How would I ever feel like I related to the Prodigal Son story? Me of all people? No way [insert emoji of the individual lifting up their hair]. Arrogant, I am very aware, but definitely how I felt growing up.
Recently, I read the book The Return of the Prodigal Son by Henri Nouwen, and it reshaped the way that I viewed the story as a whole. It opened up the idea that this story was relatable on every level.
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When I was 15 or 16, my evangelical church hosted a purity retreat for the youth. We spent the night in the church and devoted most of the time split by gender, talking in a circle. The big prize at the end was a purity ring. Oh, and virtue and all that. During one circle time, the leader brought up women’s submissive role in marriage. My hand shot into the air to contradict her. I grew up in a very matriarchal family. I could not picture entrusting the finances to a man, let alone my eternal salvation. (A future coworker was at that same retreat. She said she remembered hating me for saying women should not be submissive to their husbands. We didn’t work together long.)
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What do I believe about the Bible – and what does it mean? Of that, I am uncertain, but I’m finding beauty in its complexities.
The part of the Bible that drew me into Christianity was the way it described love — God’s love for me and for all of humanity. When I made the decision to follow Jesus, I didn’t read the Bible until I became a Christian during my freshman year of high school. That’s also when I immersed myself in (Western) Christian culture — joining a church and attending every Christian youth group, retreat or concert I could fit into my schedule.
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Nothing puts me to sleep quite like the Bible.
In truth, I’ve never had a tough time sleeping. When I was a kid, as the hour would approach anything near bedtime, I was known to fall asleep anywhere and on anything. Many times at restaurants, once in a bowl of spaghetti, apparently even a few occasions of sleepwalking toward the stairs only to be stopped by a vigilant parent (Thanks, Mom!). Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy reading and listening to other people’s perspectives on biblical passages, but opening it up myself and trying to form the words into sentences has never really held my attention. I attribute some of this mental block to the complicated history I have had with the Bible.
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As I write this, I am flipping through my well-loved, well-traveled Bible — the margins of which I’ve been writing in since I received it upon my high school graduation. The content of these margins is all the proof one needs that how you read and understand the Bible changes drastically over the years. These notes are a good reminder that what I once read as absolutely concrete and beyond human influence, I now read through the various lenses of my upbringing, experiences, education, relationships, and work. As I began searching for a particularly meaningful passage to me, all I needed to do was to follow the highlighting and scribbles. I remember believing that this book had all the answers in life, and finding myself continually disappointed as I got deeper and deeper into my social work career, and finding that for me, it didn’t.
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I have fond memories of going to Sunday School as a kid. My family was active in the United Methodist church we attended, and my classes there were always filled with friends and caring teachers. I recall the upper elementary class being particularly fun. About once a month, the teachers would draw a huge diamond on the whiteboard, and we would play Bible Baseball. It was my favorite! We divided into two teams to answer Bible trivia in order to score singles, doubles, and home runs.
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Since the Co-Position position has been shared, the search committee has been actively reviewing candidates who have submitted materials. As of January 5, 2020, we had received about 23 candidate submissions! We have been impressed with the quality and diversity of backgrounds. The team reviewed 10 applicants very closely, and based on that review, decided 9 of those applicants will move onto the next round.
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The Lord is a stronghold for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. - Psalm 9:9
Shame is universal and started in the garden of Eden. God covered our shame over and over, but Christ absorbed it once and for all at the Cross. We get that intellectually, but those of us who have been abused hear other voices — voices of condemnation and humiliation. Our shame seems so much deeper. It can easily enter our souls like deadly venom.
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Despite hearing countless sermons over my life and attending Bible studies and reading the Bible myself, it's hard to pinpoint when something I read or heard made a direct impact on my living and behavior. One instance I specifically remember is when I read the Mary and Martha passage from Luke 10 as part of a Bible study. It was near the holidays, and back then one of my sisters hosted both a Thanksgiving and Christmas gathering. I sometimes helped with the prep upon arrival. But it was post-meal, post-dessert when I'd see the dirty dishes needing to be washed and the leftovers needing to be divided and put away. And since I didn't do the bulk of the preparations, I felt I should help with the clean-up. Not everyone was aware of the need or interested in helping. Sometimes multiple people chipped in, and with more people it's more fun and goes quicker.
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I stopped reading my bible three years ago. I removed it from its long-inhabited home in my nightstand and put it in a cabinet. Behind a door. Out of sight and out of mind. In reality, though, getting it out of my mind is one of those easier-said-than-done things. Growing up evangelical drilled it into me deep, impressing a narrow and rigid interpretation upon my young mind and heart.
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My grandmother was a devout Catholic, the kind that prayed the rosary every single evening. The sweetest woman in the world. I know everyone says that about their grandmother. I’ll fight you on it and I’ll win, but right now I have a word limit to observe.
Growing up Catholic I believed in the Bible, but I had no idea what it actually said. When I became a freshman in high school, I got a lot more serious about my faith and started reading it daily. It’s a habit that hasn’t stopped to this day.
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What does it mean to love all?
For me, my most memorable experiences of “loving all” occur in Haiti...just a short 2 hour flight south of Miami.
On the southern coast of Haiti in a tiny village of Cyvadier stands a 6,000-square foot concrete building the Haitian people call “The House of Life.” American medical volunteers together with a staff of 30 Haitians provide essential medical care to 10,000 people each year during four two-week medical clinics and weekly “urgent care” clinics.
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I first traveled to Honduras with Imago in 2015. That week, I met two sisters, Andrea and Fanny. They are sweet and sassy, respectively. These girls keep me coming back to Honduras year after year. Do I love digging trenches and mixing concrete too? Absolutely not. But I do it anyway. Because of these relationships. I quickly formed a bond with these girls in the span of just one week five years ago. The following year, I was unable to go on the trip due to a school commitment, but wanted these girls to know that I had not forgotten them. So, I sent a photo along with my husband, Kyle (or Carlos, as he’s known in Honduras), of us together taken the year prior, as well as a brief note to let them know that I think of them often and that they are loved.
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