaching Elder” and not consider the whole realm of service possible. Second, might the Teaching Elder title lead pastors to emphasize teaching too much and forget about pastoral care? Obviously pastors aren't going to stop caring, but language does have great power. I’m all for teaching -- no worries about that -- but I’m not sure the great need of the PC(USA) at the moment is more lectures, classes, even Bible studies. Finally, I wonder about ecumenical confusion. The language of “minister” is common among many denominations. Will Presbyterians be forced, in any ecumenical setting, to constantly explain what their office is?

At the end of the day, words are words. But they have power. They have great meaning. So, this former minister who served as pastor, now Teaching Elder serving as Mission Developer, prays this change is for the better.

image by elvis santana

Looking Back and Moving Forward

A Gathering Voices post by Erin Lane

I panicked in the middle of Puget Sound, breathing heavily, shaking erratically, shoveling warm pieces of salami and pecorino into my mouth before I passed out. 

I looked over my shoulder at the stoney beach where my brother and I had pushed off with our kayaks. Paddling back would take more energy than forging ahead to Blake Island where we were to camp for the night. But paddling forward felt impossible in the choppy waters where we had to dodge shipping barges, state ferries, and seemingly smug water-skiiers.  

This is what pregnant women must feel like giving birth I thought. Yes, they might panic, breath heavily, shake erratically. I don't doubt some even feel like a woozy sailor. 

But what I reflected on in a flash of sanity on the salty sea was that one way or another this baby would have to make it to the other side, even if it was beet red and slimy when it got there.

I've never been pregnant but I started watching birthing videos in grade school that my mother - a nurse - had brought home from the hospital. Note to parents: If you're dreading "the talk", try warming things up with a birthing video; birds and bees pale in comparison. 

Most recently, I watched a documentary (availably instantly on Netflix) produced by nineties talk show host Ricki Lake called The Business of Being Born. Aside from miraculously making me want children, it highlighted that make or break moment many women have before giving birth.

They have to push through the pain. Because while it obviously hurts to push, it hurts not to push, too. Not to push is to surrender to fear and anxiety and exhaustion. To push is to surrender to courage and strength and life. 

What an apt metaphor for life where God gives us the grace to look back but also provides us the push to move forward. As my blog on The Thoughtful Christian comes to an end this weekend, I am grateful for the conversations that propelled me to this moment. And I will continue to document the paddle ahead on my personal blog, www.holyhellions.com.    

We all have those moments in life when we feel certain that our uncharted waters are too much to bear and we begin plotting how to return to dry land. But with the dreadful knowledge that it's often easier to surrender to the flow forward, we take a swig of the Spirit and paddle on.

And we pray not to puke.