more to do

November 9, 2016 at 3:17 pm

“[referencing Martin Luther King Jr] the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice. But here’s the thing. It does not bend on its own. It bends because each of us, in our own way, put our hands on that arc and we bend it towards justice”-President Barack Obama

Last night hurt. It hurt to see people I love celebrating the election of a person that, I feel, calls my worth into question. It hurt to remember all that I had felt as a 12 year old biracial girl watching an energetic biracial man enter the white house with a message of hope and change. And it hurt to feel the hope that 2008 had instilled deep within me, begin to crack a little bit. Last night just hurt to watch. A sharp and painful jab with every passing moment.

Today I am filled, not so much with a stinging pain as a deep deep aching. An aching in every fiber of my being and an uncertainty I cant even begin to explain. As I walk through today, I feel unglued.

But despite my uncertainty, I know this. We did not reach the level of progress we have achieved in this society easily. It was hard fought, and as we cast our ballots yesterday we stood on the backs of women and men who refused to accept life as it was and fought so that we could have the privilege of voting for whichever candidate we chose. All of the people, who sacrificed so that their children might someday reach a promised land they knew they may never see. All of the saints, who envisioned a more just society. We are here because of their visions, and their callings, and their sacrifice. That progress cannot and will not disappear overnight. It will evaporate only if we become complacent. Only if we throw up our hands, stepping away from the arc and from one another. Progress will be lost only if we stop marching, if we go silent. There is more work to be done here. Right now I’m hurting, but I know more certainly than I know anything today, that we cannot allow despair to stop us from bending the arc.

“We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope”-Martin Luther King Jr.

Last night felt like a sucker punch to the gut, and this morning I’m trying to remember how to breathe. As I catch my breath, all I can think is that we have so much still to do. If our ancestors have taught us anything, it’s that it is possible to march through pain and through darkness. And that we have a moral obligation to do so.

As I wrote, this teaching from the Talmud, based on Micah 6:8 was on my mind.

“Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief. Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it”.

May it be so.

By Denise-Nicole Stone | Posted in Denise-Nicole, Fall 2016 | Comments (0)

we must go on.

November 9, 2016 at 10:37 am

“In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”

Last night when reality begin to sink in, I thought of this quote. I lost hope around 2 AM, I spent all Wednesday morning hoping to find it. I thought about the country we had just created, the path we had placed it on. More importantly, I thought about my little cousins Jay and Jordyn. I thought about my God brothers, Aiden, Liam and Ethan. I thought about my beautiful Kendra, who only sees the good in life. I thought about the 5 children I teach every Sunday at Marsh Chapel. I was overwhelmed with the reality that we had failed them.

We were blinded by the hope that Barack Obama gave us. The belief in better that he made reality for 8 years. We didn't do our job. I'm willing to live through this, I don't have any other choice. But those brilliant and bright eyed children shouldn't have to. They should feel what I've felt these past few years under the Obama administration. They should grow up knowing that bigotry and racism is not American culture, and if it was, it no longer is. Sadly, I'm not confident that is our reality.

Dr. King was right when he said that we'd remember the silence of our friends. I was willing to accept your silence in regards to the Black Lives Matter movement, maybe that was too complex for you to comprehend. I turned the other way when you didn't acknowledge the murders of countless African American men. However, I thought this was a very clear decision. I thought this was rational. I thought you valued me. Clearly, I was wrong. I called you friend, some of you I expressed love towards, and when I needed you to speak you fell silent. You hid in the ambiguity of Hillary's deleted emails, you clung on to the tradition that said, women can't be president and that I can never forget.

I sat for hours thinking, what do we now? I  realized we can't lose hope. We have to keep going. Not for us but for those names I mentioned earlier and countless more like them. Black, White, Latino, Hispanic, LGBTQ+, we have to let them know that we are better than this. It will be harder than we've ever known it to be, but we will get it done.

I pray that we all stay strong, but more importantly that we stay hopeful.

Take Care,

Devin Harvin

I ended my thoughts by saying the Lord's Prayer, it is a reminder that my strength is found in someone that is not bound to earthly means.

By Devin Harvin | Posted in Devin, Fall 2016 | Comments (1)

Realizations, Rituals

November 6, 2016 at 10:40 pm

Last week was a good week. Sure, I might have stressed a little bit too much about the midterms I have this week, I might have been very sick for several days, I might have struggled with some assignments, and it might have been a long week, but at the end of it all it was a good week.

It might have been a hard week, but it was another week. It was another week in the rhythms of life, in the heartbeats of my existence. As I have moved into the mid to late semester, I have developed structures, rhythms, rituals, and habits to help me navigate through the tensions of life. These rituals are like little fires and candles that warm me and light my path as I walk through the vast cold wilderness of the human experience; these rituals illuminate the beautiful landscape before me, and allow me to take a moment and take assessment of my travels.

On Mondays immediately after I finish my prelabs for computer organization, I hurry to Marsh Chapel to the community dinners. There, I participate in common rituals of friendship, fellowship and community. Each week I am reminded of the wonderful people around me.

On Thursdays, I go to SojournBU’s Cadre – meaning a group of people surrounding a revolutionary idea – and sit around close friends that I have known since I was a freshman here at Boston University. And every week, every Cadre, we laugh, we joke, and we discuss our thoughts surrounding various passages in scripture. Every week, we hear thoughts from various different perspectives and consider the themes in the passages. We then discuss a challenge that we should try for the week. I recall one week in my freshman year where for my challenge (I think it had to do with forgiveness or amending conflicts – I genuinely do not remember) I ended up buying an apple pie for a very unruly neighbor on my floor in Warren towers. I remember very well telling my neighbor that, yes we have our differences and, yes, I know I complain to him a lot about his disruptive behavior, but here is a pie and I hope we can settle our differences and that he’s a good guy. I remember he was happy with that. We shook hands. Honestly, looking back on that, he was a fine neighbor. I am glad I gave him that pie.

On Sundays, after church, I get lunch with Jen, and we talk about life, and then we relax for a few hours. We watch TV. We take it easy. A good end to a good week.

Overlaying this all are other, great rituals. Every few weekends, Jen and I will visit my brother and we will play board games and have dinner. Every few weekends, I will go and hangout with my friends at Northeastern and visit their board game club or we will watch a movie. Every few weekends, I will take communion.

Communion. Every few weekends, I will break the bread and drink the juice or wine. Every few weekends. For years. Sometimes, as I have walked up the aisles of the church to receive communion, it had been on weekends where I felt on top of life. Sometimes, it was on weekends in the lowest points of my life. Sometimes, it was a normal weekend. Sometimes I walked up exhausted and sometimes I walked up awake, confident, and courageous. Sometimes I walked up seeking peace. Sometimes I walked up thinking about forks in the roads of life. Sometimes I have walked up in celebration. Sometimes, I have walked up grieving. Sometimes I have walked up contemplating.

Sometimes I have walked up with Jen. Sometimes I have walked up with my parents. Sometimes the elements have been handed to me. Sometimes I have taken communion in a small group of people. Sometimes I have taken it outdoors on Marsh plaza, in a hotel ballroom, in a small church, in a large church, with friends, with family, with strangers. I have received communion sometimes kneeling, sometimes standing, and sometimes sitting.

Each time, this ritual has grounded me in the bigger picture of my life; meaning pours into my heart. I am reminded of the tensions and fragilities in my life that I must embrace. As Rob Bell puts it, “In the Eucharist the bread and wine are considered holy because all bread and wine are holy. You come to the table and take the bread and wine as an act of contemplation to remind yourself that all of life is holy. It’s not about coming in out of the world to experience God, it’s about being reminded in this ancient ritual of the divine who is present in all of life.” It is in those moments when I experience a connection to my community, to the Ground of my being, to God, to Christ, and to my existence as a whole.

It is in these rituals that I am reminded of the divine in my life: in Communion, which has been a part of my life for over ten years, in the Cadres of SojournBU, which has been a regular part of my weekly rhythms for almost three years now, in the lazy Sunday afternoon lunches with Jen after church that have become the norm since I have gone to college, in the board game weekends that became a norm after my brother graduated college two years ago, in the usual weekend board games and movies that my friends from Northeastern began to often host since last spring, and in the community dinners I have found this semester. It is in these long standing rituals and newly discovered ones that I continue forward, warm and with a field of view illuminated by the flames of my rituals, courageously embracing existence.

By Nickholas Rodriguez | Posted in Fall 2016, Nick | Comments (0)

Home Away From Home

November 6, 2016 at 5:10 pm

As part of my involvement with the Lutheran Ministry in the Fenway, the organization that oversees the Lutheran campus ministries at Boston University and Northeastern University, I was asked to write a reflection on what campus ministry means to me. I thought I would share what I wrote as my blog post for this week:

To me, community is at the core of what campus ministry is—a group of people from various backgrounds, each with their own struggles and beliefs and joys who are able to come together to share meals, engage in fellowship and prayer, wrestle with difficult questions, or just take a few minutes or a few hours to lay on the floor with some crayons and a coloring book engaging in mindfulness and meditation together. These experiences through this ministry have kept me grounded and centered. It doesn’t matter what else has been going on in my life—academic stresses, personal struggles, confusion or yearning for discernment—I always know that I have a community around me that that will listen to my doubts and fears without judgment, that will struggle with me and challenge me, that will support me and grow with me. The home that I’ve found here in Boston is centered around this community—this community of wanderers and questioners, of believers and thinkers, of friends that have become like family. Through my involvement with this ministry, I have found a deeper understanding of my faith and of God’s call for me. I have found a community to challenge and support me. I have found a home away from home.

By kmshultz | Posted in Fall 2016, Kasey | Comments (0)

I Opened My Ears

November 3, 2016 at 1:20 am

I heard the T tracks whistling for the first time in a long time. I went an entire day without headphones. Music is what grounds me throughout the day. It's a common reminder that everything will be okay. It is like my portable bible. A personal connection to God at every moment. I went without them for 24 hours, I went without music. I couldn't put on my headphones and ignore the various conversations and people that I might encounter. Most of the time I use them as a shield from being social. I've realized when I'm constantly putting myself out in the world as a social creature, I've left little time for self-reflection. Putting my headphones on is my way of taking some time to be in my head. Today I didn't. I forced myself to listen to each environment I was in, hear the conversations, and be present. I'm torn if this time of being present is beneficial for me and I should go without headphones more often or is ignoring the world needed sometimes.

I honestly turn to Jesus (no I am not comparing myself to Jesus) and think what would he do. I doubt he would ignore the world, history tells us something drastically different in fact. But what if Jesus was in introvert? I think he would still care, I think he would still sacrifice himself for us. I think it goes deeper than  being social.

Working in ministry, even at entry-level, you put others first a majority of the time. You try to practice self-care, but you care so much it becomes secondary. How do you balance that? How can you justify being isolated from the world even for two minutes with your headphones on, when you don't know who you just ignored. I think the biggest obstacle in leadership is how to maintain your own sanity. Jesus is an example that seems so impossible to us. To put others first constantly. Is that how we should live?

By Devin Harvin | Posted in Devin, Fall 2016 | Comments (2)

First Teaching Experience

November 2, 2016 at 10:09 pm

This afternoon I had my first experience actively teaching a class. It was in a discussion section for a neuroscience course, where I've been a teaching assistant (TA) for about half a semester. A few weeks ago, my teaching fellow (TF) and I were talking about observations for an education class I was taking with another TA, when he made the suggestion that we observe each other actively teaching. At the time, I had no idea how idea how nervous I would be in the days leading up to it.

It was only when I realized that I had to cover four different systems in 50 minutes that a mild nervousness began to set in. I suddenly began to doubt my memory of learning this material last year, when I took the same course as a student. It didn't help that I had an exam the next day that I had spent all weekend studying for, or that I only received the questions to go over in the section the night before.

So when it finally came time to enter the classroom and begin, it was surprising how calm I felt. Perhaps I was just trying to hold it together and not let the nervousness show. Or perhaps I genuinely was calm. I can't quite remember which one it was. But when I began to write on the board and talk to the students I had seen weekly for half a semester, it felt okay. The nervousness slowly subsided My TF had told me that most students who had done this felt incredibly nervous the first time, but in the end they did fine. Luckily, my experience was very similar.

I learned a few things from this first teaching experience. One was that I had to learn to be comfortable with silence. I don't mean the silence that comes with being alone; I'm already pretty comfortable with that. I'm referring to the silence that settles over the classroom when you've just asked a question, and it feels like the entire class is waiting for an answer. The other thing I learned was that it's okay to try things that ultimately don't work. Learning is an iterative process, and mistakes allow room for growth and improvement.

My next section will be on Friday morning. While I don't know how it will go, I have a feeling that in the end, no matter how nervous I may feel leading up to it, or how many awkward pauses I have to encounter, I will pull through. Hopefully, the students will be able to as well.

 

By iquillen | Posted in Fall 2016, Ian | Comments (0)

This I Believe

November 2, 2016 at 3:02 pm

I love books. Reading has always been a way for me to recharge. Whenever I am feeling overwhelmed or upset. Whenever I have time to spare or am having a really good day, I usually end up at Half Price Books. This summer, on one of my many trips there, I found a book titled This I Believe. Which is based on a segment in NPR’s All Things Considered. The book contains short essays from eighty people, in which they state their personal philosophies. It is one of the best books I have stumbled upon in my random bookstore browsing.

As I began to flip through the essays, I was immediately struck by the wide array of beliefs expresed within those pages. People took this opportunity to explain their belief in good deeds or silent walks or as Sarah Adams said, that we should “Be cool to the pizza dude”. I spent the summer reading what people believed to be at the core of who they are and how they try to live, and their explanations for how they came to believe what they do. I was fascinated by the exercise. The process of whittling all of the pieces and events that make you who you are and have shaped your worldview down to one belief statement. The assertion that this belief is the foundation for every interaction that you have. That this belief is at the center of who you are.

This book has been in the back of mind ever since I picked it up. I have been wondering if I were to make a belief statement. As far as I can figure, there are two interconnected beliefs at the core of my being. First, I believe in presence. I believe in being where you are. That sometimes the most profound act of service and love we can ever do is to be present with someone. I believe that when I am fully here, not only can I see others more clearly; I can clearly see God moving. I also believe in appreciation. In appreciating the moment. Appreciating the ride. In appreciating those in my life for the many ways that they bless me on my journey each and everyday. Appreciating the quiet moments of refuge in a cluttered bookstore and the books that change everything. This I believe.

By Denise-Nicole Stone | Posted in Denise-Nicole, Fall 2016 | Comments (0)

Music

November 2, 2016 at 2:02 pm

Music is everywhere. I honestly do not know what I would do without music in my life. It is one of the only things that I know I can consistently count on in my life. No matter what is happening, no matter the time, nor the place music is an escape. It really helps me moderate my emotions and monitor my reactions the events.

I have music for everything: when I’m studying, relaxing, playing video games, having friends over, or upset. Based off of the situation the music has different effects. These effects are personal to me; with that being said, you may share some of the same.

When I am trying to relax or am very upset music is very therapeutic. It allows my mind to focus on something else. Often times I resonate with the lyrics; I focus on what the artist is trying to say. What the meaning of the song is.

However, when I am studying or with friends I like my music to be very upbeat and fast paced. The purpose for the music in these situations is to facilitate a positive mood and also be background music. I oftentimes do not focus on the lyrics as much as the beat in the song.

The music department at Marsh is amazing. For me, the choir produces such heavenly sounds. It truly enhances my ability to pray and facilitates tranquility. Prayer in the form of music is one of my favorite ways to pray --even though I am not much of a singer.

I do not know what I would do without being able to listen to music. I thank God for it every day.  

By Matthew Cron | Posted in Uncategorized | Comments (0)

Importance of Community

October 29, 2016 at 5:18 pm

John Oliver's most recent topic on the show Last Week Tonight was on opioids, more specifically, the opioid epidemic in our country. You can watch the video on YouTube – be aware that the humor is often adult and the language is also fairly adult.

In the segment, John Oliver discusses the recent epidemic of opioid addiction, and the various factors and decisions different pharmaceutical companies, regulatory organizations, and institutions made that led to epidemic. John Oliver further discusses various aspects of our modern healthcare system that continue to lead people to risk of addiction. He concludes the segment calling for resources and advocacy to be allocated towards assisting those afflicted with addiction and prevention of further addictions in those at risk.

I saw the segment one late night earlier this week, while I was taking a break from doing homework in the wonderful main common space in South Campus. A while later, I stumbled upon Kurzgesagt – In a Nutshell’s video on addiction. You can also find that video on YouTube.

Anyways, in this video, the media group discuss various reasons why addiction occur, but spend most of their time on the claim that addiction is an unhealthy bond as a result of environmental factors. They discussed the somewhat controversial research of Canadian psychologist Bruce Alexander and his study of rats in Rat Park. Without over complicating the research for the sake of a blog post, there were two groups of rats. One group existed in an environment that was quasi natural. The rats had toys and companions. There was a lot of space for them. The other group of rats were confined to cages, similar to most studies of addiction. Both had water laced with drugs and drug-free water. In his experiment, the rats in the cages became addicted to the drugs, while the rats in Rat Park did not. He concluded that addiction is heavily influenced by environment and a lack of bonding.

The Kurzgesagt video segment continues to discuss other addictions and the relationship to a lack of bonding, while also pointing out that modern humans have less and less close friendships while also having more and more floor space in their homes.

Now, while the Rat Park experiment has not been perfectly replicated, and I am sure most people would point out that addiction is not that simple – there are various biological, cognitive, environmental, and social factors that help and hurt addiction, especially in organisms as complex as human beings – the videos did open my eyes to how important community is.

In modern society where people have had less and less close friends and more people are lonely, creating and sustaining communities are all the more important. In this internship for Marsh’s inclusive community, in being a former student leader, and in being the vice president of SojournBU, I am in a position to help in creating and maintaining communities. I am not entirely sure as to what extent I will be able to make a difference in other people’s lives, but what I do know is I just have to show up and put my heart into what I am doing. I became aware that I just need to put effort and care. If I do that, and if I sincerely am there for other people, then that’s enough to help create community. Everyone is incredible, everyone is telling a story with their lives, everyone is interesting, and everyone matters. Every single person I will come across in my existence as one of billions of human beings matter.

Everyone matters, and if I can help people find an inclusive community, I will do whatever I can to help.

By Nickholas Rodriguez | Posted in Fall 2016, Nick | Comments (2)

When Grief Comes

October 27, 2016 at 9:26 pm

It’s been a rough week. In the aftermath of a death, I have been trying to figure out how to put my feelings into words but I haven’t quite gotten there yet. So I’ve fallen back on poems and scripture, trying to use them to put my own feelings into words.

First, Matthew Dickman’s poem, “Grief” expresses the strangeness and inexplicableness of death. It is simultaneously playful and sobering, which right now resonates with the confused emotions in the wake of a death—sometimes I can be distracted, joking and laughing with friends, but the next minute, reality snaps back into place.

Grief (Michael Dickman)

When grief comes to you as a purple gorilla
you must count yourself lucky.
You must offer her what’s left
of your dinner, the book you were trying to finish
you must put aside,
and make her a place to sit at the foot of your bed,
her eyes moving from the clock
to the television and back again.
I am not afraid. She has been here before
and now I can recognize her gait
as she approaches the house.
Some nights, when I know she’s coming,
I unlock the door, lie down on my back,
and count her steps
from the street to the porch.
Tonight she brings a pencil and a ream of paper,
tells me to write down
everyone I have ever known,
and we separate them between the living and the dead
so she can pick each name at random.
I play her favorite Willie Nelson album
because she misses Texas
but I don’t ask why.
She hums a little,
the way my brother does when he gardens.
We sit for an hour
while she tells me how unreasonable I’ve been,
crying in the checkout line,
refusing to eat, refusing to shower,
all the smoking and all the drinking.
Eventually she puts one of her heavy
purple arms around me, leans
her head against mine,
and all of a sudden things are feeling romantic.
So I tell her,
things are feeling romantic.
She pulls another name, this time
from the dead,
and turns to me in that way that parents do
so you feel embarrassed or ashamed of something.
Romantic? she says,
reading the name out loud, slowly,
so I am aware of each syllable, each vowel
wrapping around the bones like new muscle,
the sound of that person’s body
and how reckless it is,
how careless that his name is in one pile and not the other.

 

All Saints Day and All Souls Day are less than a week away and I was reminded of a blog post I wrote two years ago at this time in which I talked about an anthem we were singing in choir. The piece is “We Remember Them” by Tarik O’Regan and it’s part of a larger work that was written in reaction to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and the desperate need for peace. Right now, this piece has multiple meanings for me. On the one hand, it expresses how reminders of people who have died are all around us. In some ways, we can never fully recover from a death. It can fade into the background and not be as painful, but it still shapes our experience and affects our lives. But this piece also fosters hope—those who have died are never lost to us. Their physical body is gone, but we always have our memory of them—it isn’t just their death that impacts us, it is their life as well. It’s important for me to remember that.

 

From “We Remember Them” by Tarik O’Regan:

“In the rising of the sun and in its going down, we remember them. In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter we remember them. In the opening of buds and in the rebirth of spring, we remember them. In the blueness of the sky and in the warmth of summer, we remember them. In the rustling of leaves and in the beauty of autumn, we remember them. When we’re weary and in need of strength, we remember them. When we’re lost and sick at heart, we remember them. So long as we live, they too shall live, for they are now a part of us, as we remember them.”

 

Death has a strange way of uprooting things I thought were solid and Mary Oliver’s poem, “After Her Death” expresses how lost I feel sometimes. But this poem also creates space for comfort, found in familiarity, in the cycles of nature, in scripture. It doesn’t matter which scripture it is—sometimes all I need is the comfort that comes with opening my bible to a familiar book, reminding me that God is here with me always, that I am not alone.

 

After Her Death (Mary Oliver)

I am trying to find the lesson
for tomorrow. Matthew something.
Which lectionary? I have not
forgotten the Way, but, a little,
the way to the Way. The trees keep whispering
peace, peace, and the birds
in the shallows are full of the
bodies of small fish and are
content. They open their wings
so easily, and fly. It is still
possible.

I open the book
which the strange, difficult, beautiful church
has given me. To Matthew. Anywhere.

 

Maybe soon I will be able to articulate everything in a coherent way but for now, I am trying to find comfort and solace, to get through the day to day, to lean on the community around me, to let go of my burdens, to find rest. Right now, this is the scripture that is carrying me:

 

Matthew 11:28-30

Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in my heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

By kmshultz | Posted in Fall 2016, Kasey | Comments (0)