The Protestant work ethic is tattooed on my psyche. Even when I work part-time or work from home, I practice full-time work ethic behaviors. From Monday to Friday, 9AM-5PM, there are restrictions–no TV, no reading for pleasure, no hot fudge sundaes, nothing resembling too much fun. I wish I could brag of 8 hours of pure productivity or claim my motive as solidarity with all 9-5 workers. But the reality is, well, I’m not sure what the reality is–habit, guilt, self-righteousness, superstition….
On my way to a conference where I was a presenter this past weekend, I took a detour of about 1000 miles to visit my brother for a few days. Even though I was on a mini vacation I found it difficult to give myself permission to just relax. But after a little right to left brain self talk, I grabbed a cup of hot tea, a handful of books and headed to the pier behind my brother’s house. And there I roosted for about two hours.
It doesn’t sound like a big deal, but it was for me. I took some sabbath time in the middle of the day and the work ethic police did not hunt me down.
I heard a story a long time ago about a tribe of people who were walking along and all of a sudden they just stopped. When a stranger asked why they had stopped for no apparent reason, the leader responded, “So our souls can catch up with us.” On the pier, it felt like my soul almost caught up to me.
Memphis is known for its hospitality. It’s reputation is well-earned. When I moved here five years ago on a steady migration south via Virginia Beach,Virginia, via Painesville, Ohio, people welcomed Andy and me with food, lists of the best restaurants and doctors, and invitations to events in the city. They helped me to network with a dance community and find a teaching position in a local college. What a non-surprise it was to learn that Welcome Wagon, the distributors of coupons and small gifts from local businesses to new homeowners in a community, was started by a Memphis man named Thomas Briggs in 1928.
One of the first questions people in Memphis ask a newcomer is “Where do you go to church?” I’m used to the question now, but as a new arrival to the South, it surprised me. No one in Virginia ever asked me that question, let alone anyone north of the Mason-Dixon line. It would have been considered invasive. In Memphis it’s mostly a question of hospitality, of helping people settle into a worshiping community. Although sometimes it’s used a filter to see if “you’re one of us” in doctrine and practice. Some of my Jewish and non-going church friends find this a presumptuous question.
The questions we ask the stranger are tricky. I like the “Where do you go to church?” question better than the “What do you DO?” question. As a stay-at home-mother in the 80’s, “What do you DO?” felt like a challenge to justify my worth and my intellect. In Europe, this question is like asking, “How much money do you make?” and considered rude.
During the decade my friend Cindy G. was unsuccessfully trying to get pregnant, the common newcomer question “Do you have children?” was extremely painful for her. She told me, “Don’t ever ask that question. If people have kids, they’ll let you know.”
So what questions can I ask a newcomer? If I can’t ask about their church, their work, their kids, what can I ask? How do I “welcome the stranger” as Jesus commands in Matthew 25:35? I don’t want to be afraid to strike up a conversation just because I don’t know what to say.
A good start might be: “Hi, I’m Sybil. Welcome to Memphis.” Then I could try listening, really listening to the newcomer. And I’ll try trusting in the words Jesus spoke to the disciples: “The right words (and questions?) will be there. The Holy Spirit will give you the right words when the time comes.” (Luke 12:12 MSG)
Several couples, including my husband and I, are in a discernment process for new ministries. I drew this prayer as a way to remind me of God’s presence and the influence of the Holy Spirit on all involved in the upcoming decisions.
Belinda, my Zumba teacher, has taught exercise classes of all kinds for years in Memphis. She looks about 29, but is probably a year or two older since she has a child over 21. She’s the perfect advertisement for whatever she teaches because she’s in great shape and full of energy.
A couple of weeks ago Belinda ratted on a friend of hers. Her friend Debby is in the class. She seems to enjoy the class well enough, but exercising is not her favorite activity. Belinda told us that over the years Debby has continually hounded her, “What’s the newest exercise program out there? What’s the best exercise for me?”
After years of describing the merits of aerobics, step class, kick-boxing, and Pilates, Belinda finally said, “The best exercise program for you is the one you’re actually going to do. So what do you really like to do?” Debby’s response was: ”I like to watch movies.” Belinda suggested she get a stationery bike and do just that.
For almost a year, Debby rode her bike and watched a movie every day. She also lost 60 pounds and looks terrific. But Debby credits the lost weight and physical discipline not only to an enjoyable exercise program and her own willpower. “The miracle of God’s grace in my life and how He has enabled me to do what He has told me to do, that’s the real story for me.”
So what’s the best spiritual exercise program for me? Whether Belinda has ever taught a class on prayer or a Bible study on I Corinthians, I don’t know. But she still has the answer to the question. It’s the one I’m actually going to do. This year I seem to pray best with a pen and markers in my hands. Next year, I might be pedaling around Memphis on my beach cruiser while I have my daily talk with God. Either way, I’m grateful for a God who not only wants a relationship with me, but will tailor-make it so I can enjoy the journey.
At a recent Stirring worship service, we sang the 19th century hymn Take My Life and Let It Be. I’ve heard it a hundred times before. The version I know has a schmaltzy tune and I’m usually eager for it to be over and gone.
But this time I heard it in a whole new way. The two lead women singers dressed all in black and the musicians with electric guitars, bass, violin, and keyboard made the hymn new. Whether it was their arrangement, the beautiful voices, the heart they put into it, or my own receptivity on that day, I don’t know. But the words, a prayer for God to inhabit every particle of my being, popped out and zinged me. “Behold, I make all things new” says God in Revelation 21:5 (KJV). The old hymn was completely fresh and new.
Take My Life and Let It Be (1874) was written by Frances Ridley Havergal, the daughter of a minister. Below is the abbreviated text I know from The Hymnal 1982.
Take my life, and let it be consecrated, Lord to thee;
take my moments and my days, let them flow in ceaseless praise.
Take my hands, and let them move at the impulse of thy love;
take my heart, it is thine own; it shall be thy royal throne.
Take my voice, and let me sing always only, for my King;
take my intellect, and use every power as thou shalt choose.
Take my will, and make it thine: it shall be no longer mine.
Take myself and I will be, ever, only all for thee.
Praying in Color: Drawing a New Path to God combines memoir with theology. Step-by step instructions introduce the practice of praying in color as a way to do intercessory prayer. »ABOUT SYBIL MACBETH
