Dear Friends,
Summer, as the kids say, “hits different” when you work at a church.
Growing up, summers, particularly church summers, were a special thing. My childhood church held the early morning service on the front lawn in the summer, shaded by trees on its small hill. It felt special to sing hymns to God under that blue sky.
As I got older, summer was tied up with both my own beloved summer camp, where I met some of my dearest friends, as well as with Vacation Bible School. Despite only attending a year or two of VBS as a child, as a middle- and high-schooler, VBS was all-consuming. I took on my first class as lead teacher at 14, the summer before I was confirmed and, in later years, along with my mother, I oversaw a rapidly growing program for which I oversaw opening and closing programming, as well as the 1st through 5th grade rotation. And, over the years that I led programming, I taught my middle sister, my god-sister, and watched countless children grow up, all while I was growing up. We walked on water, listened to God speak from the burning bush, and was asked questions I still think about today.
VBS was where I learned that children’s formation was my calling, even if it took me a long time to get there, but it was much more than that. It’s where I began to live into stories the way we do in Godly Play. It’s where I felt the most like I was praising God with my whole being, like I was living into the Psalms, in particular.
This week, depending on which RCL track you’re running along, we encounter two differently beautiful Psalms. The first, Psalm 30, reminds us that God’s favor is always with us, that God always shows us mercy. The second, Psalm 66:1-8, is a song of utter praise – “Be joyful in God all you lands” – and in my heart I feel both of those passages, even as this past week hardly feels joyful.
No Cure But Presence
If you are feeling despair right now, if you feel like you are already down in the pit, a Psalm 30 describes, I am with you – and while I am not a parent, when I look out on the world and recall all of the children who have been entrusted to my care and teaching over nearly two decades now, I worry what we are creating for them. But, amidst all of the bad news these days, the news that twists federal power into a dagger that harms all who live under its blade, I have taken up a small practice. I am noticing things that give me joy, and it is all about the small things.
My noticing began with a truly ridiculous thing: a can of coffee with a dinosaur on it. The dinosaur, however, was also wearing a space suit, though I’m discovering this particular T-Rex, the mascot of a local coffee roaster, gets up to all sorts of adventures. Since then, I’ve added to the pile flowers seen while walking through the neighborhood; Dr. Ibram X. Kendi’s new children’s book, “Goodnight, Racism,” which was just added to our Sunday School library; and the collection of books that had accumulated on my kitchen table-desk, books that ranged across formation, feminist theology, a poetry journal that published a few of my poems, and anti-racism.
Joy, large or small, is not a cure for anything. Joy is, however, an antidote to despair, a necessary tonic in the face of a cruel world, and God assures us that joy is just on the other side of our pain. In Psalm 30 we hear this plainly:
Weeping may spend the night,
but joy comes with the morning.
The Biblical tellings of creation help us understand that night and day in God’s view don’t hinge on our 24 hour cycles. The night may be long, but every star is a fragment of day, a bit of the great light that is a gift from God. Maybe morning feels a long way off, but we have to remember that it’s coming.
Finding Hope Together
In addition to those two Psalms, this week’s readings are full of moments of healing, including the leper given truly simple instructions, and who turns away with disbelief. But here’s the thing - as Kate Bowler reminds us, there’s actually no cure for being human, and that is what so much of what we’re facing is when we struggle through the days or week or years.
Of course, there’s no cure for all kinds of other things. There’s no cure for autism, and I’m not looking for one – I’m fine the way I am and so are my autistic siblings everywhere. There’s no cure for the connective tissue disorder that plagues every part of my body, but I can hear God as the MRI thumps, feel God in the hands of the kindest doctors. And, in the same way, there’s no cure for being human, either, no matter how terrible it can feel.
To put it another way, “Life is hard – why didn’t anyone warn me” – which is something my wife has been saying since we were in college. Luckily, life is easier when we approach it together.
So this week, Seek the Joy.
Sing Along. “Trading My Sorrows” is peak contemporary Christian music, but it’s a song that fills me up with light, and this version of it encourages us to move our bodies as we recall that sorrows may last for the night, but joy comes with the morning. It’s a good way to boost those lagging dopamine levels without endlessly scrolling through TikTok.
Dream BIG. At the heart of Dr. Ibram X. Kendi’s new children’s book, “Goodnight, Racism” is the idea that, beneath the light of the moon that blesses every child as each goes to sleep, we can dream our way toward greater freedom for everyone. You want this book. It’s a book that can help us dream bigger. Plus, I’ve got a few thoughts on how actively engaging with anti-racism shares a great deal with Godly Play praxis over at my work blog.
Share Your Joys. I’m doing my best to share my joys over on my personal twitter, but I can shift that joy over to the W&W Twitter, too. Come see what I encounter, my small noticings, and share yours with me there or in the comments here. And, ask your children to share their joys. Like a candle that lights another, when we share our joys, they grow. They become brighter.
Share your light. Let it grow brighter.
With small joys at hand,
Bird