A Knitter's Church

Hello friends! 

This year I'm working part time as the Student Pastor at Oglethorpe Presbyterian Church, about 30 minutes down the road from school. Today I praught* my first sermon at OPC. Knitting, New Orleans, and Mr. Rogers make appearances. If it suits your fancy, keep scrolling to check it out. If you'd rather listen, you can do that here.

Love, Allison.

* If teach = taught, preach = praught! This new vocab word is brought to you by a good friend/fellow seminarian. 

(You can blame preaching class at CTS for my
sketchbook-and-colored-pencils sermon prep habits.)

^{Ephesians 2:17-22, 4: 15-16}

¹⁷So he came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near; ¹⁸for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father. ¹⁹So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, ²⁰built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone. ²¹In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord; ²²in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling-place for God. ¹⁵But speaking the truth in love, we must grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, ¹⁶from whom the whole body, joined and knitted together by every ligament with which it is equipped, as each part is working properly, promotes the body’s growth in building itself up in love.

***

The church I want us to think about today is Oglethorpe, but it isn’t exactly the painted white brick exterior, the pews you’re sitting on, or our cheerfully colored preschool hallways. This morning’s reading from Ephesians may not be talking about our specific Brookhaven church, or even any tangible brick-and-mortar structure. But that doesn’t mean it’s completely lacking in language about buildings.  For example, we hear from Paul that the church is “built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus as the cornerstone.” 

 These days some physical cornerstones are more ceremonial than structural, taking the form of a large commemorative stone on the corner of a building, often marking the year in which the building was constructed. More importantly, the cornerstone is the point from which the rest of the building is oriented. Each wall of the structure is ultimately situated according to the cornerstone.  

So the greater Church can rely on Christ the cornerstone, who aligns the rest of our foundation, made up of the apostles and prophets, according to Paul. And it is through their teachings that we, the brick-and-mortar members, begin to be “built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God.”

As Paul’s letter to the church in Ephesus continues, it gets more specific about the body that is this dwelling place for God, and the words start to sound more like we’d find them in an anatomy lesson than in class on construction. Not only is Christ this dwelling place’s cornerstone, he is the head, “from whom the whole body is joined and knit together by every ligament with which it is equipped.” A head...a body...and ligaments...the church is alive. Christ the cornerstone, and the rest of the apostles and prophets, serve as the foundation of this living, breathing, growing body of Christ that is the church. 

I don’t exactly know the science behind a body being knit together by ligaments, as Ephesians says we are if Christ is the head. But I do know that when I first read that sentence in the Scripture for today, I couldn’t help but think of another kind of knitting. My kind of knitting involves a ball of yarn. Now I should also confess to you that when I say “my kind of knitting,” I mean I would consider myself a beginner, at best. I have a few scarves under my belt, a dishcloth or two, and last Christmas break I graduated to making a hat (but my mom had to come to my knitting rescue at the end of that project). My novice status aside, here is what I know to be true about knitting. It usually requires at least a little guidance. It always requires patience. It also helps if you’re a naturally fidgety person. Although I don’t know that fidgeting is a requirement of the body of Christ, I can say from personal experience that it probably happens from time to time. Finally, in the world of knitting, as my Mom has informed me: “a real knitter never ties a knot.” This excludes the slip knot that is often used at the very beginning of a project, but either way, the point isn’t to tie the yarn so tightly together that there is no possible way it will ever move. Of course you hope your new scarf or hat or sock stays together. And it probably does! But the reason for that isn’t knots. When it comes down to it, knitting is really a series of fancy loops. Each time the needles are moved, the yarn makes one loop, slips through another, and becomes an anchor of sorts for yet another future loop, as each part of the yarn  gently and flexibly supports another in its place. Knots are even avoided when a new ball of yarn is brought into a project in progress. The new piece of yarn is held next to the old, makes its first loop and is woven into the former and future loops. So, these loops are where our work comes in. Jesus is a knitter in this hat or scarf or dishcloth of a church. He’s the beginning of our series of loops, ultimately their anchor. But we too, are knitters of the body of Christ. 

Some of you may be familiar with the prayer shawl ministry that is present in many congregations. The ministry’s website describes their project like this: “Compassion and the love of knitting [or] crocheting have been combined into a prayerful ministry and spiritual practice which reaches out to those in need of comfort and solace, as well as in celebration and joy. Many blessings are prayed into every stitch. Whether they are called Prayer Shawls, Comfort Shawls, Peace Shawls, or Mantles, etc., the shawl maker begins with prayers and blessings for the recipient. The intentions are continued throughout the creation of the shawl. Upon completion, a final blessing is offered before the shawl is sent on its way.”

 The page goes on to say that sometimes recipients will go on to make shawls for others, as God’s comfort spreads throughout the community. 

One more thing I’ll mention, about knitting. It is sometimes very. tedious. Once you get the hang of the basic moves, that’s not necessarily a bad thing, especially for the fidgeters among us, including myself. But however familiar the moves, knitting still requires care and attention. And the careful nature of crafting these loops means that every inch of that yarn, however briefly, has been touched by the knitter. 

And a certain balance of tension must be maintained in the yarn, to successfully complete a project. A knitter must keep the yarn pulled tightly enough to guide it into place. But also essential is that the yarn has some room to move. Just as ligaments help our bodies bend and stretch, flexibility is key in knitting.

So to truly live into our places in the church as the body of Christ -- whether we are held together as ligaments or as pieces of yarn -- we have to allow ourselves to be knitted, and we need to do some knitting ourselves. And just as Christ is the cornerstone of our foundation, he can be the first loop of yarn -- or the slip knot -- that holds the rest of us in place. Whether you grew up in this church, whether you’ve been here for a few years or a few weeks, or whether you are visiting today for the first time, Christ holds us together as one body, as the first loop and as the foundation for the gift that is this community. This community of faith is one that includes Oglethorpe, of course, but also one that goes beyond it.

The year before I started seminary at Columbia, I spent a year living in New Orleans with the Presbyterian Church (USA)’s Young Adult Volunteer program. Not only did my fellow volunteers and I become knit together, we were woven into the fabric of the cities in which we served. That year living in community with other volunteers challenged me and helped me grow in countless ways, but one thing of the clearest memories I have took place in my very first week there. My housemates and I, along with some volunteers from another program, were on a tour of the city. We saw some of the usual sites, and we got to know some new neighborhoods. We stood on the levee looking over the Lower Ninth Ward. What is most memorable about that day, however, is a comment that our tour guide made, at the end of the tour. While we were debriefing the things we’d experienced that day, our guide shared some of her thoughts on the years following Hurricane Katrina. As she painted a picture of the city’s recovery process which included the gradual departure of the various forms of aid, and the media’s movement on to the next pieces of breaking news. But she made one thing clear. She said: “The church never forgot us.” As members of the church, we care for all the parts of our knitted body.

Our guide wasn’t just talking about the specific group of faith-based volunteers that was standing in front of her, nor specifically about the Presbyterian Church. The church that remembered New Orleans is a mosaic of helpers spread far and wide, from a vast array different traditions and geographical locations. One of my favorite Presbyterians, Mr. Rogers, once said: “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers, so many caring people in this world.” 

These words from Mr. Rogers have more to do with knitting than the fact that he wore a lot of sweaters. New Orleans is part of this knitted, global church, and the helpers that arrived after that hurricane -- and that still arrive today -- were and are proof of this connected church. 

The other thing about most knitted garments? They’re washable. Although New Orleans faced devastation in the wake of Katrina’s floods, and its people were scattered across the country, small rays of hope came in the form of helpers from faith communities across the country. Slowly but surely the helpers began to knit back together the stretched loops of New Orleans.

It is through this caring -- both for people in our own congregation and for people outside of it -- that we can, as Ephesians puts it, build ourselves up in love.  So, as we live out the coming week together let us remember that we are built on Christ’s sure foundation. And that as we continually knit each other together with intention and openness -- a thoughtful, creative, sometimes tedious process -- this community of faith will continue to build and be built up in love.

Amen.

Home is where...

Hello, old friends!

If you've spent any time with me in person lately, you've probably heard me mention (okay...probably whine about) having to switch my license and car tags to Georgia. I may or may not be slightly sentimentally attached to my home state, so it's been an interesting experience to give up the paper trail that connects me to it. But, the deed is done. (All it took was essentially daily texts from Mom "encouraging" me to get my butt to the DMV. Sorry for the foot-dragging, parents...) Madame Blueberry is officially a peach, and I've got the driver's license to match!

Considering the places I've lived since college, the past handful of years adds up to, more specifically, five states in four years. On one hand, this bouncing around has been a blessing. I've gotten to know some wonderful cities, and through their differences and similarities they and the people in them have allowed me to grow in my understanding of myself and of other people. On the other hand, I very much look forward to an eventual day when I can again have the chance to make more long-term connections to one geographical place.

These days it's awfully tricky to answer the question: "Where are you from?" I don't feel like it's totally honest to simply answer "North Carolina," seeing as it's been a while since I really lived there. But I also don't feel right simply saying "Georgia," because Decatur is still only a small part of my story. It usually goes something like this: "Well, I'm originally from Davidson, North Carolina (but I was born in Ohio). I went to school in South Carolina, and I also worked at a camp in western North Carolina. But then I lived in Nashville and New Orleans with a volunteer program. Now I'm in school near Atlanta."

North Carolina will always be home. But I will also feel at home in Greenville, in Nashville, and in New Orleans. After some time adjusting, I'm claiming Decatur too.

So what does "home" even mean, if I feel like all of these places are still holding little (or huge) parts of me?

Home is where your family is, whether that family is defined by blood, a summer camp, a school, or a volunteer program.

Home is where you can be challenged, and challenge some things yourself. 

Home is where you grow.

Home is where you sit at table with others.
Home is where you care and are cared for.
Home is where you have a favorite coffee shop.

Home is a noun, an adjective, an adverb, and a verb. (Really.)

Home is where you can make mistakes.
Home is where there are second chances.

Home is where you live.

Home is where you love.

So, friends, here's to having long answers to "where are you from?" And here's to finding homes wherever we go.

Love,
Allison.

I may claim more than one state these days, but...belated birthday present, anybody?

Grab Some Popcorn...

Hey friends,

I don't think I've shared this yet, so if you're an audio-visual learner, here's a video look into the minds of New Orleans YAVs. For those of you who don't know, the dog in the video is Thomas, who belongs to Kathy, our site coordinator and video-editor extraordinaire. It's about ten minutes long, and offers insight from the YAVs I live with here in New Orleans. Enjoy!

Love,
Allison.

Summer Thoughts

Hey friends,

Despite the fact that the weather here in New Orleans has undoubtedly signaled the arrival of summer, I'm still not used to this whole no-summer-break thing. (You mean...I just keep doing the same thing I've been doing? Weird.) Regardless of what lies ahead in my summer, the beginning of the season reminds me of the countless camps that are beginning their busy season as school year happenings come to an end. On a more specific note, if you haven't guessed, I'm thinking about the two summers I spent working at Camp Grier.

If you've talked to me for more than five minutes, you've probably heard about camp. You have my apologies for the word vomit that usually happens when the topic comes up, but I promise it's with the best of intentions! It's just that Camp Grier is a special, special place. A modest Presbyterian camp nestled in the mountains of western North Carolina, it is an undeniable place of refuge for campers and counselors alike.

I only went once as a camper, I think, and word on the street is (aka Mom told me) that I criiiied and cried when my parents dropped me off. However hazy my memories of that half-week may be, though, they still exist, and they are fond ones. I remember being mildly concerned that bug juice actually contained bug parts, but that seems to have turned out alright. I remember being just a little terrified of the rope bridge that went across the lake, but according to my memory, I made it across anyway. I remember my counselors saying they were engaged. Retrospectively, I realize that that especially was probably false information. But hey, what's a summer as a camp counselor without a few falsified engagements?!

What I can say truly changed my life, all jokes aside and as cheesy as it sounds, is those two summers that I spent as a counselor. Yes, I learned the oh-so-classified secrets of bug juice and homesick pills (and I'll never tell!).  But I also got to help scared kids across the rope bridge, watch homesick kids transform every week into the most enthusiastic campers, and build relationships with my fellow counselors that I'm quite positive will be around for a very long time. Sure, I don't do the best job staying in touch with people. But if you put a bunch of us in a room together, I'd venture a guess that we'd be just fine. And no matter how long I am physically away from camp, every time I step foot on that property it will feel like I'm home. Even as I do a less than stellar job of regularly talking to my former camp coworkers, and even as those same people head to different camps (or...gasp...grown up jobs) those people and that place will always be a part of me.

In just over a week, I'll have the privilege of speaking to the summer staff at Camp Grier about the YAV program. While being a presenter at staff training makes me feel weird and grown up, I'm excited for a couple main reasons. First, I'm excited because I'll take any chance I can get to run my mouth about the YAV program, and any chance I can get to spend time in the mountains. But second, and more importantly, I am excited because the time I spent on staff at Camp Grier and the time I've spent as a YAV are without a doubt two parts of my life about which I am most passionate. There is a direct correlation between the time I spent at camp, my time as a YAV, and my decision to pursue some sort of ministry in the future. I'm not saying that every camp counselor wants or needs to go on to be a YAV and then head off to seminary. But my time on staff at Camp Grier was incredibly transformative, and as exhausted as I was ("It may be week six for you, but it's week one for the campers!"), I wouldn't trade the experience for anything. And I think once you're a camp counselor, it's something you can never really get out of your system.

So, connections to the YAV program aside, I'd encourage you to keep camp ministries of all sorts in your thoughts and prayers, as they begin their work for the summer. And consider supporting them in any way you can, whether that's financial support, sending your kid, or working or volunteering there yourself. To the camps out there: thank you. Thank you for everything you do and for the lives you change. Have a safe and happy summer!

Love,
Allison

See you soon!

With Love from S. Derbigny Street

Hey friends!

Recently my community put together a newsletter with reflections from our years so far. In case you've missed it, our house includes nine roommates, both YAV and AmeriCorps. We work in after school programs, rebuilding organizations, a hospital chaplains department, a community garden, port ministries and more. You can find my reflection below, but if you've got a few minutes I'd highly suggest you see what my roommates have to say too. It's still just a small glimpse into the ways in which God is at work in New Orleans, but it's at least a bigger picture than what you've gotten here so far! The link below will take you to the newsletter. Enjoy!

4512 S. Derbigny

As for my contribution to the reflections, part of it was taken from a post I wrote back in October, so it may sound a little familiar. There's some new stuff too, though, so in case you're interested:

It’s quite hard to believe that I have been in New Orleans for more than seven months. Since I moved here in August, I’ve met countless people who have left their mark on my heart. One of those people is Ronald. Two housemates and I met Ronald back in October, in the midst of soaking up music (and humidity) at the Blues and BBQ Festival.

Ronald, who was being pushed in a wheelchair, approached us that evening and proceeded to tell us that he does improv poetry, and he wanted to share one with us. Off he went, rhythmically rhyming in an on-the-spot poem he told us was called "Three Queens." It was all about these three princesses who just wanted to take off their crowns for a day and enjoy regular life. About how the king and queen were worried for the princesses, but the princesses just needed to get away from the castle for a while and see what life was all about. They were going to be just fine. After he was done, Ronald told us he just wanted to say that he could see the light and the love in our faces, and that he just wanted to remind us that we're beautiful.

Ronald literally left us speechless. Often I've retrospectively seen God's presence in a certain situation, but friends in that moment I felt like I was staring God right in the face. It seemed so unbelievable to me that a random man in the park could get so much right about us. About me. Many of us embark on these year-long adventures outside of our proverbial castles, often to places far away both geographically and culturally. Sure, folks back home might be worried: What is she doing with her life? When's he going back to school? Are they safe there? But we sneak out anyway, just to see what it's like. And we'll be alright. That is not by any means to say that our adventures will be free of struggle and hardship, but we’ll make it. 

During a recent community meeting, my housemates and I were posed the question: “How is it with your soul?” Oh, no big deal, right? Just describe the well-being of your soul. But I quickly realized that the reason that question intimidated me so much was simply the abundance of answers I could provide for it. 

My soul is grateful, for the city of New Orleans and my community here. My soul is inspired, by the Young Adult Volunteer program and the work that it is doing. My soul is weary, because this year has tested my confidence in many ways. My soul is hurting, for people who are without homes or adequate food, and for those who encounter violence on a daily basis. 

And my soul is renewed. While challenges are still ever present, I am so incredibly grateful for the experiences I have had through the YAV program. I have learned so many things about myself during these two years, and it’s very intimidating to think that this major chapter of my life will be over in a few short months. 

Perhaps my community and the YAV program have become another of the castles of which Ronald spoke, and it’s just time for me to go explore the rest of the world.  So with a grateful, inspired, weary, hurting, and renewed soul, I will continue my journey from castle to castle, in constant wonder of who I will meet and what I will learn along the way.

Love,

Allison.

P.S. - In case you're curious, our street name is pronounced DER-bin-ee. (That's probably not technically the way to write that pronunciation. But hopefully you get the idea.)

Life plans!

Ha. Just kidding. (Sorry, parents.) But I do officially have a plan for the fall!

In case you haven't heard (though if you're here you probably have), I've been accepted to Columbia Theological Seminary's Master of Divinity program! I'm excited and nervous and relieved and intimidated and probably a million other things all at the same time.

Now, bear with me, because I'm about to reference my own Facebook status...

First, disclaimer: I grew up in a Presbyterian church, worked at a Presbyterian camp, and have been part of a Presbyterian volunteer program for somethin' like 19 months now. So obviously, there's some significant overlap amongst the people I know. But as I watched the reactions to the obligatory I'm-going-to-Columbia status that I posted on Facebook last week, I realized just how many different groups of people have supported me along the way. I know, I know, a "like" on Facebook does not automatically equate to years of friendship and support. But represented in the comments and likes of this particular status are childhood and high school friends, college friends, sorority sisters, fellow camp counselors, family, friends from Nashville, friends from Montreat, and of course assorted YAVs and YAVA. Some fit in to more than one category. Some I talk (or type) to frequently, and some I haven't had an actual conversation with in years. But all of these people, all of you, are a part of the places and events that have gotten me here.

There is something that has stuck with me consistently over the past several years, through all of the changing places and faces. It is the notion that this journey is not at all one to be traveled alone. I don't nessecarily mean my personal path to seminary, but the journey. You know, the cheesy figurative path everyone walks in life, regardless of the particular direction in which they travel. The one that everybody's on, whether they know it or not.

Technically, I made the independent decision to fill out forms and mail them to the school, but there's not even a chance I would have done that if not for the many groups of people I've known along the way. And the way it seems, next year will begin a combining of many of those groups. I'm very much looking forward to being closer to family and friends (and mountains), all while experiencing a completely new phase of my life.

I'm also convinced that sometimes journeys are meant to be taken just a step at a time. Some of those steps are baby ones and some are more like giant leaps. But I mentioned in my last post how important I think it is to really be present where you are, and I don't think that's possible if you're putting all of your attention on what will be happening ten or twenty or thirty years from now. I know thinking about the future is important too. But if that's all we ever did, we'd miss what's right in front of us!

So, with all my heart, thank you (yes, you) for being a part of these little steps of mine. In the words of Shakespeare (and our community's thank you cards): "I can no other answer make, but, thanks, and thanks."

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Love,
Allison.

A Beautiful Day In the Neighborhood

Hey friends!

As part of living in intentional community, my roommates and I (and our fearless leader, Kathy) gather one Saturday a month for a service project somewhere in the city. In December we planted trees and learned a little more about wetlands restoration. For our January day together, which was this past Saturday, we helped clear a vacant lot in the 7th Ward. 

First, just a few words on why lots need to be cleared in the first place. In the months and years after Katrina and the following evactuation of New Orleans, many people have returned and were able to piece back together their lives. Others, however, were forced for  one reason or another to abandon their homes here. After a while, the city and other organizations began to tear down houses that had been deteriorating and empty since the storm, leaving vacant pieces of property which quickly filled up with weeds, litter and other debris. While these vacant lots may be better in theory than a deterioriating house, they're still rather unsightly and aren't safe places for the kids in the neighborhood. So projects like the one we participated in don't only aesthetically benefit the area, they make it a safer place to be. Win-win! Often, as we learned, neighbors will offer to maintain a vacant lot (mowing it, etc), but don't have the resources or manpower (personpower?) to get it to a place where it's mowable.

For our work on Saturday morning, the seven of us (housemates minus two, plus Kathy) split up a little. I worked on a lot with my fellow North Carolinian Eric, Bueana, Laura, and Kathy. Armed with gloves and a combination of rakes, clippers, and a couple weedwackers, we plowed right into the brush. Our general strategy tended to be: 1. Pick up all the litter you can see, whilst brushing away the spiky caterpillars that are all over the place (Seriously. They were everywhere.). 2. Clip and/or weed wack bigger vegetation. 3. Rake debris. 4. Put aforementioned trash and plants into bags for the truck to pick up. 5. Rinse and repeat.

The manual labor was a change of pace for almost everybody (sorry Eric), and it was strangely therapeutic. Granted, we were still in the city, but it was a nice change of pace to get outside and do something physical that is visibly making a difference. Plus, you can find all sorts of stuff in a lot that's been vacant and untended for at least a year. Treasures we found included: a mattress, a disintigrating metal grill, some scary movie DVD, a door, and (drumroll please) a pile of dead fish!

Even more satisfying than the physical, visual difference we made was the spirit of the neighbors we saw. The man who lived across the street from the lot walked right up to us and told us if we needed anything, anything at all, to not even think about worrying him and just ask. The owner of the lot dropped off a bucket of bottled water and sports drinks. Folks driving by would slow down, wave, and honk their horns in appreciation. Not, of course, that we did it to be thanked, but it's always encouraging when your efforts are so openly affirmed.

So all in all, it was a lovely day. Here are a couple pictures of our project, followed by a link to more photographic evidence.

Eric, Bueana, Laura, and me at the beginning of the day...

...and after! (Note the expertly cleared lot in the background.)

For more pictures from our day of service, click here. (Also feel free to like the PSL YAV page on Facebook. Because, you know, we're pretty great. Quite humble, too.)

Hopefully a Mardi Gras post coming soon!
Love,
Allison