she asked
'you are in love
what does love look like'
to which i replied
'like everything i've ever lost
come back to me.'
-nayyirah waheed
I was five when I was first rewarded for being silent. My parents asked me why I brought some candy from school and I told them it was a treat for being quiet in kindergarten class. My parents seethed because they were invested to raise me as a woman to saw value in speaking out (even when my five year old voice called them out). I am proud to have parents who hope for me to choose truth-telling over placating kindness or erasing my voice in favor of comfort. I know that my kindergarten class is not the only place that I learned the subtle ways of wanting to please people rather than listen to and act out of my gut intuition. There are countless instances in which I have been praised or rewarded for being demure and quiet rather than speaking about what angers me.
I entered into seminary with holy fire burning within me; I came with questions and intense sense of call for my body to build bridges between what Christian institutions preach and what the Gospel of Christ beckons us into. I came to theological learning with an absolute call that I hold to this day: be present with people in realities that are true, living nightmares. I came with anger full of my own righteousness with questions about how people actually experience the grace of God here on Earth.
Near the end of my seminary career, I had a professor note to me that he was grateful to see a change in me. He said I came in with palpable anger and am leaving seminary with such sweetness and sense of care. I heard that professor's words, intended as a compliment, and couldn't help but question: When did I learn in seminary that sacred anger was less important than being needed or liked? Why does my burning fire feel like a tiny candle that could blow out with a strong wind?
I know that soaking in gorgeous theologies of liberation have given me places to articulate my perspective in ways I could not before. I have circles of people who remind me that I am one of many who have a burning call for justice. And yet, I have the academically learned privilege of hiding my anger with big words or out of my own fears, hiding my anger from myself. When did I learn to be afraid of my own potential to burn?
I am in love with my burning sense of call. It feels like everything I've ever lost of myself coming back to me. The past months that I have spent as a chaplain have been beckoning me to live in the bravery already residing in my bones. One of my talented musician friends, Emily Ann Peterson, has a podcast called Bare Naked Bravery that focuses on the places where people access their own bravery to do what they are meant to do. I love Emily's reminder in each episode that bravery often looks like knees shaking or feels much more messy when we are at our most brave. I urge you to listen in to find where bravery is growing within you!
My call to hospital chaplaincy is just that: BRAVERY. Every day I get to step into precious moments in time where people ask me to be brave. I am brave when I ask the tough questions that help someone see themselves in a grace-filled and transforming way. I get to be the brave person who lives outside normal time, stepping into God's time of grief, joy, and sorrow. I am brave when I speak the message of grace that all of us need to hear: You are loved, you are held, you are somebody.
I actually get to meet and love the people I preach about loving. I met a man experience homelessness who felt utterly abandoned by God; he prayed to God every day for hope and felt like no one was listening. I met a man who felt that when he dies, God's face will be a cruel person smiling and laughing at him. I met a Muslim family who fear that they will be taken out of this country and still showed radical hospitality to me in sharing prayers and songs with me. I have met countless African-Americans who share their stories of being misled, treated inhumanely, and hold deep distrust that people will properly care for them. These are the people I get to love in my every day. These are people I get to pray with, sing with, share hopes with. If that's not a sign of God's grace then I don't know what is.
Here is my candle of bravery growing in a strong force of action. My bravery is growing into a strong voice that shows both care and conviction. Here's to choosing truth-telling over placating kindness.
Where is your bravery? How do you find it?
