Fermata 6 May 2022: An Education in Rest
Mother's Day and Abortion Debate, Methodist Theological School in Ohio
Fermata is the weekly newsletter describing some of the past week’s highlights from Notes of Rest, which is my spiritual retreat ministry that interweaves text, music, and questions for the sake of cultivating stillness, introspection, and creativity in communities so that all may rest. I'd love to host a Notes of Rest for your church, seminary, or affinity group. Feel free to reply to this email to start the conversation!
New Music Out!! Walk Cycle
Sessions to Come:
Notes of Rest for Contemplative Outreach (May 14, 10a Central, Zoom)
Notes of Rest at First United Methodist Church of Oak Park (May 22, 10a Central, 324 N Oak Park Ave, Oak Park, IL)
Hi everyone,
Here in the US, the abortion debate and this year’s Mother’s Day celebration eerily overlap. No matter where you are, I pray you are bringing a note of rest to your community as we witness trauma and celebration this weekend. May you discern where The Holy Spirit prompts you to wage needful conflict and to avoid needless war. Lord have mercy.
The abortion debate - the abortion war for many - has revealed the deep restlessness of the US. Too often instead of choosing debate where we argue, we choose war where we annihilate. As such, even when “we” “win,” more restlessness is injected into the world. I believe we are tempted to choose war (restlessness) because our control is threatened. Who controls my body? Who controls Congress? Who controls the Supreme Court? Who controls the prospective life outcomes for children born into this world who never asked to be? The lie of our era is that Because my control is threatened, I have license to destroy.
As I look out the window at yet another overcast Chicago day (we’ve had an oddly cold, wet, and gray spring thus far), I’m reminded at just how little I control, and how many with even less control than I are punished by the wars others wage. I am not saying we ought refrain from all fighting for control. Fighting to care for others can be good. But what concerns me is that our fighting often produces more restlessness. Do we fight needless wars, taking up proverbial bullets against our opponents to call out the speck in their eye before the log in ours? Or do we fight from a place of humility and compassion in order to care for the vulnerable in our midst? Rest is inherently about humility, and so restful fighting keeps us mindful of our limitations and the need to see others as God sees them. We can choose to beg for bread knowing that those we disagree with are not the Baker either.
For those who celebrate Mother’s Day, I pray it’s a blessing. For those who mourn Mother’s Day, I pray you may be comforted. Here’s a rich poem for the occasion called God Our Mother. And below is a Mother’s Day Blessing that my former church Elm City Vineyard put together years ago for Mother’s Day; it continues to reverberate for me as one forever thankful for my Ma.
Photo credit: Damon Nabrit
On Tuesday night I had the chance to host a session at Methodist Theological School in Ohio for the graduation ceremony celebrating the outgoing class of Black students. I was so thankful to my old friend and colleague Rev. Dr. Kyle Brooks and my new friend Dr. Monique Williams for bringing me to campus for this alternative keynote address!
We sat in Hebrews 4:4-11, where the writer calls the Christian community to mature and persevere in faith so that they might enter the final rest of God. In the Hebrews passage, “rest” was less so about a present pause and instead more so about a future reality that God promised those who were obedient. This passage was fitting for the graduates (and the village of teachers, friends, and family around them) because these students were now able to use their theological education to help their communities of faith persevere. And so the challenge to the graduates - and for all of us who wish to enter that final repose of God on the other side of death - is to continue cultivating and promoting a sustainable faith.
Two questions particularly caught the ear of those gathered: 1. What practices can you take with you that soften your heart to the voice of God? 2. How can your education now tempt you to disobey? I posed these questions because all education is formative and thus we need to give attention to how it has formed us. In the case of theological education, these students had given themselves over to the careful study of texts and traditions in order to learn more about their own place in God’s story and how they can accompany others in theirs. That education can soften these scholars’ hearts towards God, where they are more inclined to hear what God is saying to them and to the communities they are now called to lead in the ways of Jesus. But that education can make them - and anybody else with similar training, including me - more hard of heart towards God.
All education can make us less compassionate, less intent on hearing the voice of God. Knowledge tempts us to just hear the voice of ourselves or to hear the voice of those we want to agree with. This can be a special danger for Black grads given Black ministers have often been looked to as having a greater level of authority in Black religious space than White ministers in theirs. (This is partly because Black ministers were some of the first Black folk to read English well during the antebellum era). So I wanted to make sure the students thought about the great opportunity before them to implement their practices of study from seminary for mutual flourishing of their communities of faith. Our learnedness can enable us to help people hold to God’s unchanging hand through the complexities of life because we have wider knowledge of God’s activity in the world, or it can tempt us to turn people away from God because we have a wider knowledge of human frailty. This goes for any kind of education.
There was a special musical moment I wanted to recount. After I asked the question about heart-softening practices, I had the urge to play the old hymn of the Black church “Hush, hush, somebody’s calling my name.” People hummed quietly from their seats and then after I ended one student kept singing. I asked her to sing a refrain for all of us, and she happily obliged. As she was not a graduate herself, we were all moved by her willingness to call out to God on our behalf, just like our ancestors have been doing for centuries.
abundantly,
Julian
P.S. Here’s a new video my former neighbors did that explains how Notes of Rest and my band The JuJu Exchange emerged and live in tandem.
P.P.S. I was delighted to learn that I’m in Ayana Contreras’ book Energy Never Dies: Afro-Optimism and Creativity in Chicago. This is a powerful book about the deep wells of cultural creative capital in this city I’m blessed to call home.
The Mother’s Day Blessing from Elm City Vineyard
To those who gave birth this year to their first child—we celebrate with you.
To those who lost a child this year – we mourn with you.
To those who are in the trenches with little ones every day and wear the badge of food stains – we appreciate you.
To those who experienced loss through miscarriage or failed adoptions—we mourn with you.
To those who walk the hard path of infertility, fraught with pokes, prods, tears, and disappointment – we walk with you. Forgive us when we say foolish things. We don’t mean to make this harder than it is.
To those who are foster moms, mentor moms, and spiritual moms – we need you.
To those who have warm and close relationships with your children – we celebrate with you.
To those who have disappointment, heart ache, and distance with your children – we sit with you.
To those who lost their mothers this year – we grieve with you.
To those who experienced abuse at the hands of your own mother – we acknowledge your experience and mourn with you.
To those who lived through driving tests, medical tests, and the overall testing of motherhood – we are better for having you in our midst.
To those who are single and long to be married and mothering your own children – we mourn that life has not turned out the way you longed for it to be.
To those who step-parent – we walk with you on these complex paths.
To those who envisioned lavishing love on grandchildren -yet that dream is not to be, we grieve with you.
To those who will have emptier nests in the upcoming year – we grieve and rejoice with you.
To those who placed children up for adoption — we commend you for your selflessness and remember how you hold that child in your heart
And to those who are pregnant with new life, both expected and surprising –we anticipate with you.
This Mother’s Day, we walk with you. Mothering is not for the faint of heart and we have real champions in our midst. We remember and celebrate you.