"Here I Raise My Ebenezer"

He named it Ebenezer, explaining, “The Lord helped us to this very point.”
— 1 Samuel 7:12

I remember yawning through a sermon during my internship at Riverside Church, being just alert enough to hear the preacher explain what an "ebenezer" was. I've known the word forever, thanks to one of the best darn hymns ever, "Come Thou Font". You know the line, "Here I raise my ebenezer hither by Thy help I come".   So turns out an ebenezer is both a stone of remembrance and a stone of help.  During one of the many battles that the Israelites were in, the prophet Samuel was asked to pray for God's help as the Philistines pursued them. Samuel did, the Israelites defeated the Philistines and Sam finds a rock and places it as a point of reference to remember where The Lord helped the Israelites.  Ebenezers are amazing! I hope that your life is filled with many stones that help you remember that and when God helped you. Mine certainly has but I am always tempted to forget my own ebenezers. All this forgetting would make me a great Israelite. 

I'm at an ebenezer now!

I am going into my 4th week of being in Montreat, NC for the Montreat Youth Conferences.. Almost 16 years ago to the date, I traveled with a church for my very first youth conference. I know this because, I turned 16 here and now I am 32(today-August 1). I was a rising junior in high school, the theme was "Weaving God's Vision".  My first youth conference changed the trajectory of my life. That was the week when I first felt the nudge/call/shove to go into ministry. I wanted other people to feel the power of God in the same ways I felt it in those "older-than-my-grandmother pews" of Anderson Auditorium. J Herbert Nelson was the preacher that week. He said a lot that I still remember but most importantly he said "God don't make no mistakes." I needed to hear that at 16, always feeling not enough and frankly I need to hear that now. Feelings of inadequacy have always plagues me. What if God was calling me to one day be the vessel through which others came to know just how much God loves them? Scary stuff then, scary stuff now.  I came for two more years as a youth, 1 year as planning team. Took a break, came back, took a break and now this is my third summer coming back as an adult in various capacities: Small Group Leader, Individual Back Home Leader, Conference Pastor. Not every youth conference was amazing. I have grown cynical, jaded, and bitter towards many elements of youth ministry but still the Montreat love beats strong in me.

Since Montreat is in the mountains and mountains tend to have a good deal of rocks, there is not so much an ebenezer to raise but an ebenezer that raises me. An ebenezer in Western NC that  raises me to listen a little more intently to this God that calls people even when the world doesn't recognize their call. At 16, I left Montreat curious about this Jesus that loved me,  this God that created me, and this Spirit that moved in and through me and that just as personal as the it all felt to me, it was/could also as/be true for everyone else. 16 years ago, Montreat became an Ebenezer where I experienced God's help and provision and remembered God's promises. Those late teen years and early twenties, I was often more than not eager to listen to God, curious about theology and faith and church. With each return to Montreat, I was more and more geeked about it all.  I talked about it ad-nauseum in high school. In college, I even instituted Montreat mondays where I'd only wear Montreat paraphernalia.

But the older I got, the more I realized how much I could be hurt by the church, how hard it would be for me to stay eager about the call, if in fact I was/am called. Montreat eventually became this thing that once meant something to me but was becoming more and more a symbol of the hurt/lies/deceit of the church. The love songs always say, "If you love something let it go, if it comes back for sure, that's how you'll know." After 2007, there were 7 years before I returned. I went to New Orleans. I went to seminary. I got rejected from over 60 + (and counting)PCUSA churches. Montreat, "the Presbyterian Mecca" was a symbol of all the times I was let down by the denomination I had put so much faith and trust in. 

When you have lost your way, it is always a good time to find your ebenezer to remember when God helped you, when God seemed real. Almost 2 years into my time as a youth director and as 30 came knocking, I came back to Montreat as a small group leader. Small Group 17, Week 1 is one of the best experiences I've ever had in ministry. I was renewed. I had an amazing group: funny, deep, smart, kind, compassionate. I wanted them to be my youth group. I felt called again even in the muck and mire of an increasingly crappy situation. Yet again, Montreat was my ebenezer.

This summer I was/am here for 4 weeks. As much as I love Assembly Inn rolls, that's alot of time. I didn't know when I said "yes" to all these various weeks and roles, that I'd be at a low point when the summer rolled around. I came in a wilderness time, depleted of energy,  more or less over the church(little c and big C) but still in these weeks of energizers, small groups, and weird PCUSA norms and small talk, I remember that God has provided, and will provide. It's hard to stay angry at the world, when you look at the mountains, when you rock on a porch with people who have known you since that very first youth conference and been part of your ordination, or when you rock with seminary friends who whisper "it'll be OK", "i know how you feel", when you laugh with teenagers about you tube videos and discuss church with folks still able to dream.

Rambling, disconnected thoughts but alas... here i raise my ebenezer hither by Thy help, I've come.

 

"I Have A Voice"

A few hours ago one of my beloved friends called. This particular friend lives on the West Coast and more often than not we play phone tag. Since I spoke to her last night, it was a real Christmas in June treat to hear her voice two days in a row. She had asked to hear one of my sermons. I sent her the most recent one. Even though it is part of my job to proclaim God's word to God's people,  every week I am nervous and scared beyond belief  to preach to my congregation. I answered the phone and she says, "I listened to your sermon, it was so good, you have a gift". Not one to know what to do with compliments I fumbled around to a "Thank You".

The sermon she spoke of was the first time I had preached sans manuscript. I had two friends last weekend while I was going through my Saturday afternoon and Saturday night routine of "WTF am I going to do tomorrow?" say why don't you just tell 'em what you told me. The text was 1 Kings 17:8-24. The story of Elijah + the widow at Zarapheth. SN: Don't you hate when people cite scripture like anyone really would have known what was 1 Kings 17:8-24 without me saying what it was. That story is ridonkulous. It's got crazy prophets mansplaining, a mother and her son preparing to give up on living, a woman giving a l man and his God a piece of her mind, and a resurrection and before that the crazy bum prophet is eating from the mouths of ravens. Ridiculous. I will (gulp) post the sermon at the end of this here blog.

My point is despite the t-shirts that say I am a feminist, my love of Beyonce, my frequent references to Lean In and Chimanda Adichie, I am afraid to use my voice. Scared not that I have nothing to say but too much to say. Scared that when I speak my mind, my truth, my opinion that it will be misunderstood and that people won't like me. So when I speak, I apologize. I don't want to offend, right? When I preach, I use a manuscript because I like the written word, I trust my written word. But lately, the Universe or great Mother God, or something/someone has put on my heart this desire to find my voice, use my voice and be myself. I am not there yet. 

Just yesterday I used my voice to express a theological and scriptural argument about who/what/how the Holy Spirit works in what we call church and someone told me that I got into a "pissing match". I thought of it as a teachable moment, a victory for us who hope to Lean In, and using their/my/our voice. As soon as it wasn't received well, I began to second guess (let's be honest 700th guess) myself. 

But what if I am supposed to speak? Speak up and Speak out, maybe even speak over. What if this word really is like a fire shut up in my bones, what then? People who speak up, out, and over tend to have haters. Is it par for the course? As a woman can I speak my truth directly or does that type of  power come from the penis? Let's not act like patriarchy isn't alive and well, even in spaces where we have polity and confessions that speak against it.  So many times when I have found the courage to speak up or out, my words have been devalued, discredited and dismissed by men and then affirmed, lauded, and deemed as inspiration when another man says the same thing. It makes the INFP, who doesn't trust her voice go inside herself. But I have a voice, it gets angry and passionate, it wants, wishes, hopes. It quivers when it goes off script, it fades and trails off in the ends of sentences but it demands to be heard. 

That particular Sunday for about fifteen minutes, I risked believing that I have a voice, trusting that voice, and letting it speak. May it be so that we all find our voice, our particular one and speak out, up, and over. 

My voice is deep, sometimes mistaken for a males. My voice is cautious, when I write i wonder about words and alliterations, metaphors and similes. When I speak, I am afraid to cry. When I'm angry, I'm afraid I will scare someone. All of that may be true and none of it may be true but regardless it is still my voice, i have a voice and i must not be afraid to use it.

Actually Sermon entitled "Ridiculousness" is posted in the sermon section as well.