News, news, news

I must exclaim to the world (or in reality, the two who will read this...) my wonderful news! There's a lot that has been happening in my life, and, well, you deserve an update:

#1- I was offered a position in the MA in Pastoral Theology at the University of London.
#2- I was accepted into Northern Baptist Theological Seminary!

...now I must choose...

#3- (And what I will spend the rest of the post talking about) I was SUPER successful on my Jewel mission today!
Exhibit A:


This is my receipt. Essentially, it says that I paid $14.88 for $40.98 worth of stuff. I have been following some coupon blogs and trying deals here and there, but my first non-fool-proof mission is complete and successful!

I did a Fav4 deal, where I got 4 packages of meat for $3.55. I took advantage of Jewel's Quaker sale, paying $3.95 for the Quaker cereals & granola bars. And finally, The four post cereals, saving a mere $4.96. (I wouldn't have bought these, except that its a better deal than Aldi has for the knock-off brand of the cereals that we really like. And we go through a ton of cereal.)

Here's my loot! (A true picture, like a true coupon blogger!)






What's even more fun, is that I met a woman in the meat section who was doing the exact same thing I was. (I could tell by the way she was looking at the prices.) It looked like she knew what she was doing. And upon introductions, I was right-- seasoned Super Couponer. And she was there using the hints from the same blog I subscribe to!! Funny how the internet/blogging world is bringing people (that would never have met before) together in the physical. A thought to ponder-- perhaps this cyber-world won't completely destroy face-to-face relationships after all...

Haiti quake

If you are looking for items of prayer, I invite you to add the country of Haiti, its people, its leaders, and all those who have committed to helping them in their time of need, to your list.

Personally, we have family members who have been in ministry for over 20 years near Cap Haitian (north), who were, thankfully, not harmed in the quake. They have 6 students near the hospital that fell in Port au Prince, however. If you want to pray for individuals, please pray for these 6 students. See more here.

Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayers.

Next up...

Starting next week, I'll be reading and, hopefully, writing in preparation for Grad School. Which one? Still unknown.
I'm looking for reading suggestions. Have one?

Epiphany

I was reading another blog today. As we prepare for Epiphany tomorrow (or tonight for some) they had posted T.S. Elliot’s Journey of the Magi. I’ve copied it here.

It’s worth the read.

A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.’
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.

Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

What is the significance to our Epiphany observance? How does this story inform us? Change us?

In our church, we have a strong African American presence. It has become our tradition to celebrate February as African American History Month. To some, this seems quite strange. To me, it seemed quite strange when I first started serving in our Worship ministries. Though, as it were, the practice often began in January, overlapping both Epiphany and Lent. Now Epiphany has so many variations of celebration, from one day to weeks, each of which have their own implications and significance. And normally, this time between Christmas (remember, we’re not finished celebrating! One more day!) and Lent was utilized for “new direction” and “This Year’s focus” for churches. Yet, if we interrupt the celebration of Christ’s birth, a signal of everlasting change to our world, with the modicum passing of another measurement of time, I fear we send mix messages. Would it not be suitable to pull out the kazoos and party hats right before we enter into Advent? Maybe as churches wrap up the Ordinary Season, with a synopsis of the past year and a clear direction for the next one (therefore emphasizing the need for a solid start—Advent), the New Year that we celebrate could be transformed into a time to reflect on the implications of “the world” (or representations—Magi) finding Jesus, and Jesus expanding his kingdom beyond the “chosen” or Jews, and redefining history, once again to welcome all nations, tribes and tongues.
This is a time we celebrate Christ for all nations. If you are a multi-ethnic church, consider making this part of your liturgical calendar and use the gifts and experiences of those in your congregation.

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