Genesis 3

PC's are part of the curse. I'm sure.

Beauty

United Methodist turned Independent Christian dabbling in the Southern Baptist Conference now interning at a Presbyterian Church in America (PCA) church while also going to a PCA seminary. And I thought I took care of all my identity crises in college.

There are customs in this reformed, liturgical Presbyterian tradition that I have grown to cherish. It has opened my eyes to the beauty of historic Christian faith and has taught me to turn a teachable heart towards the celebrated men and women of God in the past. I have gained a new appreciation for liturgy, a practice I formerly considered mindless and infantile. Reading the prayers and proclamations of others provides fodder for my own prayers, my own journaling, my own conversations with God. Yet, not for individual practice alone, the liturgy helps my heart bind itself to the people around me, to the people standing on either side of me, their voices primary against the chorus of the congregation.

However, there are things I miss from my Independent Christian churches - Christian Campus House and Hope Christian Church, like the celebratory atmosphere surrounding baptism. I'm still wrestling with the denominations' differing and often sparring doctrine on infant baptism versus believer's baptism or baptism by sprinkling, pouring, or immersion. I'm not going to deal with that struggle in this post, though I probably will in another in the future. What I'm addressing here is something else. It has less to do with the doctrine of baptism than with the sights and sounds and tactile expressions of rejoicing at someone's salvation. I miss the worship music and the testimonies beforehand and the cheering and clapping afterwards. I miss praying for that person and then getting in line to give that sopping wet brother or sister a great big hug, getting yourself wet in the process. I miss being holistically involved in the welcoming of a brother or sister into the family of Christ, whether I knew them well or not.

There are a lot of beauties in the tradition I'm experiencing right now, but, sometimes, I just want to share something precious from a tradition of my past. I know I'm a minority at my seminary as far as Christian tradition goes, and incorrect assumptions and presuppositions are to be expected. But, when people ask me about what denomination I come from, and then ask me questions about it, they more often point out why my former tradition is doctrinally unsound (I still don't believe my former tradition was doctrinally unsound, by the way) rather than search for any precious gems within it.

Seeking beauty doesn't come naturally - or at least it doesn't for me. So often I have to be overcome or immersed in beauty to appreciate it. I make conversation to be social or to find out what I disagree. I rarely talk to someone with the intent to seek and find what it beautiful about them and their experiences. I need to do that more. Maybe people would do it in return.

Psalm 103

Praise the Lord, O my soul
all my inmost being, praise his holy name
Praise the Lord, O my soul
and forget not all his benefits
who forgives all your sins
and heals all your diseases
Who redeems your life from the pit
and crowns you with love and compassion
He satisfies your desires with good things
so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's

My good friends know that when I start scribbling these verses on stray scraps of paper, I'm not responding to a heart brimming with thankful emotions. More likely, I am trying to wrestle my heart into submission, prying its fingers off of self-pity, begging it to let go of questions starting with "what if" or "why not." "Praise the Lord, O my soul. I mean it - praise him! " I say as if rebuking a child to clean his room. I remind myself, He has rescued your life from the pit. You wear a crown of love and compassion. You are beloved. You are beautiful. You are treasured. You have not been denied anything you need. You will taste the sweet joy of desires redeemed for good and youth renewed with hope.

I get lonely sometimes. I sometimes feel as if there is little constancy in my life. I don't know what I will be doing one year from now, but I fear it will involve starting all over again in a new place with new people. I've done it before, and I survived. In fact, I became an adult in that experience and knew the mercy and compassion of God in ways that strengthen my faith even now. But, it wasn't fun. It was hard, tearful, terrifying work. The days were long, the loads were heavy, and I felt as if there was no one to help share the burden. There were wonderful people at church and at work that I eventually grew to depend on, but, at first, you don't know who to trust and who to avoid. I see those days coming again, and I just sigh. No one listens to your stories at night, and in the morning, when people ask you how you're doing, they're onto the next task before you can answer. It just leaves you empty inside. I will face those days again, but I do not look forward to their coming.

It is with this in mind that I say, "Praise the Lord, O my soul / All my inmost being praise His holy name." I tell myself not to forget His forgiveness, His healing, His restoring. I tell myself not to forget His power. I have to remind myself again, again, and again my Lord is the Lord of the Resurrection. Nothing is too hard for Him. My soul will be steadied. My desires will be conformed to His, and they will be sweetly satisfied. My youth will be renewed, and the Lord's faithfulness will be abundantly evident.