adventures in kindling the radical hope that God's commonwealth of love and justice is breaking-in.
rebecca joy sumner
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Do You Not Perceive It?

10/30/2015

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The Divine says: I am about to do a new thing! Even now it springs forth. Do you not perceive it?
- Isaiah (a Hebrew Prophet) 43:19

I love Isaiah. It is possibly the book with in the Hebrew and Christian scriptures I most often quote. It seems like it should be something Jesus said. But [I’m trusting you’ll forgive me Jesus] it’s something an ancient Hebrew prophet says.
And this is possibly one of my favorite verses. God is about to do something new! Even now it is springing up! I spend most of my time believing this. I spend most of my energy investing in this. I spend the majority of my career participating in this. This new thing. And in the end, Jesus says [see, I did squeeze some baby Jesus in there] “Behold, I am making all things new,” (Revelation 21:5).
God is in the business of making new things.

And The Divine asks: “Can you not perceive it?”

My question is: What if - or, what when - because there is no real if to this question...What when the answer is “No.”

“I cannot perceive it. I’m trying, but I can’t. In fact, I am gathering up tattered remains of my faith to muddle through this day because I’m struggling through an enduring drought with not a single nourishing drop - or even a teasingly looming cloud threatening a drop - of perceiving it. Lord, on some scant level, I do still believe. Help my unbelief.” [And I finally got a Gospel reference in there! ...but Isaiah is still my favorite].

Isaiah 43 is among my favorites. But sometimes this new thing eludes me and Isaiah 43 drops to my least favorite. Even factoring several annoying bits of Leviticus and Paul telling me to be quiet in church because of my gender.

Coincidentally, in this season of my life, my body is in the business of making a new thing. Even now he/she/ze springs forth making all my old clothes stop fitting and drawing stretch marks on my stomach. Most of the time, it is impossible not to perceive it.
Most of the time.

At this point in pregnancy, the new thing growing inside me is moving around any time she/ze/he is not taking a nap. There’s a lot of napping. But there’s also a lot of moving. Naps, according to the books I’ve read, should last somewhere around 90 minutes. And outside of nap time, you should feel the holy little parasite moving all the time.

And then there are the times when this new little thing spring up is not perceptible. “Can you not perceive zir/her/him?” And when my baby hasn’t perceptively moved in 12 or more hours, the answer becomes a world-stopping: “No, I cannot perceive my vulnerable child - who still has a 1 in 50 chance of not making it into this world alive.”

I cannot perceive it.

Again, pregnancy is teaching me volumes about this Jesus-following business.

When you cannot perceive that new thing growing inside of you, the advice is not to run around to wake it. The advice is not to shout at your stomach to provoke it. The advice is not to poke and prod and get frantically busy trying to make this new thing happen because you don’t perceive it happening right now. The advice is to find a quiet and comfortable place and lie down quietly for two hours. During those two hours, you don’t multitask making plans for the little one - all you do is concentrate on waiting, feeling, and perceiving movements. You stay still until you feel 10 movements - signs of something new still in the process of springing forth. If you don’t feel those 10 movements, you consult wise people who have dedicated their lives to caring for these new things - tending them, listening for a heartbeat, finding the movements that might be imperceptible to you.

The point is, similar to if you think you are drowning, diving into a frantic attempt to save this new thing doesn’t help. In fact, the more busy you are, the less likely you are to perceive the little one. Similar to if you think you are drowning, laying back restfully and still-ly is the best advice. Stopping - rather than starting or forcing - and employing all your energy on simply listening - or feeling - for signs of life is the way forward.

And so it is with  the new thing Creator is making. So often, we do not perceive it. It has been too long since we have perceived it. And we start to wonder: Is it still born? Are my hopes in vain? And everything in us wants to run around trying to make this new thing happen if, as it seems, God has abandoned it. What can we do? How can we provoke it? If God is napping, how do you wake God?!

But sometimes the thing to do is to lie down. Be still. Be quiet. Direct our minds to one. singular. thing: “Do you not perceive it?”

And as for me, after 90 minutes of bone-chilling mutual stillness between me and my child, comes a single kick. A little stirring. Just enough evidence that, yes, Creator is doing something new. Yes, Jesus is making all things new. This new life is on its way. And  - maybe just barely and only when we are doing nothing but looking for the signs - we can perceive it.

What stirrings point you toward something new springing forth? And when you do not feel/see them, what are your practices of perceiving?
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(Not) Pre-Writing a Story for my Peacenik Child

10/9/2015

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I'm already telling him/her/zir the story over and over again. I'm already hearing her/his/zir teenage voice finishing the story and rolling eyes. "At your ultrasound, you gave us the peace sign. You have been waging peace in this world..." 
"Since I was a fetus...yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. Can I have the car keys?" 
Ze/he/she would roll eyes at a proud mom, but the truth would be that he/she/ze would be heading out the door to participate in an artistic communal prophetic peace rally and as my teenage child zoomed away in a George Jetson car, my heart would swell and my child would know her/his/zir commitment to peace was prenatal.

We posted this picture on Facebook. More than one person commented "Best. Ultrasound. Ever." And somehow I was moved to tears with pride over this little one that I know almost nothing about.

We're only half way through gestation with this little one. But I can already play the script out. And I want to play the script out. This moment in time where our child put up two fingers and the ultrasound tech managed to freeze them in time will be a defining moment. Or, I want it to be. I want to be proud of this little one who will grow to be a big one for peace.

But that future is not mine to dictate. I don't know that it's even mine to wish for. What is mine to wish for is for this child to be the fullness of who Yahweh, the God who is with, is bit-by-bit weaving zim/her/him to be.

And my pride and joy is to love and guide - but to allow this child to become the person this little one will be and to love this child wholly without regard or future plans or vicarious living through his/her/zir eternal soul and infinite story unfolding before Luke's and my eyes.

And it's hard.

It's always hard to participate but not control, to guide but let go, to dream but allow God's dreams to be bigger than mine.

This child may grow up to be a soldier. I can't imagine how that would be a good thing. I am staunchly a pacifist. But God is bigger than my imagination and I can only hope God's dream for this kiddo is wilder than my imagination. This child could grow up to loathe that story and wish that something else had been his/her/zir first story. And I will love this kiddo all the same. And I will be proud all the same. And maybe - probably - I'll learn something. And I will trust that the Divine Other who breathed life into Adam and Eve, who has been guiding and co-authoring story with humanity throughout history, who has walked and gently lead me through the twisting turning journey of my life is also walking with this child. And I will trust. And I will rejoice.

I have in my head the closing scene of Drop Dead Fred. Have you seen it? 
Throughout the movie, a woman is plagued by her childhood imaginary friend, Drop Dead Fred. He is constantly getting her in all kinds of trouble as he tries to bring back her playful, tenacious, strong self from childhood. He is mischievous. He defies her mother's plans for her with a benevolent vengeance. He reminds her of everything good and strong in childhood and in her.

And in the end, when she has found herself again, he knows his work is done and he leaves her.
But in the very last scene, a rambunctious little girl is making Hell for her nanny with such joy and abandon and sincerity of heart - and she says "Fred made me do it." And you see the grown woman watching the girl and smiling to know Fred is still sewing devilish good in the life of a new child. And it looks nothing like what her parents would hope.

It is tempting to script out my child's life. But, for one, it wouldn't work. More importantly, though, we'd miss out on Fred's crazy adventures. Or, truly, we'd miss out on that wild Holy Spirit grabbing hold of this new soul, like Drop Dead Fred running crazy out the door with a little girl in hand - or like the Spirit has grabbed my hand and ran out the door to countless unpredictable adventures - and leading her/him/zir on a wild and wildly good journey. And I wouldn't miss that for the world.

And I think children are great teachers of lessons like this. Reflecting on ourselves as children is a great teacher of lessons like this. But it applies everywhere. The church we are starting. The ministry with neighbors experiencing poverty, addiction, and mental illness we are embarking on. Our marriage. Where this broken country is headed. Any goal I have .For that matter, each day I wake up to. 

It's hard. It's always hard to participate but not control, to guide but let go, to dream but allow God's dreams to be bigger than mine. But they always are. Bigger. Better. Less tame. More exciting. Wild. Often more painful. But always good. So deeply good.

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    Lead pastor at Our Common Table: A Christian Community of Welcome and Justice in North Everett

    Rebecca Joy Sumner

    i am a christian. pastor. liturgist. abolitionist. wife. neighbor. church planter. writer (ish). theologian (ish). artist (ish). and basically just someone who playfully clings to this radical thing called hope. specifically, hope that God's commonwealth of love and justice to come more and more with every new day.

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