Methodist Church – Sometimes You Just Need A Poem

lost

March 2, 2019March 2, 2019 Amy Clark1 Comment

Years ago, my husband and I, who grew up practicing different faiths, found a church that welcomed us and in some way made each of us feel at home, feel as part of a family. And honestly, for the last 8 or so years, that church has been our family. My gratitude for these people extends beyond the capacity and potential of any words I could scribe here. They have supported me in prayer and lifted me in love as I wandered aimlessly through illness after illness, surgery after surgery. They have supported my family and loved my kids as if they were their own. My church family is comprised of a group of individuals who remain reliable in every situation. Being with them in that sacred space on Sunday morning, singing and praying in praise fills me up and grows my heart. My time at this church has included opportunities to explore my faith deeply–to question it, to dig into it, to wonder, to wander away from it only to return with strength and new understanding. This faith-work created in me an unshakeable foundation–because when you understand what you believe, you begin to own it. My faith stands firm.

But my heart was broken this week, and I don’t know how to return to church.

My church family bears no fault in this heartache. My love for them is unwavering. However, the church at large made an intentional decision this week after many months of study and deliberation. I am certain there are parts of this determination that I do not understand (at least I’m hoping so), but what I do understand is that I cannot support an institution that actively, knowingly and willingly discriminates. In doing so, I believe I would be hurting more people than I am helping. In my complicity, I believe that I would be setting an example for my children that condones discrimination (this world is hard enough as we struggle to own our implicit bias, I really can’t allow myself to lend a hand in worsening that complication by participating in and donating to an organization that knowingly discriminates).

I understand that this decision only affirms the rules that were already in place. But the intentionality of the decision…the fresh look with the same answer…makes it different. It just does. And the tumult of my heart reflects that. And I don’t know how to settle the upheaval in my mind. I don’t know how to qualify what feels like selfishness in staying because I am loved by this church, when others are only tolerated and not fully validated. I just don’t.

My faith in the Lord has not wavered and so I reach out in prayer…seeking answers…seeking understanding…seeking an easier decision that can’t be granted. Humans are fallible. We screw it up a lot of the time, but grace is what saves each of us. Whether it be the grace that we extend each other as we empathize or offer forgiveness or the grace that God has gifted us with out of sheer love because we are His creation. All of us. Not just a few people. Not just a select group. All of us. My faith has not wavered. I will continue to reach out to others in love. I will continue to work towards a servant’s heart. I will continue doing my best to be a light for good in the world rather than an abyss of darkness and hate. I will continue.

Tomorrow, I will return to my church on more time so that I can listen and seek understanding, clarity. I will return with hope in my heart, but in this moment, I fear that hope might be futile. I fear everything is about to shift in ways I am not prepared for. In this situation, while I rest in my prayer, I also exist in the fear and hurt this decision has generated.

(there is a Mary Oliver poem that I can’t find right now that I want to include–I will add it when I am back with my books tomorrow).

(Day 56–8 full weeks of blog-a-day. I struggled with whether or not to write this one. I’ve struggled with that for days. But my heart is heavy and I needed to put the words out there. I know there are humans on the other side of this issue and all kind of folks in between. But this blog is a reflection of my thoughts in a moment and this is where I am today.)

turmoil of heart

February 27, 2019 Amy ClarkLeave a comment

As a Christian, I am called to love. As a human in a world that bears the burden of far too much hate and discrimination (even thinly veiled or disguised by clever terminology), I feel this call deeply. And in this particular moment I feel like it is important to note that love demands more than tolerance.

Love cannot simply be the absence of bigotry that tolerance implies.

Love must fill that absence with generosity, selflessness, empathy, and affirmation. Love must reach out its hand to those ignored by the rest…even and especially when it is difficult, uncomfortable, frightening. Love must see the worth of the human being instead of the label we so easily assign. Love implies a willingness to reach beyond the simplicity of merely existing ignorantly side by side…a willingness to be in relationship with each other, to have a responsibility to each other. Love requires an open heart that recognizes a world beyond what is comfortable or familiar. Love understands that acquiescence is complicity, so love uses its voice for good…love stands up for and amplifies the voices of those who have been marginalized…and love does this knowing repercussions might be vast but also knowing there is no other way.

Love demands courage.

Love imagines boundless goodness.

Love acts accordingly.

It doesn’t have to be easy. It just has to be done. We just have to try.

unison

January 14, 2019January 14, 2019 Amy ClarkLeave a comment

It began with a solitary voice.

She stood in front of the congregation, no music, no accompaniment…just a lone voice singing out, filling the silence.

“As I went down in the river to pray/ Studying about that good old way/ And who shall wear the starry crown/ Good Lord, show me the way!”

Then suddenly two more voices joined hers and there were three voices singing together, filling the silence. Two by two, sisters, brothers, mothers, fathers, walked up and joined each other standing side by side singing. As more members of the choir and other church goers joined in and the sound of those beautiful voices singing in unison crescendoed, I found myself overwhelmed, tears welling.

I am easily moved, so tears like this aren’t uncommon. But today was different. Today, it wasn’t the words or even the beautiful voices. Today was a realization.

~~~

We live in a world where voices seem more often to scream out in discord rather than to join together harmoniously. Lone voices would rather be correct than work together to uncover what light and goodness might come from that union. Barriers go up so fast and they are built so solidly that it becomes impossible to even make sense of what is being said on the other side–we don’t hear the song, we just hear the noise…and the noise is loud. It feels unknown and unfamiliar and uncomfortable and what we don’t know frightens us so we fortify the barriers instead of asking questions, instead of seeking to understand. Our barriers are decorated carefully with words, phrases, posts and reposts so others will view them with reverence and maybe even fear. In their reinforcement, our barriers make us feel important. They make us feel right. They convince us that we don’t all have to live in this world together, that we really can separate ourselves and not interact, let alone interact civilly.

~~~ poetic interlude care of Robert Frost~~~

My students are currently conducting a little study on sonnets. One of the greatest common factors in the earliest sonnets is a diligent rhyme scheme. My kids tend to love this quality because to many of them, rhyming poems feel like “real poems”…don’t get me started on this… Those rhymes echoing the same sound as the end of the line before, adding emphasis, adding rhythm also add a bit of comfort for my students who sometimes find themselves disconcerted by free verse. The earliest poems and stories we come to know in life rhyme, the first poems we write and are praised for often rhyme and so the rhyme in these sonnets brings on nostalgia for what was once deemed proper and correct. Breaking free from this concept that all poetry rhymes kind of terrifies some kids. It calls them to venture into territory they aren’t certain of, begs them to tear down barriers, requires them not to rely on the echo, on the creature comfort, but to create something that resonates with those around them for other reasons–meaningful reasons they must consider and craft. That is difficult work.

~~~a sonnet interlude care of Elizabeth Bishop~~~

I was working with a group of third through sixth graders at church one week and in the middle of a pretty lively conversation about judgments and bias and stereotypes asked them what it really means to love our neighbor. The inevitable eye roll and rote answer came my way. “Treat others the way we want to be treated.” Yes, but what does that look like? If we are truly called to love one another, what does that mean? How can we live into that? They thought for a bit and were hesitant to respond but once they did, the answers rolled in beautifully and honestly–“well, it’s hard because we are supposed to love everyone and not everyone is nice” “it means we are supposed to be kind” “it means that if someone is sitting alone at recess, I should go sit with them” And more…answers and examples unique to their daily experience came pouring in. It was a good reminder conversation with kids who have been taught this idea all of their lives. I ended the class by asking them to think about what specific actions they would really need to take in order to honor this commitment to love our neighbors. I joined in this thinking because I don’t think any of us are ever too old for this kind of intentional living, intentional loving. We all agreed that the things we thought about would be tough, but so is living in a world where people shy away from loving others just because sharing that love, sharing that grace, sharing that kindness feels like a risk. But we also agreed that it would be a risk worth taking.

~~~poetic interlude care of Naomi Shihab Nye-stick with this one, it is worth it~~~

I wasn’t even going to attend church today. I didn’t feel well last week and have so much work to do and so much that I could have gotten done during that time that would have made Monday far easier than it is going to be. But, my husband said the choir would be singing this song and it would be different so I went.

As I sat there in the crowd witnessing the growing number of voices joining in together to sing, my tears welling, I realized that there were no barriers. One lone voice singing out goodness was magnetic, and planned or not, others joined in, and like a light filling a dark room, the joy and goodness in their voices permeated hearts (or maybe just mine, but I’d like to think others felt it too). They weren’t echoing each other–Sure, they were singing together, but each voice sang out its own unique tone in its own unique way. There was no hiding in the choral unison because as voices joined in, they could be heard for who and what they were. Yet they all still made music, beautiful music together. There was love. That group of people, knowing them as I do, represented viewpoints and opinions that span the spectrum. They represented varying ages and identities, varying backgrounds and abilities and they stood together in agreement to sing a song about renewal, welcoming, and prayer. It was a visualization of what we need most in this world today, a visualization of what we could be–of what we were, if only for a moment and not just in a church but anywhere, everywhere.

And it was beautiful.

(Day 8, done. I’ve come to spend my days searching for something to write about since I’ve started this challenge instead of just waiting for inspiration to strike. It’s a good process I think but today was a moment in and of itself and begged me to put words to the emotion. Always the best when that happens!)