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However, the season of Advent is one where my melancholic soul finds refuge, renewal, and hope. Advent is a season of anticipation and miraculous fulfillment of promise. It calls us to engage in a defiant hallelujah with Christ’s life and victory over sin and death. In our humanity, we create and experience sin, suffering, and limits for ourselves and the rest of God’s creation. Through Christ’s humanity, we are offered a new way of living through an abundant embodied and radical love for God, self, and others. Advent calls us to celebrate our gracious God who chose to engage in our human experience and teach us how to embody a life and faith that enables renewal, redemption, and salvation. Advent brings us the life of Jesus Christ that teaches us how we are called to a journey towards wholeness with God.
I don’t know much but I trust the scriptural assurance of God’s abiding love and that we are all holy reflections of our Divine Creator; no matter our context, experience, or actions. Life and ministry in the Body of Christ has taught me that it is our experiences and relationships of life that bind us together as we navigate our individual journeys towards the wholeness offered through the salvation of Jesus Christ.
I’ve also learned that growth and progression require a learning period of stumbling, discomfort, insight, and courage. Humans are created through and intended to live in communion with others. We rely on our communities to nurture and support our victories, failures, sorrows, joys, and crises. We learn from observation, implementation, trial, error, and success. Learning and progress requires stumbling and failure.
As I reflect upon the past decade of discernment and work in my call to serve the church, I’ve realized that a defining characteristic is the nature of literal and metaphorical stumbling. It’s been a winding journey where I’ve focused on supporting myself and others in the embodiment of the upright nature of Jesus Christ. I have stepped, skipped, tripped, fallen and then have been lifted up in this path towards wholeness.
The view of the San Francisco Bay during sundown from our neighborhood in the Berkeley Hills.
One significant Ministry experience for me in connection with stumbling was a series of events in 2016 during our second week in Berkeley, where we moved for my seminary education.
I was exploring our neighborhood which is located at the base of a mountain, reveling in my fortune to live in such a beautiful area. I realized darkness was near and it was time to head home, so I progressed downhill, with my focus downwards towards my feet in an effort to not fall and cause further injury.
My concern and anxiety over stumbling narrowed my attention on the potential instability rather than forward with an encompassing view that best navigated my journey home.
And my isolated and downward focus on the prevention and fear of harming and falling led me to walk straight into a large tree branch with enough force to knock me out, cause a concussion, bruise my face, and loosen my teeth.
So much for my planning to start off graduate school on a healthy and firm footing.
I texted one of my physicians to receive guidance on how to handle this injury and was immediately cared for at the ER upon our arrival. I remember the neurologist expressing relief I was just a concussion injury rather than acts of violence or drugs like every other patient of her shift that she was grieving.
Alison’s concussion exhibited through her dilated pupils, post concussion.
After the ER, Jason and I journeyed to the only late night pharmacy.
As we exited our vehicle, we encountered a commotion in the parking lot that included an older woman on the ground yelling for help and a large man that was standing over her. Almost every surface of this gentleman’s body was covered in tattoos and I admit that I assumed the worse.
We quickly learned how wrong we were.
Due to the darkness of night and her unhealthy vision, this lady had tripped over a parking space block and stumbled to the ground. The gentleman was helping the lady with gentle care and compassion that most only afford to loved ones rather than strangers. Numerous others encountered and ignored the situation. We inquired if and how we could help, which entailed calling paramedics and help make her comfortable. The lady and I had similar injuries and she was advised to travel in the ambulance for a full assessment in the ER. Yet, despite the severity and risk of her injuries, the concern of cost for the ambulance ride and ER and the reality of limited care offered for pain led her to refuse the advised treatment.
I regretted what little I had to offer in regards to knowledge and access to other local services for her due to our newness to the area and continued to grow in a humble awareness of my privilege and cluelessness of the common medical needs and disparities of the majority of the population..
So, as the four of us sat on the parking lot asphalt, I offered what I could through listening, affirmation, and prayer and trusted the Holy Spirit was at work.
The Kaiser Permente Parking Lot
Through our time together, I learned our gentleman friend primarily raised himself on the streets; as he regarded that to be safer than his birth family and foster homes. He had spent time in prisons and institutions but was years into building a successful, happy, and healthy life for himself in a society that had and continued to discard him. I was struck by his wisdom and capacity for love that had developed despite the monumental hindrances that would cause most to shut off and shut down. His focus on the present and future opportunities rather than the past provoked me to reassess my own approach to life and trauma.
The lady had immigrated to the US from Ukraine decades ago in pursuit of the American dream. Now, despite working hard and living rightly; she was alone, impoverished, chronically ill, and now injured. Her apartment had been recently burglarized, her medications were stolen, and she had no means to replace them. And yet, she was focused on forgiveness and relationship. She was alone, injured, and without her basic needs and yet she was more concerned with caring for those in her midst.
Both had been abandoned by their communities and yet continued to hold ecstatic hope for a heartbreaking life and world.
And the four of us strangers held fellowship in a parking lot as we found common ground in our stumbles and falls. We lifted each other up in encouragement through our fears, solidarity in our griefs, and hope for the future. We departed without exchanging information but these two beloved reflections of God continue to remain in my prayers. These siblings in Christ and experience of stumbling in a parking lot continue to serve as some of my most formative teachers. Im grateful to have been looking up and out to notice and participate in the Body of Christ rather than down and inwards, consumed with myself.
Jason Fischer’s tattoo of a Christian labyrinth.
Six years later, I am now equipped with better knowledge of the resources to help people in similar situations. My pastoral skills have also improved. I pray to continue to grow in my capacity, courage, and confidence to serve as a disciple, especially when I stumble. This journey towards ordained ministry has continued to be filled with unanticipated stumbles, falls, and barriers. I limped into my transitional diaconate ordination with a fractured foot that occurred from another literal stumble. Like every obstacle that has developed, the body of Christ has provided the necessary support to lift me up and help stabilize my steps forward. I’ve put forth my best effort to utilize my strengths, privilege, and resources to serve others and God’s creation.
Through it all, I’ve continued to be astounded by magnificent experiences with the holy that provide tenacious strength and hope to not just endure, but thrive in this life and proceed on the path towards wholeness within God’s Kingdom. And I’m grateful and humbled to serve a merciful and gracious God who lifts us up when we stumble and makes all things new.
It’s an honor to share that with others, especially surprise encounters in parking lots.
So, I ask these questions to you. As disciples of Jesus Christ and the Episcopal Church, “Why Christ? Why Christianity? and Why the Episcopal Church?” Are you prepared to answer these questions? If not, how can the community support you and your discernment in forming these answers? Living in Christendom is a beautiful journey, let us continue to dive deep into discipleship together.
With confidence in our Lord’s compassion and love for all of creation, let us arise in communion with each other and offer our prayers by responding to “O, Gracious and Steadfast God” with “Hear our prayer.”
We pray for this community, the Church, and the world. Sustain all who join in the work of Jesus Christ with endurance, righteousness, and hope. Humble our hearts so that we may recognize the holy in each other, especially during conflict and suffering. Enlighten us with the wisdom to recognize You, your will, and all things that make for peace.
When I rooted in my faith, and became intentional about loving others (and myself) as we are called to do, my life began to progress and flourish. The work of moving through our trauma and damage and into our belovedness is incredibly difficult and requires mindful intention every moment of every day. The hard work is worth the earned freedom. I am not my “damage” and am worthwhile and beloved. You are not your “damage”, you are worthwhile and beloved. Our lives, even in their brokenness, have meaning. Claim your belovedness.
Lent is not a season to invoke suffering. It is more so an opportunity to grow in our relationship with the Divine so we may be confident in how beloved we are and the boundless grace that is bestowed on us. It is a season to reflect on the life of Christ and the radical nature of living out His teachings.
I like to think George was God’s way of creeping into my life to teach me how to love myself and others again when my anger, illness, and traumas prevented me from desiring a relationship with God. George was a light that kept me going until I was eventually able to cultivate my own light again and was ready to become reacquainted with and then fully submit to devoting my life to following Jesus.
This ring symbolizes a great deal for me. It reminds me that our dearly departed really aren't that far from us, perhaps in another dimension as close as pages in a book. It reminds me that every irritant in life, no matter how painful or devastating, provides the opportunity to develop something beautiful from it. Every day presents an opportunity to choose where to focus the energy in your life; the irritant or the developing pearl.
"Accept what you cannot change and courage to change the things you can." I learned the Serenity Prayer as a child and this deliberative practice that is centered around perspective, acceptance, and choice remains to be one of my most effective tools for maintaining a healthy and balanced life. It has empowered me to develop the resiliency to endure chronic illness, grief, and trauma. More importantly, it has allowed me to have healthier relationships. Some days, I excel at this practice and other days require tremendous effort. I'm grateful for my God who freely gives grace and love to us so I may offer both to myself and others. As grace and love are both within personal control, even on the bad days. I wrote the reflection below after a bad day in our CO-OP outreach in 2015. Although life has significantly changed since then, the practice remains the same.
The night before my surgery, I spent the evening with my eight-month-old niece who continues to be the splitting image of my sister. We had a wonder filled evening together and she even crawled for the first time with me. At one point, she sat in my lap as we faced each other and I was in awe of this precious child and the beauty of genetics and creation. Three tears fell down my face as my heart processed what would never be for my future. This precious eight month old responded by reaching up, wiping a tear from my face and falling into my chest for an embrace. At that moment, we belonged to each other.
Yesterday was a celebratory milestone. I preached without notes for the first time in my homiletics class. More importantly, I spoke in public and recited memorization for the first time since I had my brain injuries and started my journey with seizures almost a decade ago. My speech and memory are the aspects in my life that were most affected by the brain trauma and this has been a devastating and long road for someone who spent my youth in the theater. I also did it after a rough month getting over pneumonia and it took a lot of effort to get to class yesterday. But I had to show up. I had to break through this wall.
On Saturday, I spoke on a panel titled "Youth Ministry 101" at a youth ministry symposium. The focus topic of the symposium was the church's role in honoring and educating teens about sexuality, sex education, and gender; necessary work I am excited about. The panel went extremely well and I received compliments and appreciation from the attendees and organizers for what I shared. I came home exhausted, proud of myself, but still self conscious about what I brought to the table and lamented on the many faults I found in myself and as a youth minister. Then I identified my self defeating thoughts and grew frustrated how easily I feel into that. That's what many of us do, right? Even on days when we are celebrated, asked to share wisdom, or acknowledged for our efforts, we unnecessarily beat ourselves up and think we are not "enough".
Through my practice of non-attachment, I have learned that who I am as a person is defined by my love for God, how this agape is reflected in my relationship with myself and others, and through my behaviors towards myself and others. I've learned that the only constant factors that are guaranteed to us in this life is God's abounding love for us and the grace that is graciously provided through living in Christ's kingdom. This journey has played a large part in answering my call to serve in the Episcopal Church.
Grief is brutal and relentless. It presents a new normal mourning a life changing loss or circumstance that has the potential to destroy a person. I'm presently working through the enhanced grief in the anniversaries of losing my sister and one of our good friends. Grief for my loved ones and friends working through the own heartache. Grief for our chaotic and divided nation. Grief over the limitations from my health. It is a struggle to resist being overwhelmed and succumbing to isolation but you have to fight like hell to climb out of the darkness and into the light.
Today, I have an important meeting with the Commission on Ministry to determine whether or not I proceed in the ordination process. Tonight, I came across this card and message from Amy that I forgot existed. It was just the reassurance that I needed.
In honor of Amy, I picked the most funky and delicate variety he had, a Fourth of July Rose. Each blossom has a different color pattern of her favorites, reds and whites, and bees are attracted to it. I think Amy would adore this plant.
Amy's rose bush reminds me of one of my most favorite novels, The Little Prince. Our hero Prince is obsessed with a beautiful single rose on an isolated planet and the task of keeping her alive and thriving. When visiting other planets, he tells others that "the stars are beautiful because of a flower that you don't see."
