When I announced to friends and family that I was moving to the UK for a year, a number of them expressed concern. They (mostly) weren't concerned for my safety or about my choice to move. Instead, they were worried that I'd move to the UK, fall madly in love, and never return. And they were right. I did fall in love. But not with a single person. I fell in love with the city of London itself. I fell in love with the Underground network, in its delays and in its lack of air conditioning. I fell in love with the late night take-outs with my landlords. I fell in love with Sundays, and the church families I've become a part of. I fell in love with the Anglican Communion Office and its eccentricities. I fell in love with the many friends that have come into my world. I have exactly 4 weeks left in the UK. It's taken me a while to wrap my head around picking up my life here, packing it into more suitcases than I'd like to admit, and leaving. I arrived in London with an open heart, and I forgot that being an open heart means things hurt. I'm leaving, after being a critical member of a communications team and launching various initiatives, but I leave having set my successor to reap my successes. Now that I've watched two different sets of friends get engaged, and yet another announce a pregnancy, I have to fly back to the US. These are big life moments and I'm going to be an ocean away. But I'd rather be heartbroken at leaving, then to have never opened my heart to London and all its adventures and people. You may be familiar with the musical Rent's iconic song, 'Seasons of Love,' and its question "how can you measure a year in the life of a woman or a man?" Well, I rewrote a bit of it, as I processed leaving.
There are lots of ways to measure this year. But I can't compare this year in any single one way. I must weigh all its aspects. And when I finally do measure this year, it's been absolutely phenomenal. I came to this country trusting that God would provide, and He did, far more than I could have asked or imagined. And now He is asking me to trust Him again. If this year is any example of the Lord's faithfulness, then I'm in for an incredible new adventure.
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One of the most incredible moments of this year has to have been my recent trip to Geneva, working on communications for the Pope's visit to the World Council of Churches. It was certainly an experience that made me wonder just what happened to get me there. That question ultimately made me consider not just what had happened in the past and the circumstances that led me to my present, but also what that means for my future. My boss asked if I'd write a blog post about it. Below is a copy of the post published on www.anglicanews.org. Do you ever have those moments in life that make you pause and wonder “How did I manage to get here?” I’ve had quite a few of those over the nine months I have spent as a communications intern with the Anglican Communion Office, and last week I had yet another. Last Wednesday, I sat surrounded by communications professionals from across Europe in a hot room in Geneva. We were reviewing the communications plan for the Pope’s visit to the ecumenical body known as the World Council of Churches, and I truly wondered just what series of events had landed me there. The next day I stood with a crowd of staff members and volunteers with the World Council of Churches (or WCC), waiting for Pope Francis to arrive. We all clutched our phones, edging to the front of the crowd, all strategising the best possible photo, and laughing in excitement. Nothing builds community quite like anticipation. And then there he was, Pope Francis. While it would have been easy to stay caught up in the awe of the moment, there wasn’t time. Moreover, the message of the day was even more commanding than the presence of the Pope himself. The WCC, already a leading player in the global ecumenical movement, and the Pope shared a message of walking together, of being united in Christ. “Whenever we say ‘Our Father’, we feel an echo within us of our being sons and daughters, but also of our being brothers and sisters. Prayer is the oxygen of ecumenism,” Pope Francis said in his speech to the WCC’s Central Committee.
We live in anxious times, but I found encouragement in the message of “Walking, praying and working together.” I believe that for all trials we face as a Church, we are united in the one faith of Jesus Christ. We can be a light to the nations and set an example of the impact unity makes. Each of us is critical to making that a reality. So now, as I reflect back on that moment of awe while working with the WCC, I’ve realised that asking “How did I get here?” is the wrong question. The better one is “What can I do now that I am here?” My blogging skills seemed to take a very long hiatus over the winter and spring. Since I assume that you don't want to read a novel in order to catch up, and knowing that a picture is worth a thousand words, I went ahead and made a brief video. Over the next few minutes, you'll meet my friends, travel on the Underground, and get a feel for work at the Anglican Communion Office.
I’ve noticed in certain Christian circles a rejection of church tradition. Bells, whistles, choirs, incense. Anything “high church.” Some suggest it's distracting, that it takes way from the message of the Gospel. Or that such lavish traditions are a waste of money and resources. Most often, though, I hear that such worship styles aren't accessible. And I suppose there is some truth in that. The service in Westminster felt like I’d gone back in time, to an age when the Church was as much a part of daily life as the Tube is now. That said, I think we lose something when we flat out reject the opulence of the Church. And I agree, the grandeur is not accessible. It isn't something out of the everyday. But we also forget that God is ONLY accessible through Jesus. He is a Holy God, the creator of Heaven and Earth. And we are mortal, and sinful. There is a divide between God and His creation. On Easter Vigil being in a place that felt as grand and historic as Westminster Abbey felt right. It heightened my ability to reflect on the saving work of Christ that crossed that divide between God and humanity. Another common argument about traditional church worship is that it doesn't focus enough on a personal relationship with Jesus. Yet, when we focus on Jesus Christ as only a personal saviour and best friend, I think we lose sight of the fact that purest goodness in the world died that we might live. He isn’t just our best friend or just the perfect father. We use these terms because in our humanity we can’t express the power of the Gospel. I don't think we can fully comprehend what it means that the creator of the universe, the LORD of heaven and earth, came as a child to live and die for us. And to die a death filled with despair and betrayal and pain. There is no human expression for such sacrifice.
A batch of prospective new YASC-ers are currently at Holy Cross Monastery, learning about the program and discerning whether it is God's call for them. Elizabeth Boe, the program officer, asked if I would write a reflection for the group. I decided to share it with you as well... Our twenties are a crucial time, the crossroads between who we are and who will become. Never have I felt that crossroad more profoundly than when I stepped on board the AirCanada plane for London. I was leaving behind everything and everyone I’d ever known for something entirely new, with only faith in God’s plan to lead me. In single moment I felt both freedom and terror. Freedom to discover who I truly am and who God truly wants me to be, but also fear now that I no longer had the safety net of who I’d always been. Would I be enough? Like every 23 years old, when I showed up to Holy Cross Monastery for YASC discernment last February, I thought I knew who I was. I carried an air of manufactured confidence that I didn’t always feel, but it worked for me. I’d spent most of my childhood and adult life being defined by the Church because of who my parents were. Because my dad was both a priest as well as part of our diocesan leadership, everyone knew us. Perhaps that was what made London so new; it is the first time that I define myself by my faith, not necessarily the faith of my family. London doesn’t sound like the most obvious mission posting. Sometimes I struggle to find myself worthy of the term “missionary.” It’s those moments, however, that I am missing the entire point of YASC. This is a year to fully let go of control, and allow God to take the lead. YASC is a year about relationships; it is about our relationship with God and our relationships with each other. It’s also about building up the bonds of love across the Anglican Communion and Body of Christ itself. Perhaps the best summary of the point of YASC is Hebrews 10:24-25, “And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.” Through this process, one of my favourite verses has been 1 Peter 4:10: “Each of you should use whatever gifts you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms.” No matter where we are in the world, from rural Philippines to downtown London, YASC is about serving others. Moreover, God doesn’t cease to call us to serve other after this year ends. As the maximum says, today is the first day of the rest of our lives. God doesn’t prepare us and equip us for this year; He shapes us for all those to come. The faith that we grow, the skills that we learn, and the relationships that we encourage, we are meant to carry all of it with us from this point on. No two YASC-ers are alike. No two placements are alike. Yet, I think we all share in this experience. Our former lives are—in part—stripped away, leaving only us, at our core. We have no need to live up to expectations or reputations that precede us. Instead, we become something of a blank slate, ready for God to shape and mould into the people He desires us to be. By faith, we let Him. That’s what I learned more than anything else these last few months. When we trust God to change us, He can. Because we are enough. Back on my first official day at work I received an email for the entire staff. It informed us that Jack, the Anglican Communion UN Representative, had brought in coffee cake for the office. As a chronic sweet tooth and lover of coffee cake, I trotted off to the kitchen for an afternoon snack. What I found was not coffee cake. It was a cake with frosting...and nuts. No cinnamon-y bread, brunch food goodness. What was this nonsense? A bit later I ran into Jack and his assistant, Chris, and expressed my confusion. I ended up only sharing the confusion as I realized that the U.K. definition actually made more sense. "So coffee cake isn't flavored like coffee?" Jack asked. "Uh...no...Its flavored with cinnamon." I explained. "And it isn't cake?" Chris asked. "No...its more of a bread. But you serve it with coffee!" My attempt to save my definition of coffee cake from utter lunacy failed, to say the least. Thus launched the ever growing list of idiosyncratic difference that plague my existence. On the upside, they also provide easy small talk topics. As much as I try to assimilate, occasionally my vocabulary betrays me. And from time to time, so does my spelling (seriously, what is the point of these extra 'u's and replacing 'z's with 's's?). Then again, spelling was never my strong suit. Joking aside, it makes me think. At least for me, these differences are something of a quirk. My stubborn insistence that my vernacular isn't insane endears me to the people I meet in the UK. At the same time, how much more of a difference in vocabulary would it take before it creates a barrier? Language is something that is essential to cultural understanding and connection. And the distrust of a different tongue is something ancient, even Biblical. It is the product of a fallen world. Genesis relates the story of the Tower of Babel, the tower that the people of the world attempted to build to reach heaven. It also says that God confused their language so they would not understand each other or be able to finish the tower. Their sin was not their initiative as a united people, but the pride that inspired them to compare themselves to God. Pride, the desire to be like God, these are the things that separated God from humankind in the first place. And sin always comes with a cost. According to the story of Babel, the loss of communication, and the difficulty to work together is that cost. London is diverse a city as any, with neighborhoods and burrows entirely dominated by one culture or another. We seek out our own, because we desire to be understood. We desire to be known. But never are we more known than through the love of Christ. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known. -1 Corinthians 13:12 And if through God we are truly known and loved, then surely through God, we can truly be known and loved by each other as well. It is through God that we care for the stranger, the widow, the hungry, the lost. Accepting the love of God in our lives allows us to love each other, and accept those differences--whether that is a different definition of "coffee cake" or entirely different languages.
All those lovely words aside, there are some things that one should just learn and assimilate to. Just compliment someone in London on their "pants," I dare you.
Fast forward seven years to now, where I'm living in London, working for the Anglican Communion, on a year of mission. But what does that mean? I find it hard to remind myself that I am deserving of the term "mission." I compare myself to my fellow YASC-ers, as they work in schools in Costa Rica, in communities in the Philippines, minister to seafarers from across South East Asia, work for the Cathedral in Liverpool. Then there is my life in London, one of the world's most dynamic cities. I work in an office, walk through a shopping centre as part of my commute, sit in coffeeshops conducting interviews on London's southbank. How is that mission? If mission is meant to be a time of drudgery, of discomfort, of suffering, and exclusively that, then we are forgetting one of the many callings of Christians. That's not to say that mission doesn't take us to the far corners of the earth, that it isn't ever uncomfortable or dangerous. But it isn't always. Mission can be in our own back yard. It can be Albany. It can be in Tanzania. It can be in Potsdam. It can be in London. Jesus desires relationship with us, and desire that we are in relationship with each other. Theologian N. T. Wright puts this quite well; he discusses how the Church is meant to worship God and work for his world. Okay, worship, we know what that is. And working for his kingdom in this world, sounds like mission to me. But he also expresses a third charge, that we are to build each other up. Wright calls this fellowship, but it seems to me that there is a connection between fellowship and mission. How can minister to the world if we aren't ministered to ourselves? So, as I remind myself, my time in London with the Anglican Communion Office isn't a year I'm goofing off in a trendy city. It is a year that I am giving my time and talents to minister to my fellow Anglicans around the world, to raise them up, and to strengthen the bonds that hold us together. The church exists primarily for two closely correlated purposes: to worship God and to work for his kingdom in the world ... The church also exists for a third purpose, which serves the other two: to encourage one another, to build one another up in faith, to pray with and for one another, to learn from one another and teach one another, and to set one another examples to follow, challenges to take up, and urgent tasks to perform. This is all part of what is known loosely as fellowship. -N.T.Wright To be honest, sometimes this posting isn't an easy, cushy job either. While yes, these last 4 months in London have been some of the best of my life, parts of this job are incredibly difficult. This Communion is a network of cultures and peoples who all worship the same Lord and God. And yet, our differences are vast. I hear about the tension in the Church, and I feel the pain of it. Again, I am a nine year old girl, hearing about the tension in the Episcopal Church many years ago. As a part of the communications team, my role is strengthen and encourage the relationships around the Communion, not ignoring our differences, but focusing on our shared faith. These stories that we share-whether in the Anglican World magazine or on our social media channels or on the Anglican Communion News Service- they remind us to hold up and encourage each other in the faith. And that is mission. And why does this really matter? Well, as we say during the Communion service: "We who are many are one Body, because we all share in the One Bread." Everyday, my life with the Anglican Communion Office is a new reminder of the power of the Gospel around the world. The staff of the Anglican Communion Office--or those of us in the country that day--worship together regularly. In the morning we read Morning Prayer from the Church of England Book of Common Worship, and in the middle of the day we share Communion or midday prayer. My favourite service, however, is the Friday afternoon Litany of Reconciliation.
We live in a world ravaged by greed, war, corruption, death. It is a world in dire need of forgiveness and renewal. Read through your Facebook feed or browse a news site, and you face story after story of refugees without shelter, children without food, nations on the brink of war. But reconciliation is much more profound than that. We are always in a process of approaching the cross. Living as a Christian in this world is a strange balance of being made right with and reconciled to God, and yet still living a life affected by a sinful world. Because we are human, we always stumble, always fall away from the Lord. Sometimes, we trip. We get in an argument with our roommate, or gossip about a co-worker. It’s easy. And yet, it always affects our lives, and the lives of those around us. Sometimes we fall flat on our face. We lobby for our own agenda, or support a meaningless war to our own ends. No matter the sin, the death of Christ has the power to redeem us, if we let it. In his second letter to the Corinthians, Paul explains “For our sake he made him who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” (2 Cor. 5:21) Sin always has an effect in our lives, but when we approach the cross of Jesus Christ, it no longer has power. Jesus Christ died on the cross for the salvation of the world, all our sins, big and small, the ones that we’ve committed and the ones we have yet to commit, were reconciled. My favourite lines from the Litany for Reconciliation are below. Each line of the litany speaks into the modern day, just as much as they spoke into the post WWII era: The hatred which divides nation from nation to possess what is not their own, Father forgive So how do we overcome the sin in our world, the sin that divides us, that causes us to ignore those who most need our love? The same way we overcome arguments between siblings, and misunderstandings between friends. We allow Christ to entered our lives, and surrender to him, because truthfully, we can find no reconciliation unless it is through Him. It is through the reconciliation of Jesus Christ on the cross that we get a glimpse of the world to come, a world free from hate and sin. Steadfast love and faithfulness meet; When I think about 2017, I can't quite decide what kind of year it was. It had some really wonderful highs, and some really heartbreaking lows. It was a year movement, of the girl I'd been before, and the woman I was becoming. I had to start taking my mental health seriously. I was working with some of the best friends I'll ever have. A friend died tragically. I moved to an amazing new city. My former choir director and major reason for my love of music passed away from cancer. One of my best friends got married to one of the best guys on the planet. Then there were all the insane things that have happened in the world this year. But, for every struggle, there was an equally powerful force of good in my life.
I find myself drawn to the following lyrics: Remember the kisses, remember the laughter, and all that's gone away. It so clearly describes my feelings about 2017. I remember the good times. I remember the bad times. That's life, I suppose. Life in a flawed universe. The insane thing about being Christian is that God calls us to trust and praise him in all times. Even more insane? That actually makes sense. In some of the hardest times this year, I realized that my faith was never shaken, never in question. I might have had moments of anger, of confusion at how God could allow tragedy to occur, but never rejection. Instead, I found all my hope resting in the promise of Jesus Christ's redemption for all the world. Each and every struggle became a promise that there is something better to come.
2017 in a handful of photos...Three things I learned in Germany this Christmas: 1) a piece of chocolate on bread with butter is part of a nutritious and delicious breakfast; 2) never let a cat push your phone into its water dish; and 3) Christmas is Christmas, no matter where you are. I love Christmas. It truly is the best time of the year, in my opinion. Twinkling lights and music everywhere you go, festive colors decorating everything from shopfronts to sweaters. Back home, Christmas made our little town look like something out of a kids book, with the old fashioned shops lit with simple golden light, and the same lights adorning the trees that lined the street. At church, we start Christmas Eve with a family service, complete with a Christmas pageant, followed by a big potluck Christmas Eve dinner. But that wasn't where I was this year. By not being home, however, I think I appreciated more the story of the Christ Child, and how he came for all humankind, not just a small college town on the NY State-Canadian border. Since the end of November, I have been collecting and sharing photos of Advent and Christmas celebrations around the world on the Anglican Communion's brand new Instagram. Some of these photos are remarkably similar: carol services, candle lit, children in nativity costumes. And others are starkly unique, like the mission focused advent service with traditional dances in the Caribbean. Men and women from across the globe raised their voices in praise and celebration for the coming of the Christ Child, all captured in pictures. Each one made me think more and more about how each person, from every culture, claims this story as their own. I hadn't realized how much I, too, absorbed the story of Jesus into my personal worldview. And then I went to Germany. Even though I'd been looking at and sharing these international Christmas photos, I didn't fully understand it. Not till Christmas Eve. As you might expect, the Christmas Eve service was all in German, and all the hymns unfamiliar. The service itself felt different; there was no nativity pageant, no carols by candlelight, no Communion. But it was still Christmas. The Christ Child still came. Just like he came to Ethiopia, to New Zealand, to the U.K., to Japan, to all the churches that shared their celebrations with me. When the angels appeared to the shepherds on the night of Christ's birth, they proclaimed Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased. God himself came down to earth as a child to live and die among us, flawed humankind. All humankind. One of my favorite Christmas songs is a James Taylor melody, Some Children See Him. Each verse is about how children from around the world see Jesus like them, wearing their face and living their life. Thats the power of Jesus and the purpose of the Christmas story. God came to live like us, with us, for all of us. And we in turn see Jesus in our own lives, and celebrate accordingly. With that in mind, I wish all of you a very Merry Christmas. The children in each different place |
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Me: Amelia BrownAvid runner & baker, following God's call to year of mission and service work in the Episcopal Church & Anglican Communion. Archives
August 2018
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