Sowing of seeds.

I had a wonderful last couple of days in Chicago. Friday was spent visiting Lutheran Theological Seminary Chicago and attending a chapel led by a Missionary Baptist praise team. The sermon was titled, "Desperate times call for desperate measures." The text was from Matthew 15 of the faith of the Caananite woman, desperate to heal her child. I continue to struggle with the text concerning the Caananite woman, because Jesus comes off as kind of a jerk. The preacher spoke of Jesus pulling reversals on everyone, being an expert of sorts. But the Caananite woman is the one to pull a reversal on the ruler of reversals. She does this in great desperation for her daughter, but also in great faith. The preacher spoke to how he has been marginalized in so many ways, and in his desperation, Christ comes to meet him. For just coming off a bus and walking into the seminary's chapel, this sermon was spiritual food.

How does spiritual food come about? Agriculturally, seeds need to be sown in order to grow food. I thought about the sowing of seeds my last couple of days in Chicago for many reasons. One reason was that so many people from transitional parts of my life were in Chicago that same weekend. A member of my failed master's thesis committee was in Chicago visiting friends. One of my first friends from Fuller Theological Seminary was in town for his 25th high school reunion. A fellow PLTS student was in town for meetings. And Chris Heavner was in town. My husband and I lovingly refer to Christ Heavner as PC; many of Chris's flock call him PC as well. PC is the campus pastor at Clemson University in Clemson, SC. It is through PC's conversations and patience that I became curious about Christianity. As a joke, I tell people that I became Lutheran because I went to a potluck, but I think the Spirit was working on me through PC. I met PC when I was a sophomore in college; one of my best friends invited me to a potluck at University Lutheran Church and I went because there was going to be free home-cooked food. But what came out of that potluck was a sense of koinonia and love; being in community was actually awkward for me since I was so used to worshiping with just my family. I graduated from Clemson thankful for knowing PC through campus ministry and Habitat for Humanity, not thinking much about how PC would impact my future. I worked as a consultant for a couple of years. I met Karl. Then Karl and I decided to get married. PC re-entered our lives, and in quite an interesting way. PC, Karl, and I met once a week for two years so I could ask PC anything about Christianity; PC would answer my questions to the best of his ability, and he could ask me questions about my faith journey. This was an incredible time of learning and growing for me. And it was at University Lutheran, in the midst of singing "I Was There to Hear Your Borning Cry" that I experienced God's love and grace. I was actually so freaked out by the experience, I burst into tears in the middle of the hymn. And I was scared. I experienced a real God in church, but didn't know if I wanted to follow God. So I wavered. I wavered for two years, when I was finally baptized at Salem Lutheran Church in Glendale, CA, on the other side of the country from Clemson, SC.

Getting to spend time with PC in Chicago was a wonderful experience for me. It was in Chicago where PC was a seminarian and worked for the church office. It was wonderful to hear of his experiences in the city and to share my own with him. We wandered around the city talking about ministry experiences. We talked about loving people, even though it's not always easy. We talked about changes in mainline churches. We also talked about internship and community.

After such a rich experience getting to spend time with PC, I was excited to go to church on Sunday morning. I planned to attend First Evangelical Lutheran Church located in Logan Square. When I stepped off the Blue Line, I was reminded of my experiences in the neighborhood around University of Southern California. There were shop signs in Spanish, but also upscale eateries. The neighborhood looked like it was in transition. I reached the church and met Pastor Eardley Mendis (Pastor Mendis is originally from Sri Lanka). I joined in the Bible study, which was in both Spanish and English. I participated in worship, where I read the Hebrew Bible reading from Jeremiah 28:5-9 concerning true and false prophets. I was also asked to give my testimony at the end of the service. I spoke to the congregation and told them a brief version of my story and how I am currently a seminarian. I spoke to the awesomeness and mysteriousness of God's love. I joined members of the congregation for lunch. I was hoping to interview Pastor Mendis, but the realities of ministry made the interview not possible. We were hoping to speak after lunch, but the front wheel of a parishioner's bicycle went missing. The bicycle was the only means of transportation for this parishioner, and there was a search for the missing wheel. I spoke to Pastor Mendis later in the evening, and he gave the parishioner money for a new wheel.

I was very struck by the mural immediately behind the chancel space in the church. The mural was a sign that the congregation itself appeared to be in fluctuation. The mural depicted a predominantly Caucasian population, ranging from crusaders, pilgrims, and pioneers. Native Americans were placed at the bottom of the mural, not directly gazing at the congregation like the other people in the mural. Representative in the congregation, however, were Latinos, Blacks, Whites, and Asians. We knelt together at the communion rail, recognizing our common bond in brother and sisterhood in Christ. I was happy to be in church that Sunday morning.