This morning I ate oat-y cereal, with raisins, while watching Friends. I halfway wrapped a selection box for the guys--a selection box is just a bunch of chocolate bars in a box--then I plated a bunch of cookies and drove out to P'stewart to the beach, where I found half the population of Northern Ireland, then I went to the guys' house with their gift and now I'm writing to you. Hands down, strangest Christmas morning ever.
I'm starting to think Christmas is for children. What's worse is that I'm starting to think I'm not a child! *gasp* Frightening stuff, let me tell you. Next thing I know, people will expect me to stop going to school and get a job. madness.
I told my mother this morning that this Christmas hasn't been sad being away from home, it's just felt like a different holiday altogether. So, Merry Dec 25th, friends and family!
love,
Megan
p.s. we're having California-like weather! Maybe a little colder... but it's sunny and blue and beautiful.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
Supernatural or Super Natural?
I'm currently sitting at my desk in the mostly-empty church office on a Monday, taking care of a few things that will make the next few weeks a little bit less stressful. We're beginning work to make twenty short-term missions trips possible in 2008. We plan to launch the teams by the end of January... that doesn't mean they'll leave in January, it means they'll be announced and applied for etc. Will I be off this cold (and lovely) island quite a lot this year? Yes. Excited? Yes.
The Causeway Coast Vineyard takes a sabbath month in December, so many of our ministries are closed down. They even close the office for two weeks and cancel church for two Sundays (which is mainly because the university closes, but they say they'd keep doing it even if we had our own building). Anyway, things are slow. We still send out groups on Friday afternoons to talk to the kids, and still go out on Saturdays to pray for healing.
People here are healed constantly. Nobody quite knows what's going on; and though, theologically (theoretically) speaking, it tends to get muddled, it's really quite simple. They pray for healing in the name of Jesus and just left and right cancer, dyslexia, and of course, uneven legs, are healed (if you haven't heard, it's a mysterious trend that God follows to lengthen legs to match each other).
Yes, there are loads of people who sit awkwardly unhealed at the end of prayer--and continue to be unaffected after they leave, disappointed. One woman on the healing team is fighting the same cancer she saw healed, and all of the team leaders get flu symptoms this time of year, just like everyone. One guy at the church is in recovery from a major surgery that he hoped to avoid and was prayed for everyday for weeks, probably longer. The H.O.T.S. (Healing on the Streets) team is constantly praying with no visible result. But they just keep on going because, maybe it will happen again today.
What's great about these people is that they don't pretend to know anything about why or how we see healing sometimes and not others. They aren't scared to look stupid. They aren't brainwashed, and the strangers they pray for aren't crazy. It's actually real, and it's astounding how normal it is. When something is healed, you don't look on and think I've just seen a miracle! It's not as if something is erased from a person; it's like things are as they should be. People should be healthy, shouldn't they? It's the sickness that is unnatural, not the healing. And besides, that, Paul says, to live is Christ, to die is gain--meaning that our lives are connected with God, and that death is a step up, because we get to be with God, without sin (which is, separation). Of course death has become natural, but the bible makes it clear that death was never the point--that's another thing for another day.
I thought that witnessing healing would increase my faith, or make me a supercharged Christian. But it hasn't. And that's because it's just so normal, so average, so anticlimactic. Honestly, I get more excited about a person who overcomes self-hatred, selfishness or disappointment--which are spiritual cancers. But these physical healings are simply signs that God loves people and that we aren't as far from Heaven as it sometimes seems--in Christian circles, we call it "signs of the Kingdom." And though it sounds ludicrous, I believe fractals in nature and Gabriel Garcia Marquez's writing style are as much signs of the Kingdom as healing. They aren't an end in themselves, but they point us toward our purpose, which is to love God.
The Causeway Coast Vineyard takes a sabbath month in December, so many of our ministries are closed down. They even close the office for two weeks and cancel church for two Sundays (which is mainly because the university closes, but they say they'd keep doing it even if we had our own building). Anyway, things are slow. We still send out groups on Friday afternoons to talk to the kids, and still go out on Saturdays to pray for healing.
People here are healed constantly. Nobody quite knows what's going on; and though, theologically (theoretically) speaking, it tends to get muddled, it's really quite simple. They pray for healing in the name of Jesus and just left and right cancer, dyslexia, and of course, uneven legs, are healed (if you haven't heard, it's a mysterious trend that God follows to lengthen legs to match each other).
Yes, there are loads of people who sit awkwardly unhealed at the end of prayer--and continue to be unaffected after they leave, disappointed. One woman on the healing team is fighting the same cancer she saw healed, and all of the team leaders get flu symptoms this time of year, just like everyone. One guy at the church is in recovery from a major surgery that he hoped to avoid and was prayed for everyday for weeks, probably longer. The H.O.T.S. (Healing on the Streets) team is constantly praying with no visible result. But they just keep on going because, maybe it will happen again today.
What's great about these people is that they don't pretend to know anything about why or how we see healing sometimes and not others. They aren't scared to look stupid. They aren't brainwashed, and the strangers they pray for aren't crazy. It's actually real, and it's astounding how normal it is. When something is healed, you don't look on and think I've just seen a miracle! It's not as if something is erased from a person; it's like things are as they should be. People should be healthy, shouldn't they? It's the sickness that is unnatural, not the healing. And besides, that, Paul says, to live is Christ, to die is gain--meaning that our lives are connected with God, and that death is a step up, because we get to be with God, without sin (which is, separation). Of course death has become natural, but the bible makes it clear that death was never the point--that's another thing for another day.
I thought that witnessing healing would increase my faith, or make me a supercharged Christian. But it hasn't. And that's because it's just so normal, so average, so anticlimactic. Honestly, I get more excited about a person who overcomes self-hatred, selfishness or disappointment--which are spiritual cancers. But these physical healings are simply signs that God loves people and that we aren't as far from Heaven as it sometimes seems--in Christian circles, we call it "signs of the Kingdom." And though it sounds ludicrous, I believe fractals in nature and Gabriel Garcia Marquez's writing style are as much signs of the Kingdom as healing. They aren't an end in themselves, but they point us toward our purpose, which is to love God.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
The Way I See It #129
I've been here almost a month, and I've almost got a hold of what Coleraine is about. I wandered around town last night after all the shops closed and the kids went home and found myself in what felt like a ghost town. It isn't hard to imagine the streets clearing and people at home, with their families doing whatever it is they do--watching t.v., yelling at each other, eating dinner, etc.
It's easier for me to know where I am when the streets are empty; I don't get distracted my the strollers or the school uniforms or unfamiliar language. It was nice to be able to walk and connect all the streets I've been on, see how they weave in and around each other meeting up at strange three-way intersections, and winding down narrow roads which appear to be alleys. I've not been able to make any sense of the maps of Coleraine, so it's a long-awaited relief to feel confident going out on my own.
In many ways, Bangkok was much easier place to navigate. I always knew exactly what path to take to get where I wanted to go. That monstrous, all-consuming city just sort of swept me up and carried me along with the rest of what managed to sustain life. Coleraine is much more subtle, it takes you in circles, never reaching a conclusion, only a river, or a round-about. But it lets you grow into the landscape instead of enveloping you in grandeur.
My perception of God is small. It's part of the definition of God that I should not understand all of it. I know that when I make God big in my mind, I'm only simplifying and enlarging qualities, rather than giving God room to be something different from what I expect. The most impressive thing I've learned in the last two years is that I'm not as smart as I think I am (note: I consider myself to be a very intelligent person, don't worry about that), and that God works in little things.
It is apparent that God is big--that in 6 days the world was created, in a moment the sea was parted, with dirt and spit blindness was healed. But God works in the small ways, too. Makes himself small and smooth, rolling about in consciousness or subconsciousness reminding each person, you are mine, whether you like it or not.
I can't remember a time when the thought of God the Father, and the memory of you are mine did not incite a desire to be useful. When the Father's love is clear, when it's sitting there in front of you or rolling around in your mind, something bursts inside and says, "what can I give?" This might only last a second for you, if you don't believe, or have reasonable reasons not to believe, or are just not paying attention--but that is the only response to have, and it happens in me constantly.
So that's why I'm here, wandering foreign streets at night as an alien, That's why it doesn't matter if you agree with why I'm here or what I'm doing. That's it doesn't bother me that I sometimes doubt God, or dislike the Church, or think people are crazy (not a comment on my current situation). That's why it's not a problem that I struggle with many things in my job right now. It's why I'm secure in my strengths and weaknesses and happy to tell you about it.
It's easier for me to know where I am when the streets are empty; I don't get distracted my the strollers or the school uniforms or unfamiliar language. It was nice to be able to walk and connect all the streets I've been on, see how they weave in and around each other meeting up at strange three-way intersections, and winding down narrow roads which appear to be alleys. I've not been able to make any sense of the maps of Coleraine, so it's a long-awaited relief to feel confident going out on my own.
In many ways, Bangkok was much easier place to navigate. I always knew exactly what path to take to get where I wanted to go. That monstrous, all-consuming city just sort of swept me up and carried me along with the rest of what managed to sustain life. Coleraine is much more subtle, it takes you in circles, never reaching a conclusion, only a river, or a round-about. But it lets you grow into the landscape instead of enveloping you in grandeur.
My perception of God is small. It's part of the definition of God that I should not understand all of it. I know that when I make God big in my mind, I'm only simplifying and enlarging qualities, rather than giving God room to be something different from what I expect. The most impressive thing I've learned in the last two years is that I'm not as smart as I think I am (note: I consider myself to be a very intelligent person, don't worry about that), and that God works in little things.
It is apparent that God is big--that in 6 days the world was created, in a moment the sea was parted, with dirt and spit blindness was healed. But God works in the small ways, too. Makes himself small and smooth, rolling about in consciousness or subconsciousness reminding each person, you are mine, whether you like it or not.
I can't remember a time when the thought of God the Father, and the memory of you are mine did not incite a desire to be useful. When the Father's love is clear, when it's sitting there in front of you or rolling around in your mind, something bursts inside and says, "what can I give?" This might only last a second for you, if you don't believe, or have reasonable reasons not to believe, or are just not paying attention--but that is the only response to have, and it happens in me constantly.
So that's why I'm here, wandering foreign streets at night as an alien, That's why it doesn't matter if you agree with why I'm here or what I'm doing. That's it doesn't bother me that I sometimes doubt God, or dislike the Church, or think people are crazy (not a comment on my current situation). That's why it's not a problem that I struggle with many things in my job right now. It's why I'm secure in my strengths and weaknesses and happy to tell you about it.
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