Take My Hand

The Kingdom of God

This is a post written for Adam Walker Cleaveland's guest blogger series on the Kingdom of God. It should go live on his blog at some point in the semi-near future...

Here it is:

The Kingdom of God.

I didn’t grow up hearing that phrase bandied about. Ask me about prevenient or sanctifying grace and I’ll give you a textbook answer – good little Methodist that I am. Sure, I’ve prayed the Lord’s Prayer thousands of times, saying “…thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven.” But, the concept of ‘The Kingdom of God’ was not overtly discussed in my childhood Sunday School classes. And that’s pretty significant when Sunday School encompasses the full extent of your formal(ish) theological education.

Then again, a textbook answer is hardly ever as interesting as a practical one. Nor is a textbook answer necessarily truer. So, what I can tell you about the Kingdom of God? I can tell you what I believe to be true about the Kingdom of God right now, however, that’s not to say that I won’t change my mind tomorrow.

I believe that we can catch glimpses of the Kingdom of God today if we look closely enough. The Kingdom of God is present when a newborn baby curls her hand around your finger, when a homeless mother is treated with dignity and respect at a job interview, and when a starving Somalian is given more than enough food to eat. The Kingdom of God is present in a hug at the end of a hard day, and in encouraging words from people you respect. We catch glimpses of the Kingdom of God in those instances in which we realize and remember that God is indeed here with us in our humanity.

Glimpses of the Kingdom of God, however, are merely that – glimpses. It is my distinct hope, though that Kingdom of God can indeed be fully realized one day.

It may not be fully realized today, tomorrow, or even in the next hundred thousand years – but I have hope that it’s possible. I have to hope. In a world that is marred by things like war, disease, abuse, and hunger, I have to believe that the Kingdom of God is a real possibility. There can be no alternative.

I have to believe that one day our children will be born into a completely good world, that we all will be treated with respect and dignity, and that we all will have enough food to eat. I have to believe that every one of us will be held in a hug when we need it most, and that none of us will be subject to jeers and disparaging remarks. I have to believe that wars will one day cease, that hunger and famine will end, and that disease and abuse will be no more.

I have to believe that the Kingdom of God is fully possible. I have to believe that we as humans and we as Christians are, as John Wesley puts it “traveling on toward perfection” and that within that perfection lies the Kingdom of God.

The Kingdom of God is – quite simply – my hope for our future.

Church Sign

I drove by this church sign the other day... I had to stop and take a picture so I could share it with you all:

2007 and 2008

In 2007, I:

- Graduated from High School
- Began college at Agnes Scott on Scholarship
- Bought my first Mac computer
- Got my first car
- Preached a sermon at Annual Conference in front of +1,000 and half of them were clergy
- Conducted an entire worship service all by myself
- Started regularly attending a church other than the church I grew up in
- Took my first course in Philosophy
- Made a conscious decision not to run for General Conference
- Drove someone to the hospital for the first time, and picked someone up from a car wreck for the first time
- Became a caffiene addict, and began drinking tea as well as coffee and Diet Coke

In 2008, I will:

- Vote in my first election
- Be a college student, for the entire year
- Earn a black-belt in karate (hopefully)
- Have my first non-church related, and non-babysitting job
- Have my first paying gig as a speaker
- Take cello lessons for the first time

In looking at all this, I realize that there are many more things I did in 2007 -- things that are perhaps more important that what I mentioned -- and there are many more things that I will do in 2008. But, for some reason or another this is what ended up on the lists today.

I sincerely hope, though, that while much of what I have listed is 'me-centric', that I have done at least a little bit of good for others.

I hope that I smiled enough. I hope that I spoke words of hope and comfort to those who needed to hear it. And I hope that that's what I'll continue to do in the future.

I hope that I have the courage it takes to change the world, and the fortitude and grace to keep pushing on toward perfection even when perfection seems impossible.

I hope I have the wisdom to recognize that I alone cannot be Jesus, and that instead we all must be together.

Peace to you all in this year of 2008...

An Eventful Wednesday

I thought I'd share a story with you, as you might be amused by it...

This is a true story; this happened to me a few weeks ago:

I've always been fascinated with the Episcopal Church. So, I decided to check out Big Name Episcopal Church. I looked on the Church's website to see what time services were held, and noticed that there was a service on Wednesday at 8 p.m. Wednesdays at 8 p.m. are good times for church services for a college student like me.

Wednesday rolled around, and so I went.

I parked my car, and got out. The information online said that the service would be held in the Chapel. The night watchman was there in the parking lot, so I asked him where the Chapel was and how to get there. He pointed me in the right direction.

The gorgeous, tall oak doors squeaked when the opened to a small empty sanctuary. I sat down close to the altar. I noticed that there was a stand covered in the same cloth that the altar paraments were made of. It was too small to be a baptismal font; I figured that it must be an urn.

Soon enough, a few people came in, sat down and introduced themselves. There were three women and two men, plus me, there for the service.

One of the women, after introducing herself, wondered aloud what "that thing in front of the altar" was. The other church members joined in her musings.

One of the men said, "Well, whatever it is, we better move it." He got out of his seat to go and do just that.

I'm thinking, "Uh, you better not." But, of course, I don't say it because I'm a visitor. The priest hadn't arrived yet.

The man gets up to move it.

He slides it a couple of inches.

It tips over, and the urn falls on the floor.

Ashes go flying and are scattered everywhere.

The women shout, "Oh! Oh! It's a dead person!!" and run out into the nave.

The men start up saying, "I'm not picking it up! I'm not touching anyone's ashes!"

All the while I'm just sitting there.

One of the men finally gets up the courage to clean up the ashes. He scooped them up with a service bulletin. He slid the ashes back into the urn. As he put the lid on he said, "It says on the top her name is Barbara!!"

The women come back up close to the altar, and we all laugh until there are tears running down our cheeks.

Then, the priest walked in and we started the service.

Everything was going smoothly until we got to the Confession. The priest said, "Let us now confess our sins against God and one another..." We were supposed to respond by reading the printed confession in the bulletin. But!

The man who tipped the urn over busted out laughing. And then we all started laughing, except for the priest who was looking bewildered. The man then said, "Well we might as well tell her (referring to the priest)". He then looked at the priest and said succintly, "Barbara fell out of her container."

Immediately after he said that, the priest got up and ran out of the chapel. We all sat there laughing for a few minutes. And that was the end of the service.

One of the women said to me as we were walking out of the chapel, "Well, now you have a story to tell your friends."

She got that right.

A Sermon on Samuel: Can I Get an Eli?

Merry Christmas to you all!!

I'm in the process of cleaning up my Mac's desktop, and I ran across this sermon I gave at the North Georgia Annual Conference this year. The sermon text was first Samuel. Since I haven't posted much lately, (I actually started working on a new post this morning, be patient) I figured you might enjoy reading/skimming it:

Tonight I draw my inspiration from a sermon given by the Rev. Denise Bratcher.

I’ve grown up in Georgia. And for as long as I can remember, every Georgia summer brings with it bright sunshine, juicy watermelon, trips to the lake and temperatures well into the nineties. Summertime also brings drought.

Plants wither. The lawn bakes brown. Idle conversations invariably turn to lamenting the lack of rain and speculating when the next shower might occur.

My granddaddy in South Georgia is good at predicting the weather. I don’t really know how he does it; often times he’ll look up at the sky and feel the wind on his face and predict – to the hour – when the rain will come.

Have you ever been outside and just known a storm was coming? The air hangs heavy. The color of the sky turns. The clouds change direction. You can even feel the air pressure drop if you stand still long enough.

One of the sweetest smells is the smell of rain drifting in on the southwest wind on an August afternoon. There is nothing that compares to it. After a long, hot, and dry Georgia summer, when it hasn’t rained substantially in three months, you smell that rain and know the drought will soon be over. After going so long without it, when it comes, I feel like running out in the yard to dance around in the droplets and taste the rain on my tongue.

It’s the kind of rain you can feel coming.

I think that same feeling – that feeling of being on the brink of change – can happen in circumstances other than the weather.

I’m no prophet. And I’m not sure I want to be a prophet because prophets are often painfully and dangerously unpopular.

But as I contemplate where the church is right now in this post-modern culture, and where it might need to go, I feel a change in the air. I feel a new wind blowing through the church. And my senses tell me that the church’s climate is changing.

I’m not quite sure yet whether this change is a ravaging storm or the sweet rains that end a drought. But I do believe that the wind of opportunity, the wind of new beginnings, is blowing. (click to continue)

The Obligatory Thanksgiving Day Post

While I relish the food and time with family, Thanksgiving now falls -- for me -- into the same category that the Fourth of July occupies. If you have no idea what I'm talking about (yes, I'm being snarky) then just be thankful you still believe in Santa Claus. There's worth and meaning in that, too. Seriously. Although, I do have to say, that setting a day aside to reflect on what one is thankful for is a good thing.

Regardless, I think you'll enjoy this: (ht to Gavin.)

Why I Am a United Methodist

The following bit of writing is an article I wrote that will be published in the United Methodist Reporter newspaper sometime within the month. I responded to the question, "Why Are You a United Methodist?" Once I factored out doctrinal reasons etc. (let's face it -- in this case those reasons are not nearly as interesting to read about) this is what I ended up with:

Why am I a United Methodist? Quite simply, I am a United Methodist because I was born a United Methodist. However, why I choose to remain a United Methodist is a much longer story.

Having grown up in the church, I participated in all the activities that one would expect a United Methodist youngster to participate in. I faithfully glued cotton-balls to outlines of sheep, drank fruit-punch during Vacation Bible School, and one crisp fall afternoon I even (unsuccessfully) attempted to climb the steeple. I ate my soup on SuperBowl Sunday and did my part – in quarters, nickels and dimes – to help pay the apportionment.

The United Methodist Church was an integral part of my life. At eight and ten years old, trying to imagine my life without church was akin to trying to imagine my life without school – a virtually impossible task. Sure, a break every now and then was welcome, but being a part of the church was my reality.

I did, however, gradually begin to realize that it was not the activities – or the food – that held my attention and attracted my energies. It was the people; the love and concern I was shown and given by everyone from my 4th grade Sunday School teachers to the wise old lay leader in the pew next to me brought me back to church time and again.

When I was thirteen I attended my first Annual Conference meeting – and have returned as a delegate every year since. In doing so, I have seen first-hand much of what makes us United Methodists tick as an organization of people. And honestly, the political maneuvering that happens behind the scenes during Annual Conference sessions is terribly discouraging. I would venture to say that the worst of our tendencies as United Methodists come out during these – oftentimes highly stressful – meetings. Yet, at the end of every Annual Conference, without fail, we join hands and sing, “Blest be the tie that binds our hearts in Christian love…” Even though we may vehemently disagree with one another on matters of policy and polity, we acknowledge that some One ties us together. We are a connectional church, and we United Methodists are a people that hold our relationships with one another near and dear to our hearts.

This fall, I set off to attend my first year of college. I brought with me my clothes, books, computer, and pens. I brought with me my hopes, dreams, fears and aspirations. I also brought with me my need for a church to call home.

The first Sunday of the school year, I wandered into a small United Methodist church. At first glance, it could not have been more different from the church I had grown up in. This church was about one tenth the size of the church of my childhood, and listed one clergyperson’s name on its bulletin whereas I was accustomed to seeing eight names.

However, this church that at first glance appeared to be foreign, is in fact familiar. The people at my new church care for me just as my church as my 4th grade Sunday School teacher and wise old lay leader did. The people there have made me a part of them, and I belong.

On any given Sunday, you can see me in my new church. I will be sitting about three quarters of the way back on the pulpit side of the aisle next to Allen, and behind Lindsey. My attention will alternate between the sweet four year-old in Allen’s lap and the goings on up in the chancel. Invariably, I will be softly singing to myself, “Blest be the tie that binds…”

No doubt, we United Methodists are a feisty bunch. Sometimes we quarrel with each other, and sometimes we laugh. Sometimes we shout, and sometimes we cry. We stamp our feet with impatience, and we wring our hands in prayer. But after all is said and done, we still join hands and sing, “blest be the tie that binds, our hearts in Christian love…” And this is why I remain a United Methodist. Blest be the tie that binds.

Photos

I put together a small photo album of Agnes Scott...
It's on the sidebar on the left, if you want to take a look!

Books and Bonhoeffer

Those of you who know me well, know that Dietrich Bonhoeffer is one of my heroes, and has been for years. The first 'real' theology book I read was 'The Cost of Discipleship." My favorite present from my fourteenth birthday was Bonhoeffer's biography. I spent a month last summer working through his 'Ethics'. His books make him real to me.

Books are magical. The words in them can challenge us, guide us, instruct us, and even protect us. Books provide us with mentors and conversation partners that we would otherwise never come in contact with. Books are dangerous.

A couple of years ago, I left a copy of Bonhoeffer's 'The Cost of Discipleship' in the youth room. I came back for it a few days later, and couldn't find it anywhere. It turned out that the youth minister had it in his office. When I went to get it from him, he took it off of his shelf, handed it to me and said, "I couldn't just keep this lying around. It's a dangerous book." My response was, "Our faith is a dangerous faith."

Indeed, it is a dangerous book. Bonhoeffer writes, "When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die." I often wonder if I'm following that call. Have I gone where he bids me to go? Am I living in this way? We as Christians are called to a sacrificial life. And this leads me -- and others, I'm sure -- to the question of whether or not I am holy enough: whether or not I am good enough for this faith and this God. I know that these questions are questions that we don't often give voice to. Of course I am good enough, because it is not at all about being 'good enough'. I know that, and most of you know that. But the questions still remain -- spoken or unspoken -- in the deepest part of our hearts. Often, we are trying desperately to fashion ourselves into faithful people.

I was pondering all of this the other day, when I came across a bit of Bonhoeffer's writings from prison.

Dietrich writes (from Tegel prison), "For a long time... I thought I could acquire faith by trying to live a holy life, or something like it. I suppose I wrote 'The Cost of Discipleship' as the end of that path. Today I see the dangers of that book, though I still stand by what I wrote. I discovered later, and am still discovering up to this moment, that it is only by living completely in this world that one learns to have faith. One must completely abandon any attempt to make something of oneself, whether it be saint, or a converted siner, or a churchman (a so-called priestly type!), a righteous man or an unrighteous one, a sick man or healthy one."

One must completely abandon any attempt to make something of oneself...

I read this, and I think, "Thank God." Thank God.

Peace,
NS

College

My name is Natalie Stadnick, and I am a procrastinator.

For the past two days I have been trying to coax myself into writing the papers I have due next week. Alas. I have not been successful. But, I'm getting closer! I actually checked out the books I need from the library. However, those books are sitting on my bed -- unopened and unread -- while I type out this blog post. What can I say?

If I recounted in detail my first week of college, you wouldn't believe what I told you. So, I'll just stick to the basics. I like my classes (Reducing World Poverty, Philosophical Thought, Law Morality & State, and Ancient Greek Civilizations). I like my professors. I like my adviser. I like my roommate. I like this town, and I like the coffee shops in it. I like the horrible, politically incorrect school songs. I like the Honor Code. I like the tradition and the pomp and circumstance. I like it all. Except for writing papers. That, I do not like. And so, I procrastinate.

Agnes Scott is a beautiful school; I need to take some pictures and post a photo album... that will be my next procrastination-project.

I've found a wonderful new church: St. Paul (Grant Park)! The first Sunday I showed up I felt like I was home... it was a Communion Sunday and just about every cross-section of people you could imagine was represented at the altar rail. It was the closest I've seen a church come to true community in a long time.
They remembered my name when I came back the next week. And here's the kicker -- they let people who can't sing into the choir!

Not to mention the fact that words can't begin to describe how wonderful I think St. Paul's pastor -- Rev. Susan Allen Grady -- is.

Anyway. I need to start writing my papers... or maybe I'll keep procrastinating and do laundry!

Peace.