Graduate Entrance Essay

I've been hard at work applying to grad schools over the past few months. An exciting and scary process. Thought I'd share a little bit of my aspirations and calling. The following is my "Autobiographical statement" for entrance into the University of London. Any and all feedback is MUCH appreciated! :)

I have taken my studies of Worship and the Arts with me around the globe and back, stretching my understanding of how God forms and shapes Churches and their practices. Whether listening to the sounds of the Lenten removal sitting in Sydney’s St. James Church on Maundy Thursday, or feeling the wind across my face at the outdoor service of my home church near Chicago, I am awe-filled by the presence of God through gathered community. My experiences in any given community are deepened when, like a fine wine, I understand their histories, and choices—the heart. Yet, I can never be both the observer and participant without giving up partial rights to one. I seek only to combine them as seamlessly as possible. As a participant, I find myself amidst the story and body of Christ-a worshipper fascinated by the revelation of word, sacrament, and relationship. As an observer, I have understood rituals and symbols, and see how small things, as part of a larger framework, impact and shape communities. The role of a Liturgist, faithfully examining both positions, helps bridge this divide to inform and correlate our theology through words, speech, and action. As an undergraduate student studying worship, theology, and the arts, I have experienced the importance in providing such a bridge within our practicing communities. My experience as a worship director of an ethnically and culturally diverse church for four years has demonstrated how difficult inculturation is navigated without proper preparation.
Pope Paul VI once said, “Liturgy is like a strong tree whose beauty is derived from the continuous renewal of its leaves, but whose strength comes from the old trunk, with solid roots in the ground.” How do we transform a meal of memory into meaning, from congregant’s mere presence into experience or understanding? We cannot. We can only provide the solid pedigree from which congregants can draw the nutrition of their theology. In turn, they let God’s radiant light renew their lives down to its common roots. And just as a botanist desires to examine the interworking and intricacies of creation, so do I desire to examine and understand the meaning, role, and pattern of liturgy among the body of Christ in history and the contemporary.
Originally, I had a desire to enter the Master of Arts program in Pastoral Liturgy before its cancellation. But just as a vine cannot be separated from the branch, I embrace the incorporation of theological and pastoral emphasis as preparation to serve in a body of believers. Dr. Cameron-Mowat’s work is in theology and liturgy as it relates, impacts and is changed by the contemporary world. With my interest in liturgy, his study presents a unique opportunity to edify my education at the University of London. I propose to guide my dissertation and course preferences to highlight the liturgical aspects of the Master of Arts in Pastoral Theology degree as a full-time student over the course of one full year.

ICU

The day and the night have such different figures. They are scarcely similar aside from the objects they encompass and the light they reflect. Despite the same actors, the play is interpreted distinctly. This change and dramatic shift is something I find fascinating. When we find ourselves in situations outside of our normal functioning, I often realize that too much change can make my mind find alternate solutions. In a most recent case, I was in an ICU room with one of the most important people in my life lying in the bed, as I just waited. Afterwards, I jotted some thoughts down. They are here, presented with the moment-by-moment emotion as they whizzed through my mind.

Here you are, alone, it seems, in the ICU. She lays on the bed without speaking, without blinking--asleep, hopefully. You watch the rise and fall of her chest, thanking God for each movement. And after a while of sitting, you start watching the other things in the room. All of a sudden, the wallpaper flourishes have never seemed so interesting. You follow the swirls with your eyes, outlining them, as if you were a carpenter. You study everything about the room, like you you’ve never seen it before. The clips and boards, the doors and hinges. They all become known to you. They are familiar friends, snuck in unbeknownst to the cameras and attendants. You take note of the slightest things—the weather, the grain in the wallpaper, and of course the tiny details of change in her. You see the slightest expressions as she sleeps. Pain? Confusion? Was that a smile? Her face looks better today, if only by a slight pink that is creeping its way back. Her tubes still seem to be constraining, and yet, they have become a little bit easier to see, and hopefully for her to feel. Her hands still feel cold. And though the doctor says that’s good, you wish she could just give you a squeeze back. Alas, you settle for dialoging with the sounds and sights of the room as your partner for the day.

You plead the monitors with your eyes, willing them to decode themselves and speak words, keeping you moment-by-moment, living with her. Lines and jumps and numbers galore, all in codes and acronyms, meaningful only to the ones who have the key. They are constantly-changing pieces in her puzzle of recovery. Up and down they go, solid and void. Then you flinch against your concentration as the piercing beeping arises, followed by little flashing lights. And as no one comes, your heart begins to race. Looking from her to the monitor and back again, without any indication of relief, the Beep! beep! beep! barrages you. The cords, multi-colored fluids and medicines dangle tangled in and out of the rods, barricading her in, winding maliciously into the arms of your loved one. And after what seems like hours, someone walks in, reassures the machine and continues on their day, leaving you as an audience member of the unfolding drama.

You make best friends with others in the ICU, like kin in a hospital family. You share and talk as if you’ve known each other for years. And when you just can’t sit any longer with no information, just staring at the machines who refuse to speak, there is comfort in the walk to your brother’s room, in the “How is it today?” and the idle conversation, showing the humanity that the nerves have hidden away. The little things unite us all. You trust the nurse with the Packer’s scrubs, telling her you’ll watch the game and keep her updated throughout the day. The game plays in a few rooms and you feel the consent to raise an arm to share the victory of the most recent point with the man across the hall. What simple and yet completely complex things bring us together.

Every once in a while the tiny thread of artistry that is held in the linear thoughts of my family peeks its way through.

Mom, what a beautiful poem. Thank you.

Resurrection Poem

My heart is so heavy, this long night awearying,
Darkness and hollowness, pain, what it sees.
The loss of my Savior, my love, my dear friend
Seems all to be hovering, pressing over me.
Having seen Your afflictions, trials, tribulations
The punishments laid on Your back that was bare,
I scarcely believe, can’t conceive, would reject
That those tortures, those lashes, were some I’d put there.
You know, Lord, I love you. You know where I stand.
You also know deeply the sorrow I bring.
As true as my heart seems, it’s frail, unworthy.
It knows but a fraction the truth it should ring.
For though, Lord, I love you and know Your heart true,
My broken and meek heart can’t do without You.

The only redemption, the comfort availed
By the unrighteous acts of this night filled with black
Is that You, ‘fore creation, have laid out this plan.
By Your sacrifice, all of men’s hearts to buy back.
Amazing, incredible, Love without end,
Beyond comprehension of my feeble mind
The menial price I must pay in return
Is surrendering sin, that corrupts and leaves blind
The heart that You gave me to worship and praise.
So simple a task, to receive Your release
From the bondage that binds, keeps my heart from Your work
To just give it to You, and gain Your perfect Peace.
Your willing death washes my sins all away
To birth, bright and glorious, my heart’s Easter Day!

4-12-09
Dawn M. Jacobs

Let them be shamed. Aha!

So, I was reading Psalm 70 this morning. And came across this verse.

"Let them turn back because of their shame who say, 'Aha, Aha!' " (Psalm 70: 3 ESV)

Can't you just picture a man from the time of David saying, "Aha, Aha!"

And then they wrote about it in a song.

I wish we had songs like this....

Dead Man Walking

I’ve never been one to really “attach” myself to my possessions. We live pretty simply. I was lucky enough to have both parents, while not the perfect example in every area, as very fervent servants. My mom was the first to sign up to make someone a meal, and she’ll be the first to offer you anything she has (chances are she has two or three of them anyway). My Dad was a mechanic and all-around handy-man. He’s worked in warehouses, mechanic shops, and farms of all kinds—he knows the value of a good set of hands and a hard-worker. He was always willing to stop in the middle of the country to help someone with their car, or go join another farmer for a day to finish the crop, or help any random stranger with whatever tools he had. I have always admired that about them both. They have such giving hearts. They pour out themselves for whoever they encounter that has a need.

This Sunday, we took advantage of our “celebration” time from our television fast with ECC in the Lenten season and watched a movie. Having no luck finding “Lord of the Rings” from some of our apartment neighbors, we took the suggestion of an older (1995) Southern drama dealing with the death-penalty. (A far cry from Lord of the Rings, to say the least.) Never having an opinion on the death-penalty, mostly from lack of want or effort in research, I was hesitant. Come to find out, the movie was not so much about the political death-penalty discussion as it was about the consideration for salvation, life, and the love of God. A nun, under plenty persecution, counsels an inmate on death-row, showing him the love of God as no other person has. I found this movie tackling some serious prejudices. We want to help the people who are most appeasing to help, to love. It makes us feel good about ourselves when it is easy, when the people we love are grateful. This opened my eyes to the ways in which love can overcome the power of hatred. Love can break down walls of people who do awful things, who are sick in ways that we don’t want to heal, but block out of our minds. This movie deals with the poor of a different sort. All in all—great movie! I’d highly recommend it.

However, God spoke even more to me through this movie. One of the things I am trying to get a grip on this lent is an understanding of the poor, oppressed, and broken. Some days I have felt as if I were a part of those people, and some days I know I’m the furthest thing from it. I was listening to a sermon online about Jesus’ trip to Jerusalem. A trip that could take 3 weeks, but that he made into 3 months. He went purposely through a land that was known for a despised people group. (It sort of reminded me of this Nun that purposely went to visit this man on death row.) To be their light. To preach. To serve. He talks about Mary and Martha and the scolding of Martha in the kitchen (whom I have always felt myself akin to…I’m pretty sure I would be Martha in this story. In fact, I’m sure I have been Martha at some point.) He talks about the Good Samaritan. And then he gets to this passage: “Your life does not consist in the abundance of your possessions” –(Luke 12:15)
He’s relating the things that should be in our focus rather than the things that are in our focus, some of which is his congregation’s concern as we head into and are submersed in this downturned economy. And this pastor fully addresses the concerns of the apparent 230 (of the expected 90) people who showed up to a “job-transition” group the previous week. All looking for help. All with no jobs. He says --(to the entire congregation, not just the 230) --“some of you will have to give up your homes. Some of you will have to give up your cars. Some of you have already had them taken. And maybe you’ll have to move in with your brother, or in your friend’s basement. And is that really so bad?”

I just found that God was speaking directly to me in those moments. That all this talk about “living with other people” was a brick work laid for the way I can learn this Lenten season. And while I have always loved to give freely of what I have, there are some things that I keep tucked away. There are some things that, if asked, I would say “No, I’m sorry, I cannot share. This is mine.”
And I realized today that even those are not mine. My possessions do not define me. My associations do not define me. My job is does not define me. My interests or the things that I excel at do not define me. Christ defines me. And he defines me as a child of God, first and foremost.

I’ve been mulling over this story from Henri Nouwen for a couple months, so excuse me if you’ve heard it before. It’s just been caught in my head and will come up at random moments throughout my day. I think of it weekly, but it culminated today. Henri Nouwen tells of when he first walked in to the Dayspring Community (a community of people with physical and mental challenges). They did not know him, could not respect him for all he had accomplished. They did not know him as the professor of an Ivy League School, nor as a published author of great proportions. They knew him only as a man. A man who had come to join their community and serve in the ways in which they needed his aid. Just as a man. And it all depended on him just giving, just serving in the ways he was needed. In laying aside the pride of being defined as a certain person and just being the hands and feet. Selfless.
I can often hear the echoes of pastors who have said that God can see past our sins. But sometimes, I need to know that God can see past our accomplishments. (And maybe sometimes they are one and the same.)

And I’ve never thought of myself as extremely selfish, hoarding possessions, or finding my identity in them. And I’ve never thought of myself as the person who is “works-driven”. Those words have always thrown articulate photos in my mind of people inundated with stuff, wealth, and overcome with the need to rise to the top of the ladder. Those Pharisees. And yet, I find that I have those tendencies of my own-- that I don’t have to be the epitome of that particular sin, to be caught in its web. I should insert a little picture of me every time I think of those things.

And I think that’s what scares me when I think about giving it all. Possibly living with other people and putting everything, EVERYTHING, aside to serve. These people know me, will be in my space, in my things (which for some reason I call my own), and I cannot hide. I have to love always, not just pick and choose the people, or at the times I want to. These people will know me. The real me, selfish moments and all. And I think that is my biggest hurdle. Am I willing to serve with all that I have and purposely practice and hone this discipline of unconditional love?

But wait, aren't I supposed to be doing that with everyone anyway? I feel like this is a great "baby-step" to really, fully putting this into practice.

So, I’m a little scared,

but I’m willing.


It seems like Bill Engvall walked into my life today and said,
“Here is your sign.”
Today was mine.

I’m in.

A discussion

Alright. Here I go.

We’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. What are our dreams, aspirations, and goals for our life? What are the things God has called us to do? Who has he called us to be? How are we to use our gifts together, as husband and wife? How do we live out the church? Very theoretical. Very me. My husband is much more practical. Where has He called us to live? How has He called us to use our money? How do I practice Godly Architecture and service? How do we save for the future, go to school, pay off debt, while we live within our means? Very financial. Very Him.

It has lead to a discussion of out-of-the-box (or just norm) ideas. One of these—communal living. Thomas does have a few theoretical bones in his body. One of those (maybe the funny bone) speaks to the individual push on our society in America. He sees it through “urban sprawl” and other architectural-y terms. He sees the detriment of people having their own space and cutting others off. He sees the benefit of people living in cities, in community. We see it in the bible, too. In the way Jesus lived, in the way He called us to help each other, provide and support one another.

In communal living, like say 2 or 3 couples living in the same house, we have the opportunity to die to ourselves and serve…in much closer ways. It’s like forced sacrifice. Chosen-forced-sacrifice. Say, similar to a Spiritual Discipline.

So what do you think? Good, bad, ugly? And is “ugly” bad or growing?
I, personally, think it would be crazy-fun! I think my mother would think it was just plain crazy.

Let’s talk about it.
Whether it be spiritual, relational (general, spousal, and interpersonal), or financial pros and cons.

Shoot.
I’ll input, too.

Creating a blog

Hello out there!
Yoodle-eh-ee-ooo!
I have officially joined the world of blogging. And not for any particularly scholarly or prestigeous reason. I felt no need to let the world into the thoughts of my day.

Honestly, I need some practice.

I am part of a group that is encouraged to blog. I have read other's blogs. And well, it seems like a discipline. So, here I am.