As we enter Holy Week, I have been thinking about how crunched this season of Lent has seemed. Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, and Easter Sunday are all happening in the course of a little under 3 months! This is quite unusual. Below you will find some interesting facts about this year's early Easter. This information was researched and compiled by Eric Gombert, Trinity's Director for Music.
As you may know, Easter is always the 1st Sunday after the 1st full moon after the Spring Equinox (which is March 20).
This dating of Easter is based on the lunar calendar that Hebrew people used to identify Passover, which is why it moves around on our Roman calendar.
Based on the above, Easter can actually be one day earlier (March 22), but that is pretty rare. This year is the earliest Easter any of us will ever see the rest of our lives! And only the most elderly of our population have ever seen it this early before (95 years old or above!). None of us have ever, or will ever, see it a day earlier.
Here are the facts:
The next time Easter will be this early (March 23) will be the year 2228 (220 years from now). The last time it was this early was 1913 (so if you're 95 or older, you are the only ones that were around for that!).
The next time it will be a day earlier, March 22, will be in the year 2285 (277 years from now). The last time it was on March 22 was 1818. So, no one alive today has or will ever see it any earlier than this year!
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Friday, February 29, 2008
College Culture Shock
I have thought about this for a long time, and comments I have received on my last blog, Moving On, have prompted me to write about it...
When I went away to college, I was really ready to get away. In know many young people feel this way, and others dread the day when they will finally have to make that move out of their parents' house. But I was ready. I couldn't wait.
I think the thing that surprised me so much about my Freshman year in college is how hard it was. I was ready to be away, but I had no idea exactly what that meant. I was unprepared for the culture shock of college.
I don't know what your experience during Freshman orientation was like, but at my school, we spent a lot of time talking about what was going to happen next. We talked about expectations for class. We talked about responsibility. They talked to us a lot about consequences for underage drinking, partying, sex. We saw slides of genital herpes. Honest.
We also spent a lot of time bonding, making friends, and participating in large group building activities. In all of this, however, I missed something. I didn't even know I missed it until years later when I was attending another orientation, this time as a fledgling missionary to Cameroon. What I missed at Freshman orientation, and in some way what would have been the most helpful, was a discussion about culture shock.
Cuture shock is the phenomenon that happens to you when you leave behind a place and people that you know and enter an entirely new situation that you are totally unfamiliar with. Oh, you may think you know about it... I thought I knew about Cameroon, for example. I had read about it , studied its history, been in other parts of Africa, and had even talked to other missionaries. But, I didn't know about it. How could I? I had never been there before.
That's the way it was with college. I was ready. I thought I knew about it. But I didn't because I had never been there before. I wasn't prepared for the fact that I would miss my parents (I would never tell them that!). I wasn't prepared for leaving so many of my personal belongings behind, or getting rid of them. I wasn't ready to miss my friends. Some of those friendships will never exist again; they were only for the small time and place I was in during high school. Oh, I was ready for college... except for the fact that I had no idea what that meant.
Cuture shock has some very interesting symptoms. Despite the fact that I had chosen to be there, I spent much of my first months in Cameroon mourning the world I had left behind. Much the same was true for me when I went away to college. I really wanted to be there. And yet... I was mourning my old life and busy trying to find a new one all at the same time. This led to some interesting experiences. For example...
When I went away to college, I was really ready to get away. In know many young people feel this way, and others dread the day when they will finally have to make that move out of their parents' house. But I was ready. I couldn't wait.
I think the thing that surprised me so much about my Freshman year in college is how hard it was. I was ready to be away, but I had no idea exactly what that meant. I was unprepared for the culture shock of college.
I don't know what your experience during Freshman orientation was like, but at my school, we spent a lot of time talking about what was going to happen next. We talked about expectations for class. We talked about responsibility. They talked to us a lot about consequences for underage drinking, partying, sex. We saw slides of genital herpes. Honest.
We also spent a lot of time bonding, making friends, and participating in large group building activities. In all of this, however, I missed something. I didn't even know I missed it until years later when I was attending another orientation, this time as a fledgling missionary to Cameroon. What I missed at Freshman orientation, and in some way what would have been the most helpful, was a discussion about culture shock.
Cuture shock is the phenomenon that happens to you when you leave behind a place and people that you know and enter an entirely new situation that you are totally unfamiliar with. Oh, you may think you know about it... I thought I knew about Cameroon, for example. I had read about it , studied its history, been in other parts of Africa, and had even talked to other missionaries. But, I didn't know about it. How could I? I had never been there before.
That's the way it was with college. I was ready. I thought I knew about it. But I didn't because I had never been there before. I wasn't prepared for the fact that I would miss my parents (I would never tell them that!). I wasn't prepared for leaving so many of my personal belongings behind, or getting rid of them. I wasn't ready to miss my friends. Some of those friendships will never exist again; they were only for the small time and place I was in during high school. Oh, I was ready for college... except for the fact that I had no idea what that meant.
Cuture shock has some very interesting symptoms. Despite the fact that I had chosen to be there, I spent much of my first months in Cameroon mourning the world I had left behind. Much the same was true for me when I went away to college. I really wanted to be there. And yet... I was mourning my old life and busy trying to find a new one all at the same time. This led to some interesting experiences. For example...
- What is it about Freshman year relationships? Many of the friendships I made during that time did not last beyond that year. The ones that did are the ones that I will probably always treasure the most. Those people saw me at my ugliest and still loved me. And they still love me today.
- There must be a connection between finding yourself and throwing up after drinking WAY too much... not something I would promote, by the way.
- Things were very strange in general. Take church, for example. I wanted to go, but not really. And, I didn't have to. My mom wasn't there to make me. She also wasn't there to make me eat well, do my laundry, or finish my homework. In fact, I could pretty much do anything I wanted, as long as it wasn't illegal or got me expelled. I did some of those things. Some I regret, and some I don't.
The reason I am sharing this is because I don't think our college students are often prepared for what it really means to go to college. Oh, most of us find our way. I turned out OK despite those things I did. And, I still remember my college years as the most fulfilling, envigorating, educational, wonderful, magical years of my life.
But I never had a name for the difficult parts of it until I went to missionary orientation. That was when someone finally told me that it was OK to be in between worlds, mourning your old one while celebrating your new one. No one had ever put a name on it before. Naming it made a huge difference in my perception of what had happened my Freshman year.
All this to say that no matter how excited we may be, going away from home isn't always easy, no matter where we go. But, that is OK. It's got a name. And, it won't last. Chances are, you are just experiencing a rough patch at the beginning of what is going to be a life-changing, incredible, memorable experience.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Moving On...
Life is full of odd little unexpected moments. In this case, it was a phone call last August from our landlord telling us that he needed to sell our condo.
Now, here we are less than two weeks from our move-out date. Packing things up after making this our home for three years. We already have a new place to live, but we will be spending a month at a way-side before finally moving into our new townhome the week after Easter. If any season of Lent has ever been a wilderness time, this one is... we are as homeless as the Israelites were while waiting for their own Promised Land.
This week as I removed books from shelves and dusted them off, I came across so much nostalgia. Old photographs of a past life, airline ticket stubs, a yellowed map, a postcard. A songbook of French hymns. A newspaper clipping I'd stuck inside a book. There are also boxes of memorabilia that came out of a closet at my parents' house: things from college, high school, middle school. My diary from seventh grade. Photographs of old boyfriends. The stub from my first paycheck EVER. A poster from a musical I was in. A handful of old coins, once a child's treasure chest. An old church bulletin from my confirmation day. A tattered Habitat for Humanity t-shirt. Why did I save all these THINGS?
I think sometimes people never move on. Almost six years later, I am still struggling with the enormity of having to move on from Africa. Something inside me tells me it may never happen. Sometimes I think God is telling me I don't have to. Maybe there are times when it is okay not to move on.
On the other hand, so many of these precious memories I have stuck in boxes and inside books are so far from where I am now. I think of one of my best friends who longs to return to our college campus, just to be there again. She and I used to walk and talk for hours in the moonlight around our small college town. She wants to walk again. But I'm not there. I haven't been there for a long time. She would be walking by herself.
When my husband moved to the United States, all of his belongings fit into two suitcases. They weren't filled with clothing, but rather books, photographs, and papers. Now as we pack our home, I am amazed at the sheer number of boxes we have to fill. How much of this stuff is really important? If we only had two suitcases to fill, what would get taken, and what would get left behind? What would we be moving on without?
Life is full of "moving on" moments. They are both scary and exciting, sad and joyful, crushing and freeing. Right now, I am in the wilderness. I don't know when that might change... a new home might do it, or it might not. I guess I'd better make sure I know what's in my suitcases....
Now, here we are less than two weeks from our move-out date. Packing things up after making this our home for three years. We already have a new place to live, but we will be spending a month at a way-side before finally moving into our new townhome the week after Easter. If any season of Lent has ever been a wilderness time, this one is... we are as homeless as the Israelites were while waiting for their own Promised Land.
This week as I removed books from shelves and dusted them off, I came across so much nostalgia. Old photographs of a past life, airline ticket stubs, a yellowed map, a postcard. A songbook of French hymns. A newspaper clipping I'd stuck inside a book. There are also boxes of memorabilia that came out of a closet at my parents' house: things from college, high school, middle school. My diary from seventh grade. Photographs of old boyfriends. The stub from my first paycheck EVER. A poster from a musical I was in. A handful of old coins, once a child's treasure chest. An old church bulletin from my confirmation day. A tattered Habitat for Humanity t-shirt. Why did I save all these THINGS?
I think sometimes people never move on. Almost six years later, I am still struggling with the enormity of having to move on from Africa. Something inside me tells me it may never happen. Sometimes I think God is telling me I don't have to. Maybe there are times when it is okay not to move on.
On the other hand, so many of these precious memories I have stuck in boxes and inside books are so far from where I am now. I think of one of my best friends who longs to return to our college campus, just to be there again. She and I used to walk and talk for hours in the moonlight around our small college town. She wants to walk again. But I'm not there. I haven't been there for a long time. She would be walking by herself.
When my husband moved to the United States, all of his belongings fit into two suitcases. They weren't filled with clothing, but rather books, photographs, and papers. Now as we pack our home, I am amazed at the sheer number of boxes we have to fill. How much of this stuff is really important? If we only had two suitcases to fill, what would get taken, and what would get left behind? What would we be moving on without?
Life is full of "moving on" moments. They are both scary and exciting, sad and joyful, crushing and freeing. Right now, I am in the wilderness. I don't know when that might change... a new home might do it, or it might not. I guess I'd better make sure I know what's in my suitcases....
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Vote!
I haven't thought this all out yet, but if you have been paying attention at all to the primary results in New Hampshire tonight, one thing is very clear...
THE YOUNG ADULT VOTE IN THIS COUNTRY MATTERS!
Candidates are targeting college campuses and 20-something voters like never before. On the democratic ticket, lines have been drawn between middle-aged women and young urban college students. The young adult vote WILL make or break the democratic nomination.
I heard an interview on "All Things Considered" on NPR yesterday that I wish I could find the transcript for. They were interviewing the people on the streets who are campaigning for these candidates. One of the Clinton campaigners was complaining that too many young adults are supporting Obama. This person said that the problem with young voters is that they vote with their hearts, and not with their heads. She said that if young adults stop to think about who will be the most experienced, long-standing, and successful candidate, then they would vote for Hillary. I got the feeling that she was basically saying that we, as young adults, don't think very much about our choices, and that our inexperience may lead to wrong decisions.
This idea that young adults are inexperienced, unmotivated, too emotional, or somehow less able to make an intelligent decision is just wrong. This election is falling on the young adult vote in many ways. Nominations will be determined because of what we think. Presidents will be elected. We are NOT the FUTURE of this country... we ARE this country. We want change, and we will follow our hearts to get it. That's not wrong! That's what great countries are made of! We wouldn't be Americans if we didn't hope for something better for ourselves and our future families. Isn't that what the American dream is all about?
My husband will be able to vote this November for the first time since becoming an American citizen. I hope that you understand what a great gift it is to be able to participate in free and fair elections, in a country where the results will be respected, and order will prevail. It is not like that in many places in the world, including the country Pierre emigrated here from.
Please, if you are not registered, GET REGISTERED. The Democrat and Republican primaries will be held in Pennsylvania on April 22. Other states are voting sooner. Find out when your state has its primary, and GO VOTE! And then go again in November to support the nominee for your party.
THE YOUNG ADULT VOTE IN THIS COUNTRY MATTERS!
Candidates are targeting college campuses and 20-something voters like never before. On the democratic ticket, lines have been drawn between middle-aged women and young urban college students. The young adult vote WILL make or break the democratic nomination.
I heard an interview on "All Things Considered" on NPR yesterday that I wish I could find the transcript for. They were interviewing the people on the streets who are campaigning for these candidates. One of the Clinton campaigners was complaining that too many young adults are supporting Obama. This person said that the problem with young voters is that they vote with their hearts, and not with their heads. She said that if young adults stop to think about who will be the most experienced, long-standing, and successful candidate, then they would vote for Hillary. I got the feeling that she was basically saying that we, as young adults, don't think very much about our choices, and that our inexperience may lead to wrong decisions.
This idea that young adults are inexperienced, unmotivated, too emotional, or somehow less able to make an intelligent decision is just wrong. This election is falling on the young adult vote in many ways. Nominations will be determined because of what we think. Presidents will be elected. We are NOT the FUTURE of this country... we ARE this country. We want change, and we will follow our hearts to get it. That's not wrong! That's what great countries are made of! We wouldn't be Americans if we didn't hope for something better for ourselves and our future families. Isn't that what the American dream is all about?
My husband will be able to vote this November for the first time since becoming an American citizen. I hope that you understand what a great gift it is to be able to participate in free and fair elections, in a country where the results will be respected, and order will prevail. It is not like that in many places in the world, including the country Pierre emigrated here from.
Please, if you are not registered, GET REGISTERED. The Democrat and Republican primaries will be held in Pennsylvania on April 22. Other states are voting sooner. Find out when your state has its primary, and GO VOTE! And then go again in November to support the nominee for your party.
Friday, January 4, 2008
The Summer of 1999
Or, How I Came to Africa: A Love Affair
It kind of surprised me as I looked back over almost a year of posts that I have hardly blogged at all about Africa, something which is so central to my identity and ministry. I guess as time marches on and Africa disappears farther and farther into my past, the reality of my present situation outweighs any experience I had there. Do you think the uniqueness of who I have become because of that place will eventually disappear altogether? Sometimes I ask myself that question. And, as much as sometimes I don't like being different from everyone else, I also don't want what makes me unique to disappear.
The other question I always ask myself is if I will ever make it back to Africa. I am afraid to answer that question. I am afraid the answer might be no, and I don't know if I can accept that. I don't want to always be on this side of the Atlantic looking out across it at great distance, as if it were a lover I abandoned a long, long time ago.
I was last on the African continent in July of 2003. That was a month-long visit to Cameroon, the primary purpose of which was to help my husband Pierre emigrate to the United States. Prior to that, I lived and served as a missionary in Ngaoundere, Cameroon, from August of 2000 to July of 2002.
The first time I was in Africa, though, was for a trip to Tanzania in the summer of 1999.
I would really like to be able to express to you in words how that trip changed my life; I'm just not sure if it is possible.
Have you ever had a moment in your life that was so magical and wonderful that it seemed surreal? That was the way the entire summer of 1999 was for me. The best way that I can describe that time in my life is that I fell in love; everything around me after that summer had this magical, wonderful, shimmering glow. My perspectives on the world and education and religion and what really matters all changed. Some of my problems didn't seem so important anymore. Other things seemed more important than ever.
One of my really personal memories happened after I returned from Tanzania. I was walking down Main Street in Salem, Virginia, right up the street from my college, and this girl walked by. She was talking on her cell phone. Blah, blah, blah... I don't really remember what she was talking about. What I do remember is what I thought: The whole world had been turned upside down, and it seemed like I was the only person on the planet who knew it or even gave a damn.
It seems virtually impossible for me to explain to you what it was that so shook me up, got inside me and turned me upside down and inside out. Maybe an example will suffice.
Part of what I was doing that summer at Roanoke College was writing an honors paper on the Lutheran Church in Tanzania and the process of inculturation, which is basically the phenomenon of the gospel message taking on certain attributes, symbols, and traditions of the local culture. An example of this would be illustrating Jesus as a black man in Africa or an Arab in the Middle East. Another example would be offering... in Africa, it is often less about passing the plate and more about your first fruits: grain from your harvest, a goat from your field, a live chicken. Try sitting through a worship service while two live chickens with their legs tied together flap around on top of the altar!
One of the things that I learned very quickly during my time in Tanzania (and later in Cameroon) is that a lot of the Christian theology, doctrine, and tradition that I learned in college (and later in seminary) are very entitled. What I mean is that it is very convenient to believe certain things and practice your religion in a certain way and have a sense of entitlement about it, until you go somewhere else where the same rules just don't apply. The people in my current congregation would have a cow if someone brought chickens into the sanctuary! They have enough problems if the poinsettias aren't all lined up properly or the Christ candle is in the wrong spot. They have enough problems because we have switched our communion practices to intinction. We all complain about things that don't really matter a whole lot, when you think about it (Oh, they matter to us... they just don't matter much in the grand scheme of things).
The summer of 1999 showed me that I am NOT the center of the universe.
My theology is NOT the center of the universe.
My tradition is NOT the center of the universe.
My church is NOT the center of the universe.
My GOD is the center of the universe.
God made us all so unique and beautiful. God gave us minds to think, hearts to feel, and ears to hear. God gave us a message that is so universal that it can be practiced and believed in so many different ways. The only thing that remains the same is that Jesus Christ died and rose again to save us. Whether that Jesus was black or white, whether we offer him chickens or $20 bills, whether we take communion on our knees or in passing by dipping in a cup, it doesn't really matter. The only thing that really matters is that the Christians in America and Tanzania and Cameroon and the Middle East and Costa Rica and everywhere else worship the same Jesus Christ.
What was so special about the summer of 1999? In some ways, it was realizing my own obscurity. I am so small, and the world is so big and cruel and hard. So much of what I do doesn't matter to anyone but me. It was in learning of my obscurity that I gained the greatest gift... I gained a peek into what it truly means to be a Child of God.
I am wonderfully and beautifully made.
The same God who made me also made the dusty streets of Africa.
The same God who made me also made the tall Maasai and the towering Baobab.
The same God who made me also made those chickens on that altar.
The same God who made me also made a planet where America and Tanzania can co-exist.
So different, and yet so similar. So far apart, and yet so strangely near to one another.
Our God is an awesome God.
It kind of surprised me as I looked back over almost a year of posts that I have hardly blogged at all about Africa, something which is so central to my identity and ministry. I guess as time marches on and Africa disappears farther and farther into my past, the reality of my present situation outweighs any experience I had there. Do you think the uniqueness of who I have become because of that place will eventually disappear altogether? Sometimes I ask myself that question. And, as much as sometimes I don't like being different from everyone else, I also don't want what makes me unique to disappear.
The other question I always ask myself is if I will ever make it back to Africa. I am afraid to answer that question. I am afraid the answer might be no, and I don't know if I can accept that. I don't want to always be on this side of the Atlantic looking out across it at great distance, as if it were a lover I abandoned a long, long time ago.
I was last on the African continent in July of 2003. That was a month-long visit to Cameroon, the primary purpose of which was to help my husband Pierre emigrate to the United States. Prior to that, I lived and served as a missionary in Ngaoundere, Cameroon, from August of 2000 to July of 2002.
The first time I was in Africa, though, was for a trip to Tanzania in the summer of 1999.
I would really like to be able to express to you in words how that trip changed my life; I'm just not sure if it is possible.
Have you ever had a moment in your life that was so magical and wonderful that it seemed surreal? That was the way the entire summer of 1999 was for me. The best way that I can describe that time in my life is that I fell in love; everything around me after that summer had this magical, wonderful, shimmering glow. My perspectives on the world and education and religion and what really matters all changed. Some of my problems didn't seem so important anymore. Other things seemed more important than ever.
One of my really personal memories happened after I returned from Tanzania. I was walking down Main Street in Salem, Virginia, right up the street from my college, and this girl walked by. She was talking on her cell phone. Blah, blah, blah... I don't really remember what she was talking about. What I do remember is what I thought: The whole world had been turned upside down, and it seemed like I was the only person on the planet who knew it or even gave a damn.
It seems virtually impossible for me to explain to you what it was that so shook me up, got inside me and turned me upside down and inside out. Maybe an example will suffice.
Part of what I was doing that summer at Roanoke College was writing an honors paper on the Lutheran Church in Tanzania and the process of inculturation, which is basically the phenomenon of the gospel message taking on certain attributes, symbols, and traditions of the local culture. An example of this would be illustrating Jesus as a black man in Africa or an Arab in the Middle East. Another example would be offering... in Africa, it is often less about passing the plate and more about your first fruits: grain from your harvest, a goat from your field, a live chicken. Try sitting through a worship service while two live chickens with their legs tied together flap around on top of the altar!
One of the things that I learned very quickly during my time in Tanzania (and later in Cameroon) is that a lot of the Christian theology, doctrine, and tradition that I learned in college (and later in seminary) are very entitled. What I mean is that it is very convenient to believe certain things and practice your religion in a certain way and have a sense of entitlement about it, until you go somewhere else where the same rules just don't apply. The people in my current congregation would have a cow if someone brought chickens into the sanctuary! They have enough problems if the poinsettias aren't all lined up properly or the Christ candle is in the wrong spot. They have enough problems because we have switched our communion practices to intinction. We all complain about things that don't really matter a whole lot, when you think about it (Oh, they matter to us... they just don't matter much in the grand scheme of things).
The summer of 1999 showed me that I am NOT the center of the universe.
My theology is NOT the center of the universe.
My tradition is NOT the center of the universe.
My church is NOT the center of the universe.
My GOD is the center of the universe.
God made us all so unique and beautiful. God gave us minds to think, hearts to feel, and ears to hear. God gave us a message that is so universal that it can be practiced and believed in so many different ways. The only thing that remains the same is that Jesus Christ died and rose again to save us. Whether that Jesus was black or white, whether we offer him chickens or $20 bills, whether we take communion on our knees or in passing by dipping in a cup, it doesn't really matter. The only thing that really matters is that the Christians in America and Tanzania and Cameroon and the Middle East and Costa Rica and everywhere else worship the same Jesus Christ.
What was so special about the summer of 1999? In some ways, it was realizing my own obscurity. I am so small, and the world is so big and cruel and hard. So much of what I do doesn't matter to anyone but me. It was in learning of my obscurity that I gained the greatest gift... I gained a peek into what it truly means to be a Child of God.
I am wonderfully and beautifully made.
The same God who made me also made the dusty streets of Africa.
The same God who made me also made the tall Maasai and the towering Baobab.
The same God who made me also made those chickens on that altar.
The same God who made me also made a planet where America and Tanzania can co-exist.
So different, and yet so similar. So far apart, and yet so strangely near to one another.
Our God is an awesome God.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)