Liminality.
I love to teach vocabulary. Besides getting a chance to teach kids how to appreciate the words and the author's choice of visuals and figurative language, I have always been one to seek out terms and words. I remember in college reading Tom Wolfe's A Man in Full--confession, I never actually finished it--and would stop every so often to highlight words, look them up in the dictionary and tried, unsuccessfully at times, to incorporate these new phrases into my poetry. I know there's a journal in the crawl space collecting dust with my creativity by means of a dictionary failures.
Being a Bible reader now, I've realized words can have emphasis and new meanings. Take the word zealot. Nowadays, if you're labeled a zealot, you're either a terrorist, someone in the Westboro Baptist Church holding signs at funerals or some crazy man straight from an 80's movie, ringing a bell and wearing one of those cardboard signs--the end is nigh! But in the time of Jesus's time, being a zealot for the Lord was what the disciples were. Damn right I want to be a zealot!
So when our youth pastor gave us a new word to digest, I quickly fell in love with it.
Liminality is the condition of being on a threshold at the beginning of a process or a rite of passage. In essence, the state of liminality is that awkward moment when you are unaware of the social norms of the group or community. It's a kids' first day in junior high, that first day on a new job, the day the new boss comes in and issues a staff meeting. As the youth around the room gave examples of their experiences, I began to think that much of my whole life has been geared to hear this one word, to be in that exact place.
That Sunday, we were supposed to have been at my daughter's softball doubleheader. The games had been moved and rescheduled due to a spring/winter storm. We didn't go. My son did not want to stay for programming after choir, so my wife did not come in to sit with the youth that morning. Just me, with my thoughts on my phone games, lunch and the prayer that we would have a snow day on Monday (we didn't).
I've said on this blog many times, and it was a running joke for any who know me from my childhood days, that I had a new school for each year of my elementary and secondary education. We were urban nomads. From apartment to suburbs, to condominium, that feeling of liminality--I didn't have that word coined as of yet, that feeling of sleeping in a new bed under a strange roof--had always been as central to me as my personality.
The structure of the summer move led me to sports, to use humor as an ice breaker and provided me with an observer's point of view in just about any group I was in participate. I was the follower. I had leadership qualities--I always landed in the middle of the road on personality quizzes--but I sometimes chose to remain back to where I can see the entire picture.
Eventually, this life in which I thought I could control, led me to Ohio. Again, I found myself in this liminal state. Then God shouted and pursued me enough that I was forced to listen. Now I'm sitting in a room full of youth describing what it means to love God, to worship Him and to live a life that He's calling us to live. There are no accidents.
Tim later talked about how being in youth ministries is different from talking with the adults. Youth aren't so much set in their routines--my Lisa overly used the word "random" enough when she was 14--as adults. I pick up the same cup of coffee from the same coffee shop each day on my way to work. I walk down the same hallway to work, the last door on the left. There's a butt pad on my seat, the DNA of clutter surrounds my table and work areas. Being random means stopping for ice cream, singing songs with the kids.
And I'm then, at a crossroads. Life in Men's Ministry is wooing me and I know the seas will be difficult to maneuver--we had an event that drew 150 last year, but drew only 85 or so this year--not so much for reaching out to men and what spiritual cleaning will do to me. When Jesus moves into your heart, He begins to rummage through those dusty journals you leave in the crawl space. He begins to rearrange furniture, adding events to your calendar in permanent marker. Pretty soon you realize the heart you once called your own isn't yours,that it never was to begin with.
But that's okay. Wherever God is leading me to, I go willingly. He's been preparing me thus far. The least I should do is step into the threshold. Make it my own. Make it ours. His.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
God Seeps In
I was asked today, "How's your year going?"
Like some Christian Terminator, I ran though several suggestions in my mind of how I wanted to respond.
Oh, It's one of them years.
I teach fifth grade, so, yeah, you know.
If it weren't for my boss....
Any of the responses above could be true, depending on the train of thought. That's the scary thing about sarcasm. There's truth in the barbs, whether you're laughing about yourself or making sly comments about someone else. Being at church, I decided it wasn't the place for such things and I answered with," It's beginning to calm down."
My friend chuckled and said, "Ray, it's almost the end of the year."
True, I'm in the final quarter of my year. I have about 5 good weeks of teaching max, one week of testing and about 2 weeks or so of prep work, 1 week of parties, and 1 week of maintenance and fifth grade graduation supervision. And Mondays. I have maybe 6 Mondays to go.
Now, I don't hate Mondays. In my response to grace, I've looked at Mondays as the test of what I take notes and digest from Sunday. Putting it into practice. I meet people daily that sigh when you ask them, "How is your day?" They post disparaging pictures and posts as if Monday was personally responsible for losing a limb. Then the cycle continues. By Wednesday, you're happy because it's "almost Friday," and then on Friday it's all smiles because the weekend offers some grand illusion of the life you were supposed to lead. To me, the life that we are supposed to be living is NOW, all week, everyday.
Mondays are particularly important. I've been taking the extra time I don't use from having a "special" (Art, PE, Music or Library) by devising silly competitions and building character. They have been their most active and attentive singing, "Lean on Me," or "Hold Us Together," playing clipboard volleyball and wrapping teammates in toilet paper. Afterwards, we discuss subjects like bullying (and before you roll your eyes and say the word has been overused, well, it has), getting along with others and setting goals.
In a response to my church's "Be Kind Today" campaign, we have been incorporating a "Room 160 Random Acts of Kindness." Simple tasks such as:
Don't laugh when someone gets made fun of
Take someone's recess detention for them.
Leave a quarter in a cart at Aldi's or a few in a Coke machine
Give a random stranger a compliment (with a parent toting along).
Say something nice on Facebook.
Their responses have been interesting. A few of the kids told me they got in trouble for giving money to strangers or a homeless person outside of a business. One kid was torn because he felt his mother got mad at him in the same magnitude as when he does something wrong. Others told awkward stories of stranger befuddlement at getting a compliment. I told them that wherever they are, no one is used to being nice (perhaps that's not always true, in hindsight). But I gave them a litmus test. I asked them the next time they are in a long line, say something nice or start a conversation with something positive and see the reaction.
Some of the tasks are oriented more for personal growth from information we gathered in previous sessions.
Don't watch an R-rated movie, even if it means being alone in your house.
Try not to curse for one day.
Turn off 107.5 for one night.
Most of my kids readily admit their parents don't make great choices with their entertainment. I get that. Once, as a kid, I watched Scarface at the foot of my parent's bed until 5 minutes in the cursing drove them to kick me away (I watched it later that week by myself in the middle of the night). Cruz has even taken me to task for the few PG-13 words in Beetlejuice as his ticket to swear at-will. This helps me place my students in the proper perspective as well. I fight against the culture each and every day I ask them to sit quietly and read a novel. I get accusations from parents who think I send their kids to detention for not being able to see the board. It's true that many of my parents probably had less than desirable academic careers. The parents in my Life Group, or the ones I see at my local church, drive their minivans from youth sporting event to bible studies and dance practices. My parents are probably working, driving to their second job.
When my church first offered the challenge of doing Random Acts of Easter, I jumped at the chance. I grabbed 5 yard signs (distribute 3 with possible destinations for the others) and several business sized cards in hopes I would free the world from itself. I have only given a few out. If my pastor were counting cards like some Glengarry Glen Ross-Alec Baldwin quota robot, I'd be getting a set of steak knives right about now. Luckily for me, grace doesn't quite work like that.
You see, God seeps in. He knows. He had me at church this evening in a meeting, allowing me to share my God story sitting next to my wife, holding hands in prayer. At school, my student answered a question today in class, the same kid who was in trouble for giving money to a stranger. I asked the class, "What type of reaction would Atticus have towards Bob Ewell's threats?"
"I think he'd pray for him, Mr. Cordova."
Amen, brother. Amen.
Like some Christian Terminator, I ran though several suggestions in my mind of how I wanted to respond.
Oh, It's one of them years.
I teach fifth grade, so, yeah, you know.
If it weren't for my boss....
Any of the responses above could be true, depending on the train of thought. That's the scary thing about sarcasm. There's truth in the barbs, whether you're laughing about yourself or making sly comments about someone else. Being at church, I decided it wasn't the place for such things and I answered with," It's beginning to calm down."
My friend chuckled and said, "Ray, it's almost the end of the year."
True, I'm in the final quarter of my year. I have about 5 good weeks of teaching max, one week of testing and about 2 weeks or so of prep work, 1 week of parties, and 1 week of maintenance and fifth grade graduation supervision. And Mondays. I have maybe 6 Mondays to go.
Now, I don't hate Mondays. In my response to grace, I've looked at Mondays as the test of what I take notes and digest from Sunday. Putting it into practice. I meet people daily that sigh when you ask them, "How is your day?" They post disparaging pictures and posts as if Monday was personally responsible for losing a limb. Then the cycle continues. By Wednesday, you're happy because it's "almost Friday," and then on Friday it's all smiles because the weekend offers some grand illusion of the life you were supposed to lead. To me, the life that we are supposed to be living is NOW, all week, everyday.
Mondays are particularly important. I've been taking the extra time I don't use from having a "special" (Art, PE, Music or Library) by devising silly competitions and building character. They have been their most active and attentive singing, "Lean on Me," or "Hold Us Together," playing clipboard volleyball and wrapping teammates in toilet paper. Afterwards, we discuss subjects like bullying (and before you roll your eyes and say the word has been overused, well, it has), getting along with others and setting goals.
In a response to my church's "Be Kind Today" campaign, we have been incorporating a "Room 160 Random Acts of Kindness." Simple tasks such as:
Don't laugh when someone gets made fun of
Take someone's recess detention for them.
Leave a quarter in a cart at Aldi's or a few in a Coke machine
Give a random stranger a compliment (with a parent toting along).
Say something nice on Facebook.
Their responses have been interesting. A few of the kids told me they got in trouble for giving money to strangers or a homeless person outside of a business. One kid was torn because he felt his mother got mad at him in the same magnitude as when he does something wrong. Others told awkward stories of stranger befuddlement at getting a compliment. I told them that wherever they are, no one is used to being nice (perhaps that's not always true, in hindsight). But I gave them a litmus test. I asked them the next time they are in a long line, say something nice or start a conversation with something positive and see the reaction.
Some of the tasks are oriented more for personal growth from information we gathered in previous sessions.
Don't watch an R-rated movie, even if it means being alone in your house.
Try not to curse for one day.
Turn off 107.5 for one night.
Most of my kids readily admit their parents don't make great choices with their entertainment. I get that. Once, as a kid, I watched Scarface at the foot of my parent's bed until 5 minutes in the cursing drove them to kick me away (I watched it later that week by myself in the middle of the night). Cruz has even taken me to task for the few PG-13 words in Beetlejuice as his ticket to swear at-will. This helps me place my students in the proper perspective as well. I fight against the culture each and every day I ask them to sit quietly and read a novel. I get accusations from parents who think I send their kids to detention for not being able to see the board. It's true that many of my parents probably had less than desirable academic careers. The parents in my Life Group, or the ones I see at my local church, drive their minivans from youth sporting event to bible studies and dance practices. My parents are probably working, driving to their second job.
When my church first offered the challenge of doing Random Acts of Easter, I jumped at the chance. I grabbed 5 yard signs (distribute 3 with possible destinations for the others) and several business sized cards in hopes I would free the world from itself. I have only given a few out. If my pastor were counting cards like some Glengarry Glen Ross-Alec Baldwin quota robot, I'd be getting a set of steak knives right about now. Luckily for me, grace doesn't quite work like that.
You see, God seeps in. He knows. He had me at church this evening in a meeting, allowing me to share my God story sitting next to my wife, holding hands in prayer. At school, my student answered a question today in class, the same kid who was in trouble for giving money to a stranger. I asked the class, "What type of reaction would Atticus have towards Bob Ewell's threats?"
"I think he'd pray for him, Mr. Cordova."
Amen, brother. Amen.
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