Wade in the Water

(Image from nicoleseitz.com)
Wade in the water.
Wade in the water, children.
Wade in the water.
God's gonna trouble the water.

Well, who are these children all dressed in red?
God's a-gonna trouble the water
Must be the children that Moses led
God's a-gonna trouble the water.

Who's that young girl dressed in white
Wade in the Water
Must be the Children of Israelites
God's gonna trouble the Water.

Jordan's water is chilly and cold.
God's gonna trouble the water.
It chills the body, but not the soul.
God's gonna trouble the water.

If you get there before I do.
God's gonna trouble the water.
Tell all of my friends I'm coming too.
God's gonna trouble the water.

Water is so many things. It is a path to escape and a landmark to follow back home. It is a source of life through its consumption as well as a source of laughter and fun through rock-hopping and sprinkler time.

When was the last time we viewed water as something God "troubled"? What exactly is troubled water? The intentional images that flash through my head look like tidal waves and tsunamis, but that doesn't sound like the type of water the singers of this spiritual were wanting their children to be wading in.

I think the kind of trouble God is creating for these waters is the trouble that comes with radical movements or change. In my opinion, this is good trouble. The best kind of trouble there can be. Trouble that creates change through destruction.

I have personally witnessed this kind of water-made trouble. A couple of years ago when I was on a school trip to the US/Mexico border. We were walking along in the desert (with our water bottles close at hand) and we came to a part of the fence that was being rebuilt. We of course asked why and our guide pointed down the path where the strewn pieces of the old part of the wall were.

The path we had been walking on and the fence had been in the way of was a riverbed. During the rainy season, the river seems to come out of no where and become such a force that cement and wood and hundreds of hours of labor can just be washed away. It seems to me that God troubled that water.

Stand in the water. Play in the water. Drink the water. Share the water. Wade in the water. God's gonna trouble that water.

(Image from lindalesperance.com)

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Beth is graduating from Presbyterian College in May with a BS in Early Childhood Education and a BA in Christian Education. In August, she will be moving to Nashville, TN to work with the Young Adult Volunteer Program.

Appreciating Tap Water

Heather's post is part of our Lenten Water Project. Throughout this Lenten season our writers will be focusing on the subject of water and what that means to them. Please donate to our well-building efforts, and if you have something YOU would like to say about water, let us know and we'll post it here!

Well, I'm finishing up two weeks of only drinking water. I had read about the Lenten water project. At first I thought, "there is no way that I could ever do that." So I just put it out of my mind, forgot about it and started Lent without adding a spiritual practice or giving something up. Then this year for spring break I got to take my first trip out of the country to Santiago Atitlan, Guatemala. During the week that I spent there, one thing that was a huge change for us was not being able to drink from the faucet. Here we can just grab a glass in the kitchen and fill it up with tap water and be totally fine after we drink it. If I had done that there, the next few days would not have been very fun. So, after having to be very careful with the water I drank and even the food I ate that could have been washed with the unclean water I began to really think about the world's water crisis. So on World Water Day, March 22, I decided to jump in on this challenge.

I applaud any one who started this journey at the beginning of lent. After day 2 of only drinking water I wanted to quit. It is much harder than I expected to give up everything else. I am glad to say that I have stayed strong in these two weeks but it hasn't been easy. I am so looking forward to something with flavour. But more importantly these last two weeks has given me the opportunity to talk to people about the water crisis and hopefully got people thinking about how they use water and what they can do to help.

So for everyone who is on this journey and are doing what they can to help end the world water crisis, The 40 days is almost up but that doesn't mean that we can stop raising awareness.

Stay strong and keep being the rock stars that you are.
-Heather

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Heather Scott is a senior in Audio Engineering and Music Business at Belmont University, an active participant with the Presbyterian Student Fellowship in Nashville, and resident Audio/Visual Queen at Montreat.

The Long Lenten Journey is Nearly Over...

Kim's post is part of our Lenten Water Project. Throughout this Lenten season our writers will be focusing on the subject of water and what that means to them. Please donate to our well-building efforts, and if you have something YOU would like to say about water, let us know and we'll post it here!

It is Holy Week, and the long Lenten journey is nearly over. We began that journey in the desert, where water is scarce and the wilderness is harsh. Still dripping from the waters of his baptism, Jesus was sent out into the desert, propelled by the same Spirit who had just come upon him in the form of a dove. He had no food, no drink, and only the devil for company. For forty days he was tempted by Evil incarnate, who did everything in his power to get Jesus to deny his identity as the beloved son of God.

Because Jesus defeated evil – not only in the desert, but on the cross – we are safe from the worst that Evil can do. During the Lenten journey, however, we come face to face with our vulnerability, beginning with an ashy cross that reminds us that we are dust. Yet God makes that journey with us, never abandoning us to hopelessness, never allowing us to be claimed by the sin that clings so closely.

Even in the desert, there are signs of hope. On the final Sunday of Lent, we heard the faint sound of water trickling. It started with the prophet Isaiah:

Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old.
I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.
The wild animals will honor me, the jackals and the ostriches;
for I give water in the wilderness, rivers in the desert,
to give drink to my chosen people,
the people whom I formed for myself so that they might declare my praise.
(Is 43:18-21)

Then the psalmist replied with a song of hope:

When the LORD restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream.
Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy;
then it was said among the nations, "The LORD has done great things for them."
The LORD has done great things for us, and we rejoiced.
Restore our fortunes, O LORD, like the watercourses in the Negeb.
May those who sow in tears reap with shouts of joy.
Those who go out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing,
shall come home with shouts of joy, carrying their sheaves.
(Ps. 126:1-6)

The journey is not quite over; we still must walk the path Jesus walked, to the upper room, the foot of the cross, and – thanks be to God – the empty tomb. Throughout the long journey, though, the God who causes water to spring forth in the desert is with us, reminding us that in the waters of baptism we are claimed once and for all, never to be abandoned, until we are raised on the last day and our joy will be complete.

Charles Wesley captured this whole journey in a single stanza of his hymn, “Jesus Lover of My Soul:”

Plenteous grace with Thee is found,
Grace to cover all my sin;
Let the healing streams abound;
Make and keep me pure within.
Thou of life the fountain art,
Freely let me take of Thee;
Spring Thou up within my heart;
Rise to all eternity.

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Kim Long is the Assistant Professor of Worship and Coordinator of Worship Resources for Congregations, at Columbia Theological Seminary, in Decatur, GA.

"Remember your Baptism"

Kristin's post is part of our Lenten Water Project. Throughout this Lenten season our writers will be focusing on the subject of water and what that means to them. Please donate to our well-building efforts, and if you have something YOU would like to say about water, let us know and we'll post it here!

I've been thinking about baptism a lot lately. Perhaps it’s a little premature, here in the midst of Lent and all, but I’ve been thinking about the free-flowing, cleansing waters of baptism.

I think it all started a few months ago when I witnessed the baptism of little David. David’s was the first baptism I saw at the church where I’m interning. Granted, I had seen many baptisms prior to that day, but for some reason, David’s just inherently felt different. Watching it all play out in front of me, I was suddenly aware of just how momentous the act is.

David’s family and Bill, the head pastor, were gathered at the front of the sanctuary. David’s parents beamed as they passed their infant son to Bill. Bill cradled David in the nook of his arm and slowly chanted the ancient baptismal words: “I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.” With each named member of the Trinity, Bill covered David’s head with a small handful of cool water.

David’s reaction was priceless. A huge smile broke across his face, letting out a hiccupped laugh. He swung his head around to look out at the whole congregation, and more laughter escaped. It was as if he was simultaneously inviting us to share in the experience with him and commenting (with all of those baby giggles) on just how magical the moment was.

That sense of joy was contagious. As Bill invited the whole congregation forward to receive blessings of their own, there were smiles all around. “Remember your baptism,” Bill charged us as he traced the symbol of the cross in cool water on each of our foreheads.

I’m still pondering what it means to “remember my baptism,” seeing as how I can’t actually remember the physical event from my first year of life. But after witnessing David’s baptism, I’m sure of this: baptism is the joyous and mysterious experience by which we enter into the body of Christ. It might be a little too early to celebrate, but I’m looking forward to remembering – and even celebrating – my baptism as Easter approaches. I’m ready to think about those cleansing baptismal waters after this dry and thirsty time of Lent.

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Kristin Raley is a first-year Master of Divinity Student at Harvard Divinity School. Her interests include the intersection between faith and language and evangelical Christianity. She is also pursuing ordination in the PC(USA), and is currently interning at Fourth Presbyterian Church in South Boston, MA. When she’s not writing papers or working at church, you can probably find her perusing a local coffee shop for some hazelnut coffee … or saying something in her “funny” Chicago accent.

"To Dust You Will Return"

David's post is part of our Lenten Water Project. Throughout this Lenten season our writers will be focusing on the subject of water and what that means to them. Please donate to our well-building efforts, and if you have something YOU would like to say about water, let us know and we'll post it here!

“Remember David, ‘you are dust and to dust you will return.’” (Genesis 3:19)

With that my professor dipped his thumb in the small cup of ashes and oil that he held against his chest, lifted my hair, and wiped his stained finger on my forehead.

First down.

Then across.

The smudged cross left on my skin in that Ash Wednesday ritual signified the beginning of the Lenten season; a time of preparation, repentance, and reflection.

Lent leaves space to reflect on many things.

Our finitude is one of them.

Among other things, the ashen cross is supposed to point us to the temporal nature of life. I think that is why the words of my professor wrapped themselves around me so tightly.

I am dust. We are dust. Particles of dry earth.

I guess it makes sense that we are dust. After all, a potter formed us (Isaiah 64:8), and potters work with things of the earth, even dust. Dust that with the help of minerals and water and time has become clay.

On its own, dust is just parched dirt, but when water enters the equation, something new happens. A new substance is created. One that with some time between the hands and fingers of a caring potter becomes a beautiful creation.

That cross of ash on my forehead is gone, long since washed away, but it still challenges me, and perhaps it challenges you. What if we could spend a few moments reflecting on the role that water plays in transforming our substance from dust…to clay…to a beautiful creation?

This is the season for just that sort of reflection.

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David Powers is currently pursuing a Master of Divinity at Columbia Theological Seminary, which he will finish up in May. His interests include running, learning new things, and Clemson Tiger football.

In the Wilderness…

Katelyn's post is part of our Lenten Water Project. Throughout this Lenten season our writers will be focusing on the subject of water and what that means to them. Please donate to our well-building efforts, and if you have something YOU would like to say about water, let us know and we'll post it here!

After the Israelites had gone out of the land of Egypt, on that very day, they came into the wilderness of Sinai.
Exodus 19:1

Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil.
Luke 4:1

The wilderness is a not a place where most people would choose to be. It’s a scary place, full of uncertainty and devoid of life. In the wilderness, survival is a daily struggle, disorder and danger are everywhere, and desolation and drought threaten life.

For our biblical ancestors the Israelites, the wilderness is where they wandered for forty years, wrestled with God, and questioned whether God’s promises to them would be fulfilled. Jesus, still dripping with the waters of his baptism, was led into the wilderness where the devil was waiting for him.

The wilderness is nothing if not humbling. Perhaps it is appropriate then, that this is where the Lectionary has us begin our Lenten journey every year. We start in a place that reminds us of our dependency on our Creator God, the life-giving sacrifice Jesus made for us in his death, and the mysterious movement of the Holy Spirit in our lives.

Yet we are assured that the wilderness is not the final destination. The Lord led the Israelites out of the wilderness, and the Holy Spirit did the same with Jesus. God leads us out of the barren wilderness to green pastures and still waters where life is abundant, and we are called to share this life with one another.

May this Lenten season be a time when we remember what it’s like to be in the wilderness, find hope in God’s faithfulness, and rejoice with one another for the incredible gift of grace we have received in Christ Jesus.

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Katelyn Gordon is a graduate of Columbia Seminary and is the Children's and Family intern at Trinity Presbyterian Church Atlanta, GA.

A Thirsty Lent

Jessica's post is part of our Lenten Water Project. Throughout this Lenten season our writers will be focusing on the subject of water and what that means to them. Please donate to our well-building efforts, and if you have something YOU would like to say about water, let us know and we'll post it here!

Since I was a little girl I have entered church with the same ritual, dipping the tips of my fingers into a tiny metal bowl of holy water near the heavy wooden door of the sanctuary. I tap these wet fingers on my forehead, on the center of my chest, and on both shoulders; it is the sign of the cross. This practice, inherited from my Catholic tradition, reconnects me with the first Christian ritual I ever experienced—baptism.

It also engages the natural substance—water—that pervaded Jesus’ life. Jesus was baptized in water. Christ used it for miracles, using it for winemaking and walking on its waves. Jesus taught about living water.

Water is ubiquitous in my life and the Christian tradition, which is precisely why I find the season of Lent so startling. When I enter a Catholic sanctuary to pray or attend Sunday liturgy, I instinctively place my fingers into the tiny water bowl only to find it empty. Dry. During this forty-day liturgical season, the baptismal fount at the front of the church no longer hums with the trickle of clear, blessed water. It, too, is empty.

This is how we prepare for the annual remembrance of Christ’s suffering passion: we experience a little bit of life without the water that we take for granted most of the time. That way, come Easter Sunday when the baptismal founts are flowing and my finger tips are wet with Holy Water once again, I rejoice in the resurrection and the Water of Life with new gratitude.

When was the last time you were thirsty?

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Jessica Coblentz is currently pursuing a Master of Theological Studies degree at Harvard Divinity School. Her interests include Catholic theology, religious and cultural identity, and ritual studies. Follow her writing on the Web at www.jessicacoblentz.com.

Montreat College Conference: 'God Without Borders'

Part of the Church is Alive team is in Montreat for the 2010 College Conference. We will be bringing you articles from all the happenings of the conference. Be sure to check back this week for the articles and maybe even a bit of video! Also, if you attended the conference we would love to hear from you!

We hope you all had a great Christmas season!

Grace and Peace!

Merry Christmas/A Conspiracy...

The members of the Church is ALIVE team are taking a little time off to celebrate with our families for the holidays...

BUT, we wanted to leave you with a little video about a really cool project called "The Advent Conspiracy." It's about making gift-giving a little less about "buying" and a little more about "giving." They also have a goal of providing clean water to those without, and that's always a good thing.

But that description doesn't really do the clips justice. Watch the original 2008 video below, and then watch the 2009 follow-up video below THAT and find out how you can help.

Christmas is about giving, after all:

And this year's version:

Merry Christmas all!

Waiting on the Past: Advent's Hope in the Midst of Unspeakable Loss

A little while ago, my friend Matthew asked me if I’d be up for writing about how I’ve encountered the Church as truly alive. Naturally, my first instinct was to write about campus ministry, about how we have all of these vibrant college students within and outside of our denomination (the PCUSA) who tackle faith and the questions it poses. But then I thought that might be a bit narrow-minded of me. I mean, how cliché is it for a campus minister to write about campus ministry?

There’s so much going on within the Body, I thought. Why not venture outside of your little bubble, your little world of ivory towers and Crimson Tide football, and consider what else is happening in the ecclesiastical world?

Unfortunately, this line of thinking led me down a road I did not altogether expect. Not that I should be surprised, since I’ve discovered that, when it comes to deciphering what God may be up to, there is no such thing as a foregone conclusion. But in my quest to find a living, breathing Church, I was stymied by a lack of inspiration. I just wasn’t feeling it. And how the heck was I going to write about the Church being alive when I wasn’t sure what that looked like?

Now, please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not saying that campus ministry is the only place where things are kickin’. And I’m certainly not implying that God needs to branch out a bit. To say that might render me vulnerable to not-so-random strikes of lightning from on high or, perhaps worse, trial by PJC (Permanent Judicial Commission). What I am saying is that the proverbial rub starts and ends with me, a victim of my own narcissistic tendencies and campus ministry tunnel vision. Or, put another way, I’ve just been too dang focused upon what’s going on in my own pastoral world to even consider what’s happening elsewhere.

Something tells me I’m not the only one who has experienced this. I believe we pastors are by our very nature a narcissistic bunch, which seems counter-intuitive when you consider the “selfless” nature of our calling. It’s easy to obsess over “the perfect sermon” or to allow other people’s opinions to haunt us at night or to believe that the fate of the Church rests solely upon our shoulders. And it’s tempting to think that whatever happens within the walls of the steeple centers around us.

Of course, to believe that is to buy into a lie. And, unfortunately, it often takes something “big” to jar us out of our selfishness... which is precisely what happened to me.

First Sunday of Advent. We’re supposed to be anticipating the birth of a child, not mourning the loss of one. Yet that’s exactly what was happening in our congregation, as we sat there, dressed in black and gray, remembering all of the ups and downs of this little child, thinking about what was and what could have been. Nothing seemed right with this picture. Nothing at all.

Except...

Story after story was told about how the congregation—no, the Church—had been with this family. People they didn’t know asking about them. Flowers being sent. Visits being made. Emails asking for prayers. On and on and on.

And, on this Sunday afternoon, mere hours after we had lit a candle of hope, the pews were filled by doctors, church members, nurses, old friends, extended and immediate family, hospital staff, young and old alike. The great Body of Christ in action, responding to a call to love one another, to comfort the grieving, to reach out and offer a hand to those who could not stand on their own.

It didn’t happen the way I expected or the way I wanted, but, on that Sunday, I was reminded that the Church isn’t about one person or one family or one group or one congregation. It involves a lot more than that. And, precisely because of that, the Church is very much alive.

I know this to be true because there, amidst the sadness and grief that Sunday, was a people waiting on the past, waiting on something that once was to happen yet again in ways we cannot even comprehend, waiting on a time when we can celebrate alongside the people we mourn, waiting on a space in which we no longer have to think about what could have been.

We wait because we hope, which, on that first Sunday of Advent, seemed mysteriously providential...

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James Goodlet is the Presbyterian Campus Minister at the University of Alabama and author of Presbytide.wordpress.com

Are Our Congregations Eco-Friendly Enough?

God saw all that God had made, and behold, it was very good.

My front porch offers quite a view. I live on the side of a mountain, and looking out offers a great view of brightly colored tree tops (I love fall) and various mountaintops that surround Montreat, North Carolina. This valley is beloved by many Presbyterians for its beauty and tranquility, the intangibility of “getting away from it all” presents itself clearly here. In the US, we’re fortunate to have places for solace and sabbath close at hand, but that proximity also blinds us to the fact that our consumption is killing us.

An Open Question: Who Are We? No, Seriously, Who?

A few days ago a Divinity school friend and I were strolling down a dusty, red-bricked sidewalk. As the greens, golds and maroon-browns of fall spiraled down from the trees around us, we started commiserating about a church service we had just attended. Naturally, we - being Presbyterians - jokingly hyper-analyzed the sermon and highlighted the theological conundrums brought up by the pastor. I had enjoyed the service, but my friend felt otherwise - she just “wasn’t a fan.” She explained that it had been a “somewhat unorthodox” Presbyterian service, complete with boisterous musical numbers (Johnny Cash) and a slightly-less-than-organized order of worship (I still have no idea what happened during the Children’s Sermon). As such, she seemed displeased and uncomfortable with the overall feel of the service. Given that I, admittedly, really like organic approaches to worship, I started to press my friend for a specific reason for discomfort.