Do The Work

It’s okay to like 

State more than Carolina. 

It’s okay to like 

Brussels sprouts more than broccoli. 

It’s even okay to not like broccoli at all. 

 

Opinions don’t matter on things that 

Ultimately don’t matter 

But 

Opinions do matter in things that 

Deal with the dignity of human life. 

 

White is not better than black or brown,

Male not better than female,

Straight not better than gay,

American not better than any other nationality,

Neurotypical not better than neurodivergent, and 

Able bodied not better than non able bodied. 

 

Some afford privilege, yes. 

But privilege does not mean 

Better than. 

 

And to stand in harsh judgment of,

Demean, 

Or treat poorly 

Persons fundamentally born different

Is not okay. 

 

It’s not easy overcoming stereotypes. 

It’s not easy examining prejudice and admitting where you are wrong. 

But common humanity challenges us to do the work. 

And it just might be life’s highest call. 

 

Oh God,

Help us to know the difference between

Harmless opinion and 

Harmful belief. 

Help us to examine ourselves 

And to see where we need to grow. 

And then help us to do the work 

Of letting go. 

 

Amen. 

 

Atonement Theories

 

I have a vague memory of learning about the different atonement theories while taking a course in theology. Atonement theories are theological explanations that seek to understand the significance and effects of the atonement, which refers to the reconciliation or mending of the relationship between humanity and God through the sacrificial death of Jesus Christ. I remember it being eye-opening and mind-boggling, but I didn’t store it away as something to remember because it didn’t affect my relationship with God or others. I still believed in Trinity God (Father, Son, Holy Spirit), and I still believed in the miraculous and saving power of Jesus’s life and death…so my philosophy of the atonement theory wasn’t something that I stressed over.

 

For the past three days, however, it’s been on the forefront of my mind. I’ve been thinking about it, talking about it, dreaming about it, and struggling with it. So for those of you who want to join me in my quest to know and sit with various atonement theories as held by different traditions and denominations of Christianity, then read on.

 

Remember: All of these are real theories that have been upheld and believed in Christianity throughout history. There will be some that resonate with you and some that you think are flat out wrong, but try to understand why someone may believe what you cannot…and remember that, in the end, these are all theories that try to help us understand what is beyond our comprehension: God.  

 

1. Ransom Theory:

• This theory suggests that Jesus' death was a ransom paid to Satan to release humanity from bondage. The idea is rooted in passages that speak of Christ giving his life as a ransom for many.

2. Satisfaction or Substitutionary Atonement:

• This theory, developed by Anselm of Canterbury, emphasizes the idea that Jesus' death was a satisfaction of the divine justice offended by human sin. It involves the concept of Jesus serving as a substitute, taking on the punishment that humans deserved.

3. Moral Influence Theory:

• Proposed by theologian Peter Abelard, this theory emphasizes that the purpose of Christ's death was to morally influence humanity. Jesus' sacrifice is seen as a demonstration of God's love, inspiring people to repent and turn toward God.

4. Christus Victor (Victorious Christ) Theory:

• This theory views the atonement as Christ's victory over the powers of sin, death, and Satan. It emphasizes the triumph of Jesus' resurrection and the defeat of evil forces.

5. Governmental Theory:

• Developed by Hugo Grotius, this theory posits that Jesus' death serves a governmental purpose. It maintains that God, as the divine ruler, uses Christ's sacrifice to demonstrate the seriousness of sin and uphold moral order.

6. Penal Substitutionary Atonement:

• Similar to Satisfaction Atonement, this theory asserts that Jesus' death was a substitution for the penalty of sin. Jesus took on the punishment on behalf of humanity, satisfying the demands of divine justice.

7. Recapitulation Theory:

• This theory, associated with theologian Irenaeus, sees Jesus as recapitulating or redoing human history in a way that brings salvation. Christ becomes the new Adam, representing humanity in a perfect way.

8. Scapegoat Theory:

• This theory draws parallels with the Old Testament practice of the scapegoat. Jesus is seen as the sacrificial scapegoat who takes on the sins of humanity, removing them and reconciling people with God.

 

Which theory or theories resonate with you? What have you been taught? Which theory presents you with a new thought? Which theory does NOT sit well with you? I’d love to have a conversation…as long as it’s civil! 😊

 

Sometimes We Just Need To Cry

It’s no secret that I’m a crier. In fact, I have very talented tear ducts. They cry in joy and in sorrow, and they cry prayers and allow release. They cry over meaningful stories and they cry over ridiculous jokes. They cry when I’m full of energy and they cry when I’m exhausted from life. They cry if someone talks about putting in contact lenses and they cry for other people when those people cannot cry for themselves. Yet. Seldom do they cry raw, flowing tears when I’m around anyone else. Those tears—those deeply hurting, lonely, sad, frustrated, agonizing, almost-full-body tears—are usually reserved for God alone.

I remember one specific time, though, when I cried those tears in front of a dear friend, and she pulled me into her arms and let me weep. I burrowed my head into her shoulder and sobbed—for mean words and heartbreak and failed plans and misunderstanding and the work-dementors that were sucking life from me at the time. She held me as I cried and she didn’t flinch when my tears literally wet her shoulder. In that moment, I was so broken that I couldn’t even apologize for falling apart. All I could do was let someone support my weight and…cry.

…

As my first class approached the doorway today, I heard someone crying—and these were not petty, passing, she skipped me in line, tears—these were those deeply hurting, almost-full-body tears. By sheer good fortune, the guidance counselor was in my room at that moment, so she got the rest of the class settled while I held the crying kid. Literally. I wrapped my arms around his sobbing little body and held him to my heart. “Breathe, sweetie,” I said. “Deep breaths. In and out. In and out. Breathe with me. In and out.” After a few moments, I noticed that I had started rocking him back and forth, still gently whispering, “In and out. Breathe in and out.” After another few moments, I felt the fight leave his body and his breathing fall into rhythm with mine. After another few moments, I gave him the option of going to his seat or going to lie down in the back of the room until he was ready to join class. He chose the latter. Then he did join class and had a wonderful time.

I have no idea why he came to music class sobbing. Had something bad happened at home? Had something bad already happened at school? Had he been blamed for something he didn’t do? Had he gotten caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing? Had he eaten breakfast? Had he gotten enough sleep? I have no idea. But what I do know that is that he needed to cry.

…

A student on Tuesday needed to cry, too. He went from his normal attitude of “I hate music” to a place of deeply sad tears in a matter of minutes. One moment, he and his friends were defiantly choosing to sit at the back of the room under the refocus table so that they could talk and be silly, but the next minute all three of them were covering their heads with their shirts and crying. Not wanting to stop the rest of class from a strangely productive and focused music lesson, I went on with the lesson. After class, on my way into the building for lunch, I was bombarded by other students telling me that the three were crying because one of them was moving and the friendship posse was going to be separated.

As I stood in the class’s classroom, waiting for their supervision to arrive, thinking about how I wasn’t going to have time to eat lunch, wondering what in the world I was supposed to do with the kids for the next however long I had them, I felt someone come from behind on the right and latch on for a side hug. This particular class has a couple of huggers, so I didn’t think anything of it. Until I looked down. And I saw the top of “I hate music”’s hoodie. And I realized that a kid who ordinarily doesn’t even acknowledge that I exist was burrowed into my right shoulder, sobbing.

One of his classmates said, “Ms. Deaton, you’re going to miss lunch.”
I said, “No worries. I’ll be fine. I’ll stand here for a few more minutes.”
So I did. Holding “I hate music.”
He cried. He didn’t say a word. Then he wiped his tears and walked away.
I left the room with a tear-soaked shirt, wondering what in the world had just happened.
I guess “I hate music” needed to cry. And I guess maybe “I hate music” knew that music didn’t hate him.

…

Sometimes, friends, we all just need to cry.
And sometimes the safety of loving arms is exactly where we need to land.
My arms are open.
I often imagine God’s arms open as well.
Are yours?

Puzzle Peace

Last July, after finishing a puzzle for a friend, I wrote: I’ve heard of a wide variety of prayer groups. Of quilting groups, crocheting and knitting groups, blanket-making groups, and others. Yet I’ve never heard of a puzzle group. But why not? Why not choose a specific puzzle for someone who needs prayer—something that holds meaning for the future recipient or something generic if the intended recipient is unknown—and pray for that person with every piece placed? Little did I know that nine months later, I would present a puzzle to someone who indeed needed prayer…and that that puzzle would be a life-affirming reminder of God’s ever-steady presence and love.

Thanks to Barnes and Nobles’ after Christmas sale, my mom and I had a brand new puzzle to work on during our many snow days at the beginning of the year. As we began to work on the puzzle and I realized what we were putting together, I decided for whom we were working and shifted my puzzle making thoughts not only to properly sorting the pieces for puzzle putting together ease but also to praying for my friend.

After many hours of work (and prayer), the most elaborate puzzle-piece organization of our lives, and many celebratory high-fives, my mom and I finished the puzzle and attempted to glue it together—four times. After the fourth glue attempt, we threw up our hands in glue surrender and moved the puzzle out of the family room to a place where it would not be damaged. There it sat for almost three months…until last week.

Each night last week, I fell asleep to the prayer, “God help me remember to take the puzzle to work tomorrow.” Each morning, I’d get half way to school and realize that the puzzle was still at home. On Friday morning, as I got into my car, I thought, “Lunch. Owe money. Will owe more money today. Wallet. I don’t have my wallet,” so I went back into the house to get my wallet. Then I thought, “Puzzle. I should get the puzzle.” So I got the puzzle. [Yes. I think in incomplete sentences in the morning :-).]

I modge-podged the puzzle in B’s room between two of my classes. I let it dry. I left the puzzle for my friend at the end of lunch and then I went to teach Kindergarten. Along with the puzzle, I left a note: “You are important. And your work is too. Love, Dee. PS: My mom and I put this puzzle together for you. I prayed for you with each piece I placed.”

As my Kindergarteners danced, I answered a phone call of thanks. With much noise-filtering concentration and the hope that my students wouldn’t hurt themselves in their last hour before Spring Break, I heard my friend share how the puzzle had reached her at just the right time—at the end of a very difficult week—in a moment when life and work needed to be affirmed through what she took as a reminder of God’s sovereignty and control. I listened in amazement…and I smiled…

Yesterday at church, my pastor said that God’s grace and peace are alive and working and that God’s spirit is moving, always moving, toward hope and redemption…

The puzzle creator could have never made the puzzle. Barnes and Noble could have not placed it on clearance. My mom could have decided not to buy it. She could have chosen another puzzle to complete over the snow days or she could have not chosen not to do one at all. The puzzle could have taken the puzzle glue on our first four attempts at permanently piecing it together. I could have seen my friend using modge-podge before last week and I could have had the idea to sneakily borrow it from her so that I could glue her puzzle long before last week. God could have more directly answered my night-time prayers every morning last week and I could have given my friend that puzzle on another day at another time and I have no doubt that she would have loved it.

But instead, every piece of this story’s puzzle—pun intended—came together at just the right moment and transformed individual events from meaningful to life-changing.

Is this God’s working and moving toward grace, peace, hope, and redemption or what?!

And to think…God chooses us to be part.

Finding Their Voice

I was sort of surprised when I heard “a lot of really good teachers coming to the end of their ropes” and “a teacher living out of her car” last night when I asked for prayer requests at choir practice.

Sadly, I wasn’t surprised by the reality of the requests, rather, I was simply surprised that someone had actually voiced them. I was glad. I think that our reality needs to be spoken...especially since it’s not just our reality. It’s the reality of many persons working in the helping professions.

Long hours.
Little pay.
The expectation to be all things to all people.
Lack of respect.
(What is respect anyway? Media seems to have successfully made it into a joke.)
The demanding, “I.”
(It’s all about me, right?)
A culture of blame.
A black cloud of fear…of accusation, lies, and lawsuits.
Exhaustion so deep that it spans from eyes to heart to toe.

I suppose that there is a counter-balance to all of the above. And I know that the intrinsically rewarding work of helping someone find their voice (quite literally for me) pushes us forward. But I understand how easy it is to lose grip of the rope…and how hard it is to remember the purpose for which we are grasping the rope in the first place.

Lord, I pray for everyone whose hearts are breaking today.
Lord, I pray for everyone whose purpose is fading away.
There is so much hurt, so much blame
So many tears, so much anger
There are so many fears, so many doubts
Lord we need you, we need you, right now

God, we do need you.

You have called us to this work.
Help us keep sight of the goal:
Love that changes everything,
Light that sets us free.
Knowledge that gives humble power,
Courage to live in peace.

What It Is You Think I Should

“Is it just me or does this lyric not make any sense?” she said. “‘I told him I am the flower, you are the seed. We walked in the garden, we planted a tree.’ Unless I’m mistaken, there has to be some kind of crazy cross pollination going on there if that’s going to make any sense!”

Such was the conversation heard in room 223 of the Springhill Suites in Asheville yesterday morning. It was complete with dramatic singing and acting as my college friends Rachel and Angela and I attempted to answer Sunday’s question: “What is one song for which you are particularly thankful?” One simple question turned into a lengthy discussion that spanned everything from poignant hymns to guilty pleasures. The song “All I Want To Do Is Make Love To You” was a guilty pleasure. It’s one of those songs that’s somewhat ridiculous in plot but very fun to sing loudly!

Another song we stumbled upon was the song “Not Ready To Make Nice” by the Dixie Chicks. I didn’t really know the song until I pulled it up on You Tube, yet I found myself understanding the lyrics—though I must admit that they are very strong. I appreciate the honesty of the words and the fact that the raw emotions of pain and hurt aren’t just magically resolved. I found myself in the middle of someone else’s journey…just as I find myself in the middle of mine.

One particular lyric has been stuck in my mind since yesterday. It very simply says, “[I] can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should.” I find this line so powerful—so true—and such a vivid statement of the battle between living for self (through Christ) and others (of the world).

So often, I think, we know what’s best for ourselves. We know our boundaries and limitations. We know where God is leading. Yet outside pressure and expectation leads us to second guess ourselves and feel as if we are not “right” or “good enough” or doing our best. Granted, sometimes we do get stuck in a place where we need outside help. God knows that I’d be in a big mess without outside help! But sometimes, I think, we know what we need to do. We know what we can and cannot handle. We know the grace we are capable of extending. Yet the fear of disappointing others or being talked about in a negative way pushes us beyond what’s safe…and the result, I think, too often leads to hurt.

If I’m honest, then I must admit that I’m struggling to be at peace “in the waiting.” I, Deanna, am okay not knowing where I’m going (though it is somewhat unsettling), yet I feel like I’m doing something wrong by not actively seeking new employment opportunities. Why do I feel this way? Because of what I think the world thinks I should be doing. The world says it’s not okay for a 35-year-old college graduate to be unemployed. The world says it’s not okay for a Masters Degree graduate to not be contributing to a retirement account because she has no income to contribute. The world says it’s not okay for a grown child to live at home. And yet. Here I am. Living at home. With two degrees. No job. No clear direction. And doing a pretty poor job of waiting…not because I’m incapable of waiting—I am—and I'm okay with it--but because I feel like I’m being looked down upon for not immediately finding a new job. The thing is? I don’t just want a job. I want a calling. And I believe that God is calling…

Oh God. Help me to live as you would have me live and not how I perceive the world demanding that I live. Help me to find the joy in what surrounds me now because I know that joy—and grace—and healing—abound. Amen.

And now…to answer my thankful questions of the past couple of days:

What is one thing about Fridays for which you are particularly thankful? That Fridays are the days when my grandmother gets her hair done, and I know that the guaranteed human interaction is something that makes her happy.

What vacation destination are you particularly thankful exists? Asheville, NC (and pretty much any town in the mountains).

What is one song for which you are particularly thankful? “Growing Young” by Rich Mullins. Since before discovering that this song was written as a take on the story of the prodigal son, I have loved it. The lyrics speak to me—especially, “I’ve been broken now and I’ve been saved. I’ve learned to cry and I’ve learned how to pray. And I’m learning even I can be changed”—and the concept of growing young in the Kingdom of God as we grow old in this world is beautiful to me.

Who are the Veterans in your family for which you are grateful? Granddaddy Deaton (Dan Deaton, Sr.), G-Daddy (Virgil Kidd), Uncle Paul (Paul Johnson), and Dad (Dan Deaton, Jr.). I also have other extended family members who have served through the years…and I am grateful for their sacrifice and service.

Rule Breaker

Sometimes, I break the rules.

For instance, the instructions I received this weekend were to write, “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

Instead, I wrote, “You are there.”

Both phrases are from Psalm 139.

But right now, at this time in my life, “You are there” are the words that speak most to me.

God is there. Through darkness. Through light. Through good times. Through bad. Through days of work. Through days of unemployment. Through days of struggle. Through days of plenty. Through days of friendship. Through days of betrayal. God is there.

And I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Even if I do break the rules.

In The Stirring, There Is Love

I don’t understand God. Really. I don’t. And I guess that’s okay. I guess what matters is that I love God and am willing to trust in this Life-Force so much bigger than myself.

For awhile now, I’ve carried a sense of restlessness deep inside. It’s a feeling that’s difficult to describe but one that’s very real and powerful—a stirring of sorts—an anticipation—a loneliness that will not subside—a question of if there is something more—a yearning for peace that cannot be quenched.

A few weeks ago, I scratched out a simple prayer so that I could see it. “Help.” Songs and psalms and other words of scripture played through my head as I cried out to God that night, but the one word that kept coming back was help. Help me, God. Help me in my work. Help me in my friendships. Help me be a good family member. Help me share your love. Help me rest in what I have instead of longing for something more. Help me fall into a community where I can live and serve and find purpose. Help me be myself. Help me to feel your love surrounding me rather than this loneliness within. Help me, God. Help.

Little did I know that my prayer would be answered so quickly and that the answer would be for me to enter into a time of focused discernment—a time of sabbatical and rest.

I told someone the other day that I’m taking a leap of faith and hoping to land safely on the other side. It’s odd to be taking this leap—having no idea where it ill lead—to school, to church, to chaplaincy, to something I cannot imagine? It’s odd to think of structures, routines, and plans all coming undone so that my life is a blank slate. It’s odd not knowing where money will come from or how I’ll be able to buy people gifts :-). Yet. I’ve always wanted to fly. And I know that my friends and family will not let me go hungry and that I have people praying for me whose prayers will not let me down.

I don’t understand God. Really. I don’t. But I understand love. And I know that love surrounds me today.

Green transitions to orange and red
A gentle breeze caressing skin
As eyes close to rest in the moment.

It’s unspoken understanding that transcends the what,
What filling the silence only as nervous energy drawn by
Connection too deep for words.
Beauty lives where senses are heightened and
Awareness of creation is so real that it dances a waltz for the very first time.
What fades into the background as
Sweet fragrance takes center stage and
Presence becomes undeniable.

Capture the moment in picture—
Oils or pastels or watercolors feverishly transforming canvas
From barren white to radiant color.

Capture the moment in song—
Harps or keys or drums bursting forth from soft rustle
Creating vibrations so simple and powerful that they invoke passionate tears.

Green transitions to orange and red
A gentle breeze caressing skin
As eyes close to rest in the moment.

Humility envelopes any thought of pride:
There is Love much bigger than life and
Love’s Peace decorates the world today.

In The Image of God

Last night, I had the privilege of leading Bible study for the 2012 Camp La Vida summer staff. In an attempt to introduce WMU’s new organization for young women, myMISSION, I used the myMISSION curriculum for the study. Last night’s theme was “In God’s Image: God as Creator.”

I always enjoy reading the Genesis 1 creation story. I love how the story paints the image of God speaking the world into creation (talk about the power of words!) and I love how each day ends with God declaring God’s creation good (talk about the inherent worth of each individual!).

As we read the story together last night, I was struck by the order of it all—how each day began and ended and how God took God’s time creating it all (talk about the need for order and structure and time!). I was also struck by the language used for God’s creation of humankind—the language of God, “making,” “forming,” and “blessing” humankind—the language of humankind being created in God’s image.

Throughout the study, we focused on this notion of God creating us, forming us, imprinting a bit of Godself within us. We discussed how, as God’s children, our lives are to reflect the image of the one who made us.

Toward the end of the study, the writer, A.J. Jordan, asks participants to read Romans 1:20…For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse (Romans 1:18-20 NIV).

She goes on to say: “I have always read this verse and immediately assumed that when Paul mentions God’s qualities being seen from what He has made, Paul was talking about the mountains, the ocean, the sunrise, and sunset—the nature side of creation. What if even more than those things, Paul is referring to the pinnacle of God’s creation, His image bearers—us?”

What if…

What if more than the beautiful bio-diverse mountains, lakes, and streams that I was surrounded by last week—or the vastness of the ocean or the uniqueness of wild animals—Paul is talking about humanity in these verses? What if it’s us in which people should clearly see God but us through which people are drastically turned away? What if people needed to know the attribute of God? Could they come to you and not just hear those attributes from your mouth but see them in your life?

Oh God, creator of space, time, and all things good…Forgive us, those you formed in your own image, for being destructive to your creation, and accept this prayer of desire to be a good steward of all that has been given me, including this life, so that others will see you reflected in me. Amen.

Connected Through The Body of Christ

It’s been a little over a year since I walked into Jenny’s office and received the news that she was leaving counseling to go back into parish ministry. I cried. She cried. But I knew she was following God’s call for her life and that her greatest joy was not just in counseling but also in serving Eucharist to the body of believers…so…how could I begrudge her call?

Jenny is an Episcopal priest. I’ve long been fond of the Episcopal church and its liturgy. Even before Jenny went onto church staff, I had wanted to visit the church where she currently serves. One of my favorite college professors has played organ there for many years and I’d wanted to hear him play for some time. He’s absolutely amazing. Each time he plays, it’s as if the listener is at a recital. His hands and feet work together yet separately to play the keys and touch the pedals and work the stops and make truly awe-inspiring music. And so I went to hear him play yesterday…and also to hear Jenny preach…although I must admit I didn’t know the proper protocol for a former client going to visit her former counselor at her church!

I think that Baptists often miss out on the rich heritage of the church and the beautiful prayers and liturgies of countless church fathers and mothers who have gone before us. Though I spent a lot of time trying to figure out where we were in the litury yesterday (and secretly wishing I had taken my personal copy of the Book of Common Prayer—just because I have one ), I felt connected to centuries of believers in a rich liturgy of faith that surrounded me with the holy otherness and peace of Christ. Hearing and experiencing the language, sounds, patterns, and rhythms of faith passed down through generations caused me to be keenly aware of how big God is and how worthy God is of my awe and reverence.

Then Jenny spoke…and I was reminded that the Kingdom of God is open to all who choose to accept the invitation…and I was reminded that we each have a place at God’s table and that at God’s table we each find the acceptance for which we long…and I was reminded that it was Jenny who first helped me learn to accept that truth that I belong…that it was Jenny who helped me learn to believe that God loves me for me…that it was Jenny who gave me the language of being a person of worth and value…and that it was Jenny who taught me to sit with life, open myself to it, and accept the joy and grief that comes with living.

Because I didn’t know if I was breeching an ethical code of conduct by attending Jenny’s church, I hadn’t planned to take communion yesterday but had planned to remain part of the crowd, to blend in, and to slip out of the service quietly without making my presence known. But then my college professor saw me and smiled. And then I found myself with tears streaming down my face. And then I felt myself strangely compelled to walk forward. And then I found myself looking up into Jenny’s eyes and hearing her say, “Hey you…” and serving me the body of Christ…and then I realized just how significant that one action was—just how much meaning was held in that fraction of time.

Jenny, whose life and work changed my life and work by being the non-anxious presence of God to me, who left a profession in which she excelled in order to return to the parish to serve Eucharist and feel most complete, served me Eucharist—the body of Christ—the body of the one broken for me—the body of the one who gives life—the body of the one who fills me with the peace that I began to understand only when I realized and confessed my own utter brokenness...and that confession was made in the sacred space that God and I created with Jenny…God’s servant and light to me…so many years ago.

At the end of the service yesterday, I waited for my college professor to finish the postlude. When he finished, I joined a handful of others in applause and my professor sheepishly waved his thanks. Then I went outside and found Jenny. I listened to her be a good minister and then gave her a hug. Then we both stood there and grinned and I marveled at how far I’d come…and I silently thanked God that we are eternally connected…in, and through, the body of Christ.