Why We Should Keep Singing Oceans

I know this is totally behind the times, but today I heard the song "Oceans" twice while at work, so I couldn't help but think about this article that came out about a month ago.

If you haven't read the article, it is a good read and proposes that people need to stop singing a song about reaching new levels of faith in the Lord if singing about them is all we're going to do.



It says (regarding the bridge),

"NOTHING in those two lines of lyrics is going to feel good when you are going through it. You are singing, with your hands raised high, for God to make you uncomfortable… and then you feel the nudge- the nudge to buy a coffee for a homeless man or confess a sin to your small group or share about something that happened in your past, AND YOU DON’T DO IT.
I don’t either.
And every time I hear that song, I feel convicted for the way I sing it but refuse to live it."

And on one hand, I don't entirely disagree. It is no secret that hypocrisy, whether intentional or not, is present in the Church, and many of the points in the article are pointedly true. So what should we do with this information? Stop singing a powerful song? Ignore the issue and keep going as if we were none the wiser?

As someone who is passionate about musical worship, I think it's vital to address this issue.

Reading about walking on water naturally reminds me of Peter's story in Matthew 14:22-33.

As Christians, we laud Peter's faith that he was able to walk on the water, yet we rarely discuss the ramifications of the fact that it was only for a brief moment. Perhaps even a split second.

When it comes to the faith and actions of the church today, I think it is especially important that we ruminate for a moment on verses 30 and 31:

"But when he [Peter]  saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink he cried out, 'Lord, save me.' Jesus immediately reached out his hand and took hold of him, saying to him, 'O you of liuttle faith, why did you doubt?'" (ESV)


So yes, I sing "Oceans" and continuously fail to live up to the bold claims I've been singing. Just like Peter. God demands perfection, yet that perfection will never EVER come from me. (CAN I GET AN AMEN HALLELUJAH??) That's kind of the whole point. I am so unbelievably imperfect that I will fail God until I am fully sanctified through His love and power (as in, not on this earth. Read more about that new earth in Revelation 21).

We definitely need to examine our hearts closely when we partake in musical worship, and not just for this song. Yet, blatant hypocrisy aside, I don't think we should discourage people from singing "Oceans" or any other biblically-based song. We all have a little bit of Peter within us -- we are quick to feel, yet collapse almost immediately upon acting ::ahem, Peter ALL THE TIME::  (Luke 22:31-34; 54-62). We may truly desire for God to lead us away from our borders, no matter how uncomfortable that may be in the moment, but at some point we will undoubtedly fail. I can actually guarantee it.

This need not keep us from worshiping and seeking deeper relationship with our God, for Christ has bridged the gap. He has achieved perfection in order that we may be counted righteous (Romans 3:22-24)! I love that upon rising from the grave, Jesus gives Peter the chance to affirm His Lordship three times, as if to say, "See, how I am wiping the slate clean," (John 21:15-19).

Musical worship can be a powerful time of communion with God. Let us not limit that because of our inability to perfectly live out everything we sing. Instead, let us strive in God's power while remembering to walk in His GRACE.

Holes in my Heart

Sunday went all wrong. I didn’t wake up begrudgingly from a deep sleep to walk downstairs to go to the longest church services in the world. I didn’t wake up five feet from a mermaid and an almond-eyed beauty. No one showed me a postcard of “cats doing people things.” There were no tambourines. I didn’t wear my EM shirt for the first time in months. I didn’t long for an afternoon nap. I didn’t meet a group of people I would learn to love and cherish over the next week. I didn’t dance to the radio while making salad, spaghetti, and garlic bread with my roommates. A seven-foot tall man didn’t tell me a story about a woman named Mildred. I didn’t convince anyone that I’m from Russia or laugh through the rules in the group meeting.

Monday, I did not walk six miles through the Bronx or sing the Ninja song first thing in Harlem. I did not sing the Ninja song at all. No one got into an argument over whether my name is Swick or Swift. I didn’t get mobbed by small children in the hallway. Making coffee was not my top priority. There was no one to make coffee for, anyhow. There was no crisis to be averted and I haven’t eaten rice and gondule in several days. No one has tried to speak to me in Spanish. 

My world has been turned upside down.

I did, however, run into my first grade teacher in my local Target. She has always been my favourite teacher – hands down. She remembered me and couldn’t believe I was already old enough to be starting grad. school. She said I had the same smile. And suddenly, dozens of smiles flooded my mind. Some old, many new. And though my heart ached for little bodies in New York I may never hug again, there was a healing warmth that covered it all. A warmth that even though I am far from Harlem, my work there is far from over. Just as even though I hadn’t seen my first grade teacher in years, the love she gave and the things she taught me never left me. And new people came and went from my life, watering the seeds she’d planted.

The Salvation Army was there long before me, and will continue to be there long after my teammates and I are gone and forgotten. Or maybe, just maybe we won’t be completely forgotten and the love we gave will have been more than a seed. Regardless, something powerful happened there this summer…or perhaps I should say that Someone powerful happened.

I struggle to tell people about my summer because I feel like they expect me to tell them about all the families I helped and to show them tangible pictures of the ways I changed the world. But I can’t. To be honest, I didn’t even really meet most of the families I served. I served hundreds of families at the New York Common Pantry, but since I often worked in the fruits and veggies section, I interacted with almost none of them. I never saw their faces or heard their laughs.

“But what about the food pantries or soup kitchens where you worked?,” people ask. Okay, this one is a little easier. I can tell them about my friend Robert, who went out of his way to make people laugh, or the hour-long conversation I had with him one day about faith, his life, and everything in between. I can talk about how that was the first real conversation Robert had had in years because his son doesn’t speak to him and he spends most of his time alone.

But that’s just a small glimpse. How do I tell people that I only got to spend two weeks with Robert before moving to a different location and that it broke my heart to not see him two or three times a week after that? How do I share how much hurt I encountered during my trip and how it hurt my heart to walk alongside these people? How do I share the pieces of my heart that I left behind?

Or what about the Hispanic ladies I met in the park? I saw them several days a week for two weeks, and again had to leave them. They welcomed my groups and me every time with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Even if they already had their own water bottles and didn’t need the ones we were passing out, they waited expectantly for us with smiles and welcoming hearts. It seems so small and unimportant when I try to tell people, but I looked forward to my time with them and part of my heart is still on that bench in that park.

And then there’s Goya, whose name I’m not even sure I can spell, who was one of my favourite parts of working at the Bronx Tremont. There were one or two days where I didn’t see her, and those days were the worst. She’d teach me a few words in Spanish to help me communicate with the ladies who cooked lunch for the kids and us, and she made me feel like the most important person in the world just because I existed. It was surprisingly humbling to talk with her because I recognized how my love paled in comparison to hers.

How can I talk about Joseph and his siblings, who became some of my closest friends even with a severe language barrier between us? How can I possibly tell people about all the kids at the Harlem Temple who swarmed me when I once made the mistake of sitting on the floor next to them? Never before have I thought that I’d drown in an ocean of small children.

How can I show you the missing parts of my soul or the parts that I’ve gained?

 How can I possibly say how I’ve been unalterably changed by this experience except by baring the scars of the parts of my heart that didn’t come back with me?

Bean Bag Blessings

Hey all. I just couldn’t wait for the weekend to share a bit about this week. I won’t be able to write it all now because I’m exhausted and it’s late. Today we took the kids into the gym to play a little bit, but I was feeling pretty lightheaded, so I was sitting against a wall relaxing when the two kids started fighting over a balloon. Mind you, these are the two kids in the VBS group that push my buttons the most. Like every day. I have to keep my eye on them at all times because they’re constantly doing things they know they shouldn’t be because they desperately crave the attention. I try so hard not to get frustrated with them, but when I have 20 other kids running around and screaming, it’s hard to keep the hairs on the back of my neck from standing on end.

So today, (we’ll just call them G & N) were fighting over a balloon and one of my girls, Amy, took it away from them. So N, in her natural fashion, started sulking. She picked up a bean bag and started throwing it. I told her to keep in near where we were because I was afraid she’d get it in the middle of the game of tag the other kids were playing and someone would get hurt. So she brought it back and we started tossing it back and forth to each other. I wasn’t particularly interested in playing with her since I was feeling dizzy and she had already used up her sass allotment for the day, but I knew that I needed to love this little girl the way Jesus does.

So we start adding variations to our game of toss. We tried tossing two at a time and other things like that, when eventually N started trying to catch it behind her back without looking. So, having played softball for the majority of my life, I would throw it right to the target of her hands every time. And every time, she dropped it. She would try to grasp it when she felt it hit her hands, but it was too late. It was keeping her amused, so I figured I’d let it keep happening.

And then it hit me. Not the bean bag. Well, actually, that hit me a few times too; she doesn’t have the greatest aim. But something else hit me too. She kept missing the bag because she just wasn’t looking. And I thought, “How often do we miss what God is doing or what he has for us because we’re just not looking?” What would we catch if we would just look? God will hit every target we give Him, and He’ll throw us the bag over and over and over again until His arm feels like it’s going to fall off, but we’ll never catch it if we don’t look. And I wondered how much I’ve missed.

So fast forward a few hours and I’m cleaning up after our very messy craft. And one of my guys, Robbie comes in asking if I can talk to N because she’s “acting up a bit.” So I of course agree and walk into the chapel where the kids are playing a game, and I hear N wailing at the top of her lungs and I see that she’s on the floor, crawling under the pews away from everyone.

I rolled my eyes because she tends to pout dramatically whenever she doesn’t get her way. I went to talk to her and she started to crawl away, still wailing. I touched her leg gently to try to keep her in one place to look at me, and somehow God gave me the grace to be gentle, patient, and kind with her. I wanted to scold her and tell her to rub some dirt in her emotional wounds and deal with it. But I didn’t. I asked her what was wrong – what happened. I told her I wanted her side of the story. She wailed that her sister said she didn’t want to play with her. Her sister, who was several years older, was also at the VBS. I told N that I’d go talk to her sister and try to them to talk it out. Her sister declined and I didn’t feel like it was my place to force it, so I didn’t.

I went back to N and she was upset, but I talked to her a while longer, and she started to crawl away again, so I let her. I talked to Robbie, the guy who brought me in, telling him just to let her be unless she starts interfering with the other kids, and if so to come and get me. But by the time I turned around, she was already standing up, calm, and playing with the other kids. And I thought of what would have happened if I had been short with her. And I got to see God’s heart for her for a moment.

So that’s a little update. I hope it encourages you. Peace and blessings, y’all.

Why I Love Junior Highers from Nebraska

What can I possibly say about this week? I wish I had the time and energy to blog every night this week because so much happened that I want to share with you all.

There was only one team this week, all the way from Nebraska, and all the students will be going into the 9^th grade. The vast majority of them had never been on a mission trip before. At first I was wary because I’ve worked with jr. highers before, and I know how crazy they are, and also because one of my teammates, Lindsey, was gone all week for grad. School stuff. But it turned out to be a fantastic week and a group of kids I will never forget.

My story really starts on Tuesday night. Usually, one of my jobs is to facilitate the evening gather portion of the day, which includes debrief, worship, and a lesson or sorts. But this group asked to be allowed to do their own thing. They made sure to invite us to join them, though. Monday, I fell asleep on the couch watching Salt, so I didn’t make it, but Tuesday I did. And it was unbelievable.

I had been talking to one of the leaders earlier in the week and he told me that he was surprised at how little the group had opened up and been vulnerable with each other. So going into Tuesday night’s session, I was expecting much of the same. But one of the girls I had grown close to, Emily, was sharing her testimony, so it was important to me that I come. (Each student shared a testimony or devotional of some sort during the week). She shared, and started to get teary eyed. The girls on the team embraced her when she was done. The next girl got up to share, and much of the same happened.

Then it was time for worship, and you could feel the Spirit moving. After that, Dan, their youth pastor, started to give the lesson. I almost skipped out at this point because I was tired and knew how long their sessions tended to go. But I felt the pull to stay. Dan asked how many people truly FELT like they were forgiven. Not whether or not they knew that they were, but if they felt it. A palpable weight fell over the room. A few kids piped up. “No.” The lesson continued and tears started to flow. Kids flocked to each other to comfort and love, all while realizing something new about God’s love and their perceptions of it.

Worship began again.

(Watch me do it in falsetto.

Yeah!)

——— That would be one of my roommates as I got up to order. We've been listening to a lot of Karmin. :) 

Anyway. Worship began again, and Dan invited people to get anointed if they felt like they were being called into new or increased relationship with the Lord. He also invited the kids to meet with an adult leader if they needed to for any reason. And in the next hour or so, almost everyone had been anointed. But it wasn’t just because everyone else was doing it. You could tell. There was not a dry eye in the house, save a few leaders and mine. Have you ever seen junior high boys be that vulnerable? Unabashedly crying and standing with one another?

One of them, Jake, had grown to trust me over the last two days, so he came up to me and asked if I would come with him. We went to the gym and sat down. He started to cry and told me that he didn’t expect to be changed on this trip, but he had been. We talked for a while about what he meant and how he’d take steps to make sure that he didn’t slip back into old ways when he got home. We hugged and prayed for each other. We went back and I got the chance to encourage a few of the girls from the team. The students wound up in a huddle, singing, praying, and swaying together.

And I got the chance to be a part of it. It was beautiful.

So that’s my heartwarming story of the week. I also went on a sudden adventure Thursday night. Charlie McDowell, of Dear Girls Above Me, tweeted that he was in Times Square with a signed copy of his book and a Barnes & Noble gift card. First one there gets it.

Guess who was the first one there? I convinced my roommates to hop on the 2 with me, and somehow we got their first. It was awesome. Then we went to Bryant Park to hang out on the grass for a while (a feeling we all miss here in the concrete jungle). I read the first chapter out loud to them, and we all laughed hysterically. Then we went up the street to Grand Central Station, admired it a while, and caught the 4 back up to Harlem. It was an unreal night, but that’s New York for you, right?

Thanks for all the well-wishes and prayers. They mean so much to me.

Getting in the Groove

This last week has felt longer than usual. For probably a few reasons. 

One of which is that both of the majors, as well as Brother Li were on vacation this week, so we didn’t have those contacts, which made for a little more work for us. Nothing we couldn’t overcome, of course, but it would have been nice to have them around since it did rain a bit this week, which necessitated us to change our plans. We didn’t really have a tight rain plan for this week, at least at the Harlem Temple, because we didn’t have someone to help us find back up plans. So there were a few days when the rain caused us to scramble to try to find something for the teams to do. 

All the corps were also closed Thursday and Friday due to the holiday. We did manage to navigate over 30 people through the crowded (and let me emphasize the word CROWDED) Manhattan city streets to go see the fireworks on the Hudson. Which I think is deserving of a medal. 

And then there was the teams themselves. After our first week, just about anything would have been a let down. We did not bond very well with one of the two teams this week. None of us did. We all struggled to get them to volunteer to do things or to do the work we provided for them. But if there was ever any downtime, they didn’t like that either. So we really couldn’t win. And the larger team really didn’t seem interested in bonding with us or the other team, and there were points in time when we wondered why they came on a mission trip at all, since they didn’t seem that eager to serve.

But I am confident that God still moved. I may not be able to see it like I was able to the week before, but I know that there were still moments of surrender in the kids. And even if there was only one small moment like this, my job would still have been worth it. But trust me, it didn’t feel like it at the time. I had to try really hard to be intentional with the kids this week, and I hope that my attitude and feelings did not get in the way of their growth

I would love prayers for strength and patience this upcoming week. The team (there’s only one larger group this week) is all incoming freshmen in high school. The team leader says they’ve been doing a trip like this for years, and it’s become a sort of rite of passage. I want to be able to encourage growth for them this week, and I’m sure I’ll be exhausted and my patience may be tested by the end of the week. But I’m anticipating a good week overall. 

Love you all. Don’t be strangers.