They should make you get a passport to cross the Mason-Dixon Line.
Lucky for me, I already have a passport. But I suppose its requirement might have given me some kind of clue as to how different of a place I was entering when I left those kind, Tennessee hills.
And on top of that-- this whole divinity school thing... it is its own world entirely. The halls chatter with words of ethical, theological, and diocese-ical language that lots of normal human beings would squirm at the thought of. And yet here, in this place, it is our normal.
I've learned a lot in these last few months. I've learned about ways of thinking, ways of knowing, ways of being...that have my opened my heart and mind to a whole new world. A world in which I feel honored to participate.
I've also learned a lot about church. The loquacious halls of Yale have certainly spoken a lot of it. What it is, how it looks, what is included, what is excluded, what about it matters. And we certainly participate. Chapel five days a week, Eucharist on Wednesday nights, Sunday mornings, prayer groups... on and on. But as much as I like talking about the church and doing church within these walls... you know what I really love?
I love the other kind of church.
The kind of church that happens in ordinary things. with ordinary people. in ordinary places.
...in conversations with new friends over hazelnut coffee at brunch,
...In a quiet walk home through misty fog at dusk,
...In the way the light shines through the kitchen window while eating a fresh orange.
...In the words, "in the end, we're gonna win this."
This is the kind of church that I know best. Encounters with the divine through the ordinary. The kind of holiness that I can touch. And hug.
Dear God, may I never forget it.
What ordinary things do you find holy?