Southwest Conference Blog

Finding Happiness

In the Spring 2018 semester, Yale launched their most popular course ever, “Psychology and the Good Life.” It was a course on happiness, and enrollment skyrocketed. A quarter of Yale students enrolled in the class, and the institution struggled to meet the demands from such a large enrollment. Dr. Laurie Santos developed the course to help address rising rates of depression, anxiety and stress among students. The course was so popular, it was soon launched on the online learning platform Coursera as “The Art of Happiness.”

I signed up for the class out of curiosity. It’s free unless you want the certificate of completion. Of course I wanted the certificate of completion, so I paid an extra $49 to get a piece of paper at the end. (Hey—maybe it counts for CEUs!) I should mention that I wasn’t particularly unhappy going in. Taking a class on happiness seems to imply that the student must be unhappy. I’m more of a taking-a-class-inherently-makes-me-happy person.

Within about 2 weeks of starting the class, I had one major take-away not named in the class: being part of a church will make you happier. It will make you happier according to science, not just some pastor. It will make you happier even though being the Church is hard right now. It’s hard as institutions struggle through the time before resurrection. It’s hard as we face what seem like insurmountable social justice issues. And yet, time and again, polls also report that people who are part of a faith community are happier and live longer than those who are not part of a faith community. Now there’s easily accessible data to name why.

Here are some of the things I learned will actually make you happier in a way that transforms your life:

Stop worrying about stuff.
Practice gratitude.
Meditate.
Be socially connected.
Keep a regular sleep schedule.

Most any of us who show up to church occasionally realize that church helps us cultivate all of those things. If you can walk or bike to church, you will manage to hit every single thing that will make you happier, clinically speaking.

I preach often about the gifts of the church, the Christian community gathered. I love the story of Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit becomes a normal, expected presence with the gathered church. That presence is a break from the occasional and extraordinary presence with the prophets, when a word from the Lord might be rare.

And yet, it is a little shocking to be reminded that the church has a profound gift to offer just by existing like most of our churches do. We pass an offering plate each week and say, “You have enough to give away. Trust us.” We take time to name what is good and what is difficult and hold it in a space with other people. We do it on a day traditionally known as Sabbath, and keep saying that holding space for rest matters. And even when we gather with people who are so very different from us, we find people who will check in on us and love us and show up in wonderfully unexpected places.

In this class, we were also challenged to take on one of these habits. For success, we were even asked to tell someone else our goal. It was for a finite period, with a clinical measure of success before and after. Part of the point is that it’s so difficult to make a significant change like the things named. We don’t naturally choose what is good for us. Again, not really a surprise to church people.

I am reminded that one of the most profound gifts of all is that the Church, with all its imperfections, keeps going along, reminding us to worry less about our stuff, to be grateful, to pray, to honor Sabbath, to show up—even if it’s just to be together. In our case, it is not an art that one person cultivates, but a faith we continue to hold onto for the promise of something better for our world. Happiness is only the tip of the iceberg.

Laying Out the Napkins

by Karen Richter

There are a couple of questions that have captured my imagination in adulthood. The first one is “Do I want a contemplative life?” This question came to me in the midst of training as a spiritual director at Hesychia. The program (it’s awesome, by the way) assumes that participants are approaching maturity in their spiritual practice. My Hesychia cohort and my own spiritual director have been immense help in wrestling with this question… which remains open for me and serves as a guidepost.

The second question is “What does contemplation during the season of raising children look like?” This too is an open question, but I will share with you one answer that I’ve discovered.

Contemplation is laying out the napkins.

My children are older (22, 17, and 13 yikes) but most nights we still sit down together to a meal that I’ve prepared. Often evenings feel hurried. People have places to be and things they want do be doing. Yet there’s a moment – the microwave has beeped and the pasta has drained. The carrots are cut and the sauce has thickened. Everything is ready. But I pause. I lay out napkins and fill water glasses. I pause and I breathe before I call everyone to dinner.

It’s nothing, really. Just seconds, a mere moment of being present and grateful. Silent retreats and long sessions of prayer might be a larger part of my life in another season. For now, I’ll continue laying out the napkins.

Performance

by Karen Richter

I love reading Slate’s advice columns. Recently, I read advice from teachers to parents at the start of the school year. The first response involved a teacher asking parents to think through their request for extra information about their child’s school experience. Specifically, the teacher said that parents often tell her, “Share with me everything always.” And of course, this is not really feasible or even beneficial for most families or most teachers.

But it got me thinking: why would a parent even say that? Is Parent X really expecting a daily stream-of-consciousness report from their progeny’s teacher? Probably not.

Here is my suspicion: We say things that we assume others are expecting to hear, and we say things that give others a certain impression of who we are. In this specific situation, there is a special kind of anxiety for a parent when meeting with their child’s teacher. Many parents would admit that it’s important that their child’s teacher have a positive impression. We want to be “good parents,” with all the baggage of expectations that label entails. In all kinds of situations (not just parenting at the beginning of the school year), we’re prone to the same behavior: performance. We humans are always asking, “What is expected of me?” The game of managing, meeting, exceeding the expectations of others around us takes a lot of our energy. It’s exhausting, actually. To make matters worse, the more time we spend on The Performance Game the more difficult it becomes to recognize when we’re playing it.

What if we stopped?

What if our churches became places where people practiced NOT performing? A few years ago, a friend from church talked with me about a Sunday morning struggle. There are those weeks, she explained, when you and your partner are fussing and cranky with one another, the children are slow in getting ready, and the counter top is sticky. So you rush through the routine, pile in the car to get to church… and plaster a believable-enough smile on your face and pretend to be happy and normal.

And then we might wonder why our relationships seem to be shallow and why we carry around a vague sense of malaise and ennui all the time. We might wonder why our churches are so often seen as ineffective or even hypocritical.

What’s the cure for The Performance Game?

As usual, the cures are simple but not easy. Here are my top 3 Performance Anxiety Busting Superstars:

friendship

Have friends and let them really see you. Friendship magic happens when we stop cleaning up before friends arrive to our home. This is also one of the greatest blessings of rough times: when it is obvious (so so obvious!) that our lives are not perfect, we can stop pretending that they are and let our real selves show up. I am writing today all the things I need to practice the most, and this is a big one. Slowly but surely, I’m starting to recognize and appreciate what Real Me sounds like and how she’s different from Performing Me.

I take comfort in the friends of Jesus… how they were continually bumbling and misunderstanding, jockeying for power and getting it 100% wrong. Yet Jesus trusted them with All. The. Things.

2. nature

Get yourself out-of-doors! Let the lovely imperfections of creation teach you.

3. meditation

Don’t be tempted by a special edition of The Performance Game: The Spirituality Expansion box. I’m writing again to myself. The pull of performance and the desire to have others see us as ‘spiritual’ is strong in me.

So I remind us both: Just sit and breathe. Your mind will wander and distract you with thoughts because that is what minds do. Just keep sitting and breathing.

Prayer for Today:

Spirit of Life, You are Reality Itself. I so want to be real too. Remind me of the realness in my faith tradition: the women who sang victory, the boy who shared lunch, the friends who stayed close, the dreamers and the pray-ers and the poets. Thank you for the gifts of friendship, simplicity, creation, and breath. Amen.

Empire Stories

by Abigail Conley

Here is a story of the Empire I trust in, hope for, pray with:

We’re renting a bouncy castle. It’s a princess 5-in-1 combo sure to delight the five-year-old for whom it is intended. She’s getting adopted, officially a forever family. Rumor is there will be TWO cakes for this Very Big Party.

And so more than seventy people got together and funded a bouncy castle, along with plenty more to buy all sorts of books for that same five-year-old. I recommended We Don’t Eat Our Classmates, a very reign of God sort of book that doesn’t look like it all.

It’s this beautiful celebration across many miles for a little girl and her mom. Those of us who won’t be able to go to the Very Big Party still join in this way. We are anxious to see pictures of this little girl who we’ve come to love from a distance, still in foster care for a few more days.

The whole thing is a beautiful, joyful experience of being able to do something to make a little kid’s Very Big Party on her Very Big Day that much more full of love.

It is one of the few times I can remember where it was so easy to give a kid something that would bring a great deal of joy. The other that comes to mind was when I had a youth group on an outing around Christmas and paid for a carriage ride around the outside mall. The driver gave me a good deal because she could see the excitement in the kids’ eyes. The kids couldn’t stop talking about it for weeks. Beautiful abundance in simple things always strikes me as more fully the Reign of God than most anything else.

Here is a story of the Empire I trust God and those working toward God’s Reign are overthrowing:

We’re buying teddy bears and shoelaces. Some of those same people who got together and funded a bouncy castle Venmoed me money or sent a check in the mail because I was able to fulfill requests locally for people being released from detention. I bought up all the shoelaces in store because stores don’t seem to stock many of those. I found teddy bears that would fit small hands and arms. That one day, those kids and their families had more of what they needed. I don’t know if they had a single thing they wanted. I don’t know what to do with the reality of shoelaces being the thing that brought a smile that day. I keep telling that story over and over, but with kids still in detention, it seems that I probably should keep telling it.

And I wish I had a single story.

But I remember sitting with a church leader, planning out gifts for the family we were sponsoring for Christmas. “Can I just buy them socks and underwear?” she asked. “If they’re asking for socks and underwear, they should get socks and underwear.” So we agreed on behalf of the church that we would exceed the number limit placed on gifts so that kids would get socks and underwear for Christmas, along with things they wanted.

Those some people funding the bounce house also explained children’s clothing sizes to me one day. There was no clear conversion for chubby children’s sizes to underwear. I needed to buy clothes for a child in my church whose mom could not manage it. Finances were part of the problem, but so was mental illness. Those things that parents of children seem to magically know eluded her, and so I was filling in the gaps as best I could, despite having no children of my own.

Those are the children’s stories that come to mind. But most days, I see a crowdfunding page for a funeral or medical needs or housing. I am reminded of the jars by cash registers so common in the small town where I grew up. They were the precursor to crowdfunding pages, a town working to pay the medical expenses of someone with no insurance. Flyers dotted the bulletin boards of those same places, asking people to attend a benefit auction or concert.

These are the stories of our empire. And these are not the stories I want to tell. I want to tell stories of a community choosing to give a little extra money to fund things that feed the soul, like bouncy castles and books. I don’t think it takes much Spirit to realize that this is the better thing, to get to offer joy and delight rather than fulfilling the most basic of needs.

Hear the words of the Good Shepherd, whose Empire has no end: “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” John 10:10

Pastors Cover the Who, What and Why; Spiritual Directors cover the How

by Teresa Blythe

As the last great generalists in our increasingly niche economy, pastors do a lot and they do it well. They preach the good news; advocate for a more just society; cast a vision for their congregation; and encourage Christians to live and work in community.

Pastors cover the “who, what and why” of the Christian faith. But where it breaks down for so many in the pews is the “how.” People want to know what it means in this 21st century world to be a Jesus follower. People want to know how to pray in their daily lives and how to apply their faith to complicated and important situations they face.

How do I do what the pastor is talking about?

The question of “how do I live out this faith I’m hearing about at church?” is the terrain of the trained and experienced spiritual director. Which is why I am encouraging church leaders—pastors, Christian educators, council moderators, church musicians and worship planners—to warm up to a local spiritual director for support, encouragement and help with discernment. Church leaders and spiritual directors can work together to fill in gaps between theology and practice.

Sermons only go so far

I remember once hearing a beautiful sermon in a progressive church about the importance of being in close, personal relationship with Jesus. (Yes the preacher defied the convention of the day by actually talking about getting to know Jesus personally). It was inspiring but she failed to address how this relationship is built. But she’s not the only one guilty. I recall as a child in a conservative Christian church that the only “how” we were given was one prayer we needed to pray to be close to Jesus.

How does a thinking person in the 21st century get to know a spiritual figure from the first century? Spiritual directors will tell you it’s by finding inner stillness within yourself (meditation), spending time in a prayer practice that fits for your personality, dialoguing with Jesus (or another spiritual figure) in your journal, putting yourself imaginatively in a scripture setting, walking a labyrinth, spending time in nature, paying attention to your dreams, figuring out who Jesus is for you, and …..well the list goes on and on. It’s different for every person because we are all made so differently.

Bridging the Gap

Some churches understand this gap between what is taught and what is practiced. They are the ones who have incorporated spiritual formation training for adult members so that this bridge can be built in community. If this is something your church would like to explore, a spiritual director would be the perfect consultant, educator or assistant to get a program going.

There are times, also, that individuals need private and confidential assistance. Pastors know who these people are because they come to their offices frequently for counseling. When the questions are of a spiritual nature or hover around practical theology, a referral to spiritual direction can be helpful. While most spiritual directors are fee-based, churches can usually work out arrangements where people who cannot pay may still receive at least a few sessions of spiritual direction.

Getting down to business

So find a spiritual director in your area and start the conversation! How can we help our people find the spiritual practice that will sustain them beyond Sunday worship? How can we assist our members in discerning where God is leading them in their everyday lives? How can we become more in touch with the movement of the Spirit within this congregation?

Let’s make sure we give the “how” of faithful living as much energy as the who, what and why.

Contact information

To find a spiritual director in the Southwest Conference of the UCC, check out this webpage. There are listings of spiritual directors at the website for Spiritual Directors International. For more about spiritual direction as I practice it, please check out my website and the Phoenix Center for Spiritual Direction.

Teresa Blythe is the founder of the Phoenix Center for Spiritual Direction at First UCC in Phoenix. She is a longtime spiritual director for individuals, groups and organizations and is Director of the Hesychia School of Spiritual Direction at the Redemptorist Renewal Center in Tucson. Teresa is author of the book 50 Ways to Pray and the Patheos blog Spiritual Direction 101.

What’s Up With the Dog?

guest post by Carol Reynolds, pastor at Scottsdale Congregational UCC

If you’ve been to church recently, you’ve probably noticed that there’s a new…um…tail in town. And perhaps you’ve also wondered aloud or to yourself, “What’s up with that? What’s up with the dog?” After all, the annual animal blessing is still another couple of months off. Typically that’s the only time we see animals inside the church. Well, the dog’s name is Brandi, and she is a special pooch. I know, I know, all of our pets are special. But, as Zach, a few other people, and I discovered several weeks ago, Brandi possesses spiritual gifts.

Brandi was originally Robert’s dog. He and partner Zach adopted her together 6 years ago, when she was 5-6 years old. She was a stray they found at the PetSmart adoption center. For 6 years, as Robert navigated life in a wheelchair, with a trach, and many, many health complications, Brandi was his faithful companion. She didn’t get bored. She was perfectly happy to be by his side and love on him and whomever else happened to be in the house. She’d bark a lot when you first arrived, but soon she’d be curled up on your lap like a teddy bear, her bark way worse than her bite.

When Robert entered hospice this summer, it seemed like the right time to bring Brandi on a pastoral visit. In my experience, our companion animals know us so intimately and can thus provide comfort and healing in a very powerful way. So I proposed the idea to Zach, and he readily agreed. We’d head up to Peoria after worship and Diving Deeper. Sure enough, when we got there, Brandi was immediately on Robert’s bed, then curled up on his chest. It was clear to us that she knew he wasn’t doing very well. Her care for him and the love-sadness that emanated from her were at once profoundly beautiful and tragic to observe. I honestly wouldn’t have expected anything less from their farewell.

What I hadn’t anticipated was that Brandi would come to fellowship to wait for me and that she’d minister to people there as well. When I walked out of the conference room into Bond Hall, not only was Brandi there, but she was joyfully prancing around everyone there, delighting in each and every person she encountered. Michele recounted to me how earlier Brandi had even more exuberantly leapt from lap to lap to lap. Not one person there wasn’t beaming at the sight and stories of her.

Very quickly I made the connection between Brandi and a poodle I’d known in Massachusetts. “She’s a ministry dog!” I exclaimed, remembering my friend Debbie had acquired Jeannie for this very purpose after she hadn’t quite met the mark in service dog school. (Jeannie had skills, but apparently she didn’t want to work quite that hard and, given how smart poodles are, she’d managed to figure out a way around it.) Jeannie would come to meetings with Debbie and, by her very presence, lower the blood pressures of everyone in the room. All on her own, she’d seek out the one autistic boy in worship and sit by his side for the whole service. Those were the kind of ministry tasks she performed. Brandi has none of the training, but apparently has a natural gift. And it seems that Zach really took my exclamation about her to heart: Every Sunday since then he has brought Brandi with him to worship and fellowship. Not only that, but they arrive early so that they can greet people as they enter the church.

Rev. Carol Reynolds with Brandi, ministry dog — Brandi enjoying a snuggle with Pastor Carol during worship.

Brandi loves people of all ages and sizes. It’s obvious from the way her tail goes a mile a minute whenever she encounters a new person, as well as how she rubs up against them, and gives them little kisses, and even hints that she’d like to be picked up. Recently she met a little boy who was new to the church and afraid of dogs. Zach didn’t find this out about the boy until after he’d had a lovely encounter with Brandi. Apparently, since that meeting, his phobia has been drastically reduced, if not eliminated altogether. In worship Brandi has made a point of sitting with people who were crying, and leads the congregation to the communion table with warm, enthusiastic greetings along the way, reminding us that this is, after all, a feast of joy, anticipation of the kin-dom of God’s love and justice we hope to one day be a part of. Come to think of it, Brandi’s unconditionally loving presence is a bit like God’s…

Brandi’s timing couldn’t be more perfect. With as much division and tension as there is in the world these days, she gives us permission to laugh and smile and exchange knowing glances about just how unbearably sweet and cute she is. She unites us in a very positive way on our ways to the communion table. Beyond this, she provides a concrete way for Robert’s spirit to live on among us. While we in turn provide her with a ton of love and attention and a brand-new sense of purpose. Perhaps we minister to her as much as she does to us. Whatever it is that’s transpiring between Brandi and the congregation, it’s a beautiful thing to behold, and I rejoice in it.

Lazarus Must Be Rolling Over in Her Grave!

by John Indermark

In case you were wondering: the title is not mistaken in its gender pronoun usage. I do not have in mind the Lazarus, beloved brother of Mary and Martha, who already experienced rolling out of his grave according to John’s gospel. No, the Lazarus I have in mind is Emma, beloved daughter of Moses and Esther – and the poet who penned the words engraved on a bronze plaque that now (at least for the time being) stands displayed in the museum at the Statue of Liberty. Its closing words, taken from a longer poem of hers, would once have been the stuff of Fourth of July picnics and elementary school recitations and civics classes.

“Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me.”

I say “once would have been” because some Very Important People in Very High Places have definite ideas about who should be let in and particularly who should be kept out of our nation these days, ideas that seem to take a sand blaster to Lazarus’ inscription. The most recent rule put forth by the Trump administration regarding immigration reinterprets provisions of “public charge” in Draconian ways – or, given its likely architect, Millerian ways. Mind you, the rule aims not at illegal immigrants, but LEGAL immigrants. If you need most any form of public assistance to help get your feet on the ground, fugetaboutit. All such objections go away, of course, according to the fine print of the rule, if you can show your income is 250% or more of the federal poverty line. If it is, c’mon in! If it’s not, maybe the deportation venues will at least have the honesty to play Ray Charles (“Hit the Road, Jack, and don’t you come back . . .”). And perhaps the National Park Service will be directed by Mr. Miller to update Emma’s plaque:

Give me your hired, your secure,

Your globe-trotting investors yearning to be regulation-free,

The targeted folk of north European shores,

Send these, the classy, upper-crust to me.

As I said, Lazarus must be rolling over in her grave, and not just because of the words of her poem with which we are most familiar. Did you know the title she gives to the Statue in the poem is not Lady Liberty, but Mother of Exiles? What would she say to those who seek asylum today, driven by violence and despair literally into exiles – only to be met with pejoratives of “murderers” and “rapists?” I believe Emma’s answer can be discerned in the phrase she used in the poem: “From her beacon-hand glows world-wide welcome.”

Today, in addressing the new rule, the administration’s Director of Immigration Services was asked how this policy set with the Statue’s invitation to “your tired, your poor, your, huddled masses.” His answer? “I’m certainly not prepared to take anything down off the Statue of Liberty. We have a long history of being one of the most welcoming nations in the world.”

Unfortunately, history is no guarantor of the future, and befogged nostalgia can be the future’s worst enemy. The question is: Are we NOW to be who we advertise ourselves to be? Hypocrisy is not a problem limited to the church. It gnaws away at national identities. If this rule stands, Lazarus’ poem and its “Mother of Exiles” will cease to be our aspiration –and be transformed into our self-inflicted indictment of nativism and greed.

On the Move

by John Indermark

Modern physics understands that the smallest elements of matter are in constant motion. What appears to be solid, be it your kitchen table or your body, is actually a vibrating collection of subatomic “stuff.” Were it not for forces at work within atoms, the illusion of solidity might spin off into nothingness. I try not to lose sleep over being poised on the edge of that precipice. I need a comfort zone of dependability. How else could I live?

So consider a similar dynamic at work in faith, whether in the heart of an individual or the spirit of a community: we largely prefer to live in comfort zones constructed of what we have come to depend upon in our belief systems. I believe that to be true whether one identifies as a die-hard conservative or flaming liberal or any manner of faith position in between. How did we get that way? Our experiences. Our traditions. Our encounters with God. As best we can, we put those things together and package our faith in a way that makes sense. How else could we live?

There is only one problem with this tendency: God. God’s quicksilver-like resistance to be poured into one shape or fit into one box eludes our control. Just when we think we have this faith-thing nailed down and dependable, God goes contrarian. Ask the folks addressed in Ezekiel 10. Everybody KNEW God dwelt in the Jerusalem temple. That was the covenant, the agreement. God would stay put, no matter what. You could always count on that, if nothing else. How else could they live?

But the “nothing else” of exile came to pass – and God didn’t stay put. God moved beyond the Temple door, beyond the city gates of Jerusalem, beyond the Promised land. As Ezekiel saw it, God had wheels and wings: and God was in motion. God’s freedom was, and remains, a potentially sobering sight. All of our constructions (or is it constrictions?) of God, whether liturgical or theological or political, only have a piece of the Mystery. We catch a glimpse, we receive a promise, we partake a grace. But just when we think we have God all figured out, wheels start spinning and wings start flapping. God proves elusive at every attempt to be boxed in to our favored tradition or pet presumption.

So how can faith survive in the face of God’s boundless freedom, and not spin off into nothingness? Ezekiel’s glimpse of the mystery reveals God’s freedom to be not capricious, but purposefully aimed toward hope. When God leaves Jerusalem, the Presence moves east: the direction of the exiles. God’s freedom did not move God to abandon them, nor us. God’s freedom moves God to find us, to lead us to places whose possibilities we might never have known had it not been for the God too large for any box to contain. Ezekiel’s God has wheels and wings! Does ours?

Summer homework: Jesus Christ

by Talitha Arnold

A lot is happening in the world around us, much of it very troubling. Even more troubling is that some of it is being done by those who claim the name of Christian. So even though I know it’s summer and the living should be easy, here’s a bit of homework—a refresher course in who Jesus Christ was and what he did:

Jesus was born into poverty, as a part of an ethnic and religious community under the oppression of the Empire.
Even before his birth, his parents were displaced people, who had to leave their hometown of Nazareth on the order of that Empire.
After his birth, due to violence in his homeland, his parents fled with him, crossing to the border into Egypt for his safety.
His cousin John was imprisoned and then executed by a quasi-religious king, put in place by the Empire.
Jesus himself was executed by those same imperial powers. As Dean Harold Attridge reminded us recently, it was a political execution, driven by fear of Jesus’ challenge to the Empire.
Throughout his ministry, Jesus respected and valued women, often affirming them in roles outside the cultural norms of the time.
He also respected and cared for people of diverse ethnic, religious, and cultural backgrounds. He healed the daughter of a Rabbi, the servant of a Roman centurion, and the daughter of a Syrian-Phoenician (aka “mixed-race”) woman.
He stayed true to the commitment “to love God and love neighbor,” rooted in both the Levitical and Deuteronomic codes of his Jewish faith. He consistently reached out to those who were outcast (lepers, tax-collectors and other “sinners”) and cared for the poor, widows (i.e., vulnerable women), and orphans (vulnerable children).
Jesus never hesitated to speak his mind when it came to the sin of economic oppression. Yet he said absolutely nothing about homosexuality. Hmmm—what does that tell us about his view of the “sin” of homosexuality?

Bottom-line, Jesus showed us God’s way in this world—the way of love and justice that even our ways of death could not and cannot defeat.

This is the Jesus I seek to follow. I believe you do, too. I also believe that unless you and I get over our reticence to talk about our faith and instead start talking about this Jesus to our friends and acquaintances, others will continue to define Christianity and Jesus in ways that are harmful to others and to this world.

I know it’s summertime. I also know the stakes have never been higher. If we care about this world that God loves, then we need to share what means to follow in the ways of that love, ways shown us by Jesus the Christ.

Embracing and Overcoming Horror (Movies)

by Abigail Conley

Horror movies are one of my favorite indulgences. I’m simultaneously a horror movie snob and will see anything labeled a horror movie. Jordan Peele’s version of horror movies wins awards and is mind-boggling and I highly recommend his work. I take issue with the lack of a systematic theology framework in The Conjuring Universe. Should anyone want to spend a few hours comparing and contrasting the theology of The Exorcist movies, I’m game.

And, yeah, I’ll also watch the terribly predictable movie that starts with teenagers making out where all but one person inevitably ends up dead. I’ll roll my eyes more, but I’ll watch it. Discretion is not really one of my gifts when it comes to this.

As a result of my indiscretion when it comes to horror movies, I recently went to see Midsommar. It’s one of those movies that gets great critical review and has the audience scratching their heads. There are major spoilers coming, so stop reading if you’re anticipating this movie.

The plot: a student from Sweden studying in the United States takes his new friends back home to rural Sweden for a festival. They’re aware he grew up in a rural area, somewhat of a commune, and go willingly for a week of celebration, including lots of hallucinogenic drugs. The drugs, at least, are supplies beyond their wildest dreams. It turns out that they’ve landed in the middle of a pagan cult and are sacrifices for this celebration that happens every ninety years.

Again, sometimes my indiscretion bites me in the butt, especially when it comes to horror movies.

The reason I like the horror genre in general is that they often name our deepest fears and worries. The writers of this genre understand humanity in a profound way. I’m not talking slasher movies; I am talking Pet Sematary, and our fear of death, afterlife, and losing loved ones. Horror movies that hit in the gut recognize that there are things far scarier than what goes bump in the night.

And so, in the middle of a slow-moving trippy movie that has left me scratching my head, there was a gem. One friend would survive the ordeal and join the commune. The guy who brought them all there said to her, “When my parents died, this community held me. Do you feel held?”

Full disclosure, I’m pretty the guy’s parents were sacrificed in some other cultic ceremony. (Seriously, skip this movie.) But I keep thinking about that concept. Do you feel held?

Do you feel held?

That question explores our deepest hopes and needs for connection. That question points out our vulnerability. That question causes my stomach to do something a little weird.

All of the stories in the Bible that I immediately think of in response to that question are points of deep vulnerability. In every case, they are the absence of the feeling of being held, supported, cared for. Mary and Martha mourn with Jesus at the death of Lazarus. Jesus goes into the garden to pray and his disciples fall asleep. On the cross, Jesus asks John to care for his mother.

Do you feel held?

The intimacy of church is one of the things that most often freaks out my friends who don’t do church. The comfort of church with aging and death definitely freaked out my friends when we were in our twenties. But not too long ago, I was with one of our church’s beloved saints in the days before his death. His wife was there with him. She asked for specific people from the church to come, and they all showed up as she requested.

On the night he died, I was there, along with people all gathered from the church. We told stories and assured his wife she would be cared for. We chose a funeral home that night, and laughed and cried. The people gathered with her had memories reaching farther back than mine, and so they comforted in a way I could not. I watched her come alive in a way I had not seen before as they talked in the difficult hours. I waited with her that night until his body was taken to the funeral home, asked the nurse to give her something to help her sleep, then went to my home at the end of a long few days.

That night remains a profound experience of Church, and watching the Church hold someone—deeply, tightly, lovingly, enduringly. They had shared the good times, but they stayed through the worst, and would do it again. Held.

One of the deep fears that plays out time and again in horror movies is fear of being alone. That’s the terrifying part of slasher movies and apocalypse movies. Alone. No one else. Loneliness, it turns out, is one of the health crises bubbling to the surface right now. We are a people in need of each other.

But when I remember that scene, that question, “Do you feel held?” I am amazed by how deeply the church holds—with mountains of food and lock-ins and awkward conversations and showing up. The church holds with baptisms and women’s groups that pastors skirt and cleaning out that one closet yet again amidst laughter and stories. The church holds and keeps holding when no one else will.

It turns out, we brave the greatest fears because we choose to hold. Let us cherish this gift.