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.   

Testimony to Bricolage

The wonderful pastor mentioned in this essay wanted me to record the story of my faith journey, but since I'm awful without a script, I had to type out what I need to record...

I’ve lived an entire life of bricolage. I like to think that my faith journey started on July 9, 1979, which just happens to be my birthday. I was born to two Hindu parents, but I was born in a Lutheran medical center, St. Mark’s to be exact…

I was raised in a Hindu household, but it was pretty challenging to be Hindu in Midwestern America. Not that there was anything wrong with that. It’s just hard to find a temple community where there isn’t that large of a Hindu population. My parents gave my brother and me gifts for Christmas, simply because other kids at school received gifts on December 25th. I ate jellybeans in the spring, dyed eggs, and wore bonnets. This was just part of the bricolage, taking parts of the culture around me and making it my own.

The real shift came when I was in college. I attended local churches out of curiosity. Some of those experiences were comical; some were not so great. I had a close friend who was in really involved in LSM, and she invited me to a couple of dinners at her church. I was kind of apprehensive, given my past experiences, but I trusted my friend. And honestly, as a college student, I would go anywhere that had free food. Home-cooked free food… But along with that free food came something I was so unfamiliar with. Fellowship. Koinonia. Breaking bread with others and sharing our lives, trials and tribulations with one another.

The shift continued into graduate school. I met a nice boy, and we were going to get married. Bricolage yet again played a part in my life. The nice boy and I were going to get married in a traditional Hindu wedding ceremony, and a traditional Lutheran ceremony. At that point, the nice boy and I had to throw tradition out the window because we couldn’t find old, classic traditions in a Hindu-Lutheran marriage.

Because we were getting married in the church, I wanted to know more about it. The nice boy and I found a wonderful pastor to marry us. The pastor was even more wonderful because in the two years before the wedding, he met with the nice boy and me almost once a week (keep in mind, almost once a week for TWO YEARS) to answer any questions I had about being Lutheran. And believe me, over two years time, you can ask lots of questions. Lots of basic questions, lots of silly questions, but also lots of questions that really look at what can make someone Lutheran? What makes someone Christian?

I attended church regularly. I found a home, somewhere that was not just a sanctuary in name, but in emotion. At one particular service, the congregation sang “I Was There to Hear Your Borning Cry.” The best way to describe the feeling when I heard the hymn was feeling God in my heart. I finally made room for Him in my life, in my head, and in my heart. Listening to the lyrics moved me to tears, especially

“When you heard the wonder of the Word
I was there to cheer you on;
You were raised to praise the living Lord,
to whom you now belong.”

“I Was There to Hear Your Borning Cry” was sung at my baptism, where I became a child of God, sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever.

Bu my story of bricolage doesn’t end there. I’m now attending Fuller Theological Seminary. Part of my reasoning of attending Fuller is bricolage. Because it is a non-denominational seminary, I hope to hear other stories about faith journeys, but from different Christian backgrounds, and different walks of life. I also want to share my story.