Preschool and PBS

(My brother and) I may have been indoctrinated--and more heavily in certain periods than others--with Christian Fundamentalist Conservative Right-Wing thought growing up, but we were never brainwashed.  I credit that to having attended a hippie preschool, where creativity reigned and children played.  Mom had the foresight to find us a loving educational community where parents were involved in the co-op.  I still have very fond memories of playing and reading and napping and crafting.  I remember my friends and their parents as faces soaking up the sun, and my own mom was there too.

In elementary school, we were homeschooled, but our brains remained active and imaginative, curious and creative.  We watched PBS shows and Nature shows and Mister Rogers.  We learned to value kindness and connectedness rather than cruelty and competitiveness.  We watched Huell Howser explore "California's Gold" and adventured with "Reading Rainbow."  We tuned in to "This Old House" on Saturday mornings and were captive audiences to ballet and opera performances those same evenings.  We never stopped learning, and learning and living were one joint enterprise.

In later years--my high school years, mainly--we would become staunchly Republican and Fundamentally Christian.  I adopted the lingo and mindset of those communities, but I never lost my inner soul.  In college, I chose my Christian friends based on their dedication to faith and doctrine, but outside of Christian settings, my friends were liberals.  Those friends were not hard to find--I lived in the honors dorm at USC and studied music.  I was somehow "cool" and "chill" enough to not be avoided by the brilliant and talented students in those programs, despite being a "strong Christian."

I now know that, deep down, you will always be what you were meant to be, especially if your formative years allowed you to be your true self.

In that sense, Mom parented as she was meant to parent, in the days before fear and anxiety took over and brought her over to the more structured curriculum of the Religious Right, and for that golden "age of innocence," I am grateful.

Cast and Crew

Being at Yale Divinity School was like being on set for a two-year filming process.

The cast and crew formed a community that was unique to that particular time.  

Recently, I watched quite a few interviews with the cast of The Sopranos.  They felt like working on the show was like creating a family.  They are still good friends to this day, although it's a rare occasion when they can all be together all at once.  They also said that the show "spoiled" them in the sense that other sets are usually not so cohesive and communal.  Sometimes, when all the right people are cast for all the right parts, and the writing is amazing, pure magic happens.  

That is what Divinity School was like for me.  My cohort was knit together by threads of experiences and conversations that previous and future cohorts did not experience.  The crew--our professors, administrators, and the staff of Marquand Chapel--supported us fully, and we were free to express ourselves because of that support.

As in acting, we brought our full selves to the process--and yet, because of the chemistry of the community, we also brought our best selves.  Actors shine on screen in a way that does not always happen in real life, because only on set are the conditions there.  In Divinity School, I often glimpsed what heaven must be like--and I knew that outside of that bubble of time and space, I would probably never taste it again, to that extent.

Actors often end up dating each other, and that's understandable, because only those who share an experience have any idea what it was like.  How do you explain a miraculous journey to someone who wasn't on it?

I hadn't necessarily planned on marrying someone from Divinity School going in, but I did fall in love with a fellow cast member.  On set, it worked.  In that community, we were compatible.  Even after filming ended, we went on enough interviews and promotional tours together that the magic continued to develop.  

As those community-building settings grew fewer and far between, we worked hard to sustain the chemistry we had sparked with each other.  And even now, at the end of it, I'll still remember the good moments, when the camera was rolling, and we were at our best.

And that's a final cut!

Working on the Sabbath

It's Sunday, and I'm cheerfully typing away at my computer, sending emails for my Interfaith Internship and giving thanks for once-in-a-lifetime opportunities that come to mind.

It's not exactly bringing "the sacrifice of praise into the House of the Lord," as an old praise song goes, but I think God delights in the sight of me sitting comfortably on my bed, with the windows open, enjoying the peace and quiet and bird chirps as my computer helps me communicate with the outside world.

Jesus was accused of not keeping the Sabbath, but he reminded those around him that it was important to be out and about, engaging with life outside of the Jewish Synagogue.  He went places that "no good Jew" would go--the homes of tax collectors, the wells of Samaritans--and that was what his Gospel was all about.

I had dinner last night with a Jewish rabbi, the executive director of a foundation that supports Shinnyo-en Buddhism in the U.S., and three members of an Episcopalian Church in Orange County.  It was a wonderful time, and it didn't hurt that I was eating the best Italian food I've had since moving back from Boston.

I've expanded my personal quest for healthy spirituality from Ecumenical relationships to Interfaith collaboration.  Jesus has been with me every step of the way, and in some ways, my Interfaith Internship has fulfilled desires that I once thought would be met working in full-time Christian ministry, married to the pastor I had been dating.  God certainly operates outside of the box of my limited thinking!

Proverbs 3:5 comes to mind.  How easy it is to lean on our own understanding, when trust is the key.  I want to acknowledge the Lord in all my ways--even those that don't seem to be a "typical" (Evangelical) Christian engagement: skipping church, supporting other faith traditions, and praising God in the midst of it!

*P.S.--I do take personal Sabbaths, where I put aside work emails and reading, usually from Friday afternoon to Saturday evening.  This follows the Jewish (and SDA) tradition of Shabbat.

Going through the Motions

I attended a concert at Segerstrom Hall in Orange County on Thursday.  The Pacific Symphony has been led by Carl St. Clair for nearly 30 years.  Thirteen years ago, when I was a Sophomore at the University of Southern California, Maestro St. Clair conducted us in Tchaikovsky's Pathetique.

Watching him from the "other side," as an audience member rather than an orchestra musician was very interesting.  He memorizes the entire concert and does away with the baton.  He conducts with us entire body, including his face.  His ethos is that of listening closely.

It may come as a surprise that not all orchestra conductors value listening in that way.  Many musicians rely on the baton for the beat, or sometimes, conductors have to adjust their beat to what musicians (often the loudest ones, like brass or timpani) have already set.

St. Clair achieves a kind of unity, drawing out sound from the orchestra as if it were a single organism with many parts.  Every note is meaningful, even notes that most conductors would pass through in order to get to the climax.

Carl St. Clair is not one to simply go through the motions.  In nearly a decade of orchestra experience, he was my favorite conductor, and playing under his leadership was a transformational, transcendent experience.

In life and art, do we go through the motions, or do we let the motions go through us?  In the journey of faith, do we do what's expected of mature Christians, or do we let faith take us wherever it needs to go?  Some people I know feel that Jesus has led them out of Evangelicalism.  Others may denounce such claims.  I wonder what Jesus would say to all of that.

In my Wednesday evening class on Contemplative Practices, our professor says, "We do the practice, but sometimes, the practice does you."  Few experiences in life allow for a feeling of transformation and transcendence.  But the arts the mysticism strive to.

Carl St. Clair is one of the longest tenured conductors of a major American orchestra.  Perhaps the secret to this longevity is the transformational, transcendent power of music, and his willingness to fully embody and channel its power.

Staying in Shape

My personal goal has never been to "make disciples of all nations."  Ever since I could remember--and in all iterations of my personal faith journey--I have cared most about people experiencing wholeness and wellness.  For me, that often includes life with Jesus.  But I won't force it on anyone else, unless they genuinely catch a spark and want to know more.

I teach both violin and piano, and it is a fact that some people are better suited to certain instruments.  For the violin, one must have a good enough ear to distinguish between almost-in-tune and perfectly-on-pitch.  You can be a very competent pianist but lack this ability on the violin.

Of course, listening skills can be developed, and perhaps it is good to counterbalance amazing sight reading skills with the discipline of memorizing notes and not using music.  If the point is to grow as a musician, then balance is necessary.  But it's also more productive sometimes to play to one's strengths.

So it is with sports.

My favorite sport is soccer, but I'm decent at basketball and volleyball.  Baseball is hard for me, and tennis is achievable but doesn't feel very natural.  In high school, I ran cross country for one summer, and it became very apparent after a few weeks of training who was beginning to sustain injuries.

Maybe some of us are naturally born with stronger joints.  Maybe some of us do better with non-contact movement, such as swimming.  Soccer may have changed my life and transformed my self-confidence, but if a friend of mine gets his high playing basketball, I'll just as happily cheer him on in shooting hoops.  Maybe he's got big hands and can control the ball very well, whereas I've always had "thunder thighs" and a weaker upper body.

If this is how "real life" works, then why do we suddenly become so exclusivist when it comes to personal faith?  Some of us may not be born with the "ear" to hear from God in a Pentecostal/charismatic manner.  Others of us may not be as good as devouring Scripture, because reading is hard.  Some of us may have a real hard time "feeling God's love"--though we ask for it repeatedly.  Others of us may instinctively embrace Divine mysteries but shudder at doctrine and morality.  Some of us have the faith to receive instant healing from God; others have the perseverance to struggle and suffer for years on end.

Julian of Norwich, a Catholic mystic who had personal encounters with Christ, is known for her phrase: "all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well."  A famous hymn goes, "It is well...with my soul."

Humans should seek to thrive, otherwise life is not worth living.

If you've been told to spend more time on the treadmill in order to get healthy, but it's giving you a leg cramp, just stop!  Try yoga instead, or go for a bike ride.  If your religion is making you feel less whole than you know you were born to be, then seek God in other ways.  God will meet you wherever you come most alive.

And, in the words of Julie Walters' character in Mamma Mia 2: "Do what makes your soul shine!"

Staying Above Water

I treated myself to Free Day at the Arcadia Arboretum today.  Although much of my spring break is dedicated to catching up on work, I still had an extra two hours to spare this afternoon.

As I meandered along the various pathways, traversing through ever-changing flora and fauna, I remained present to what was before me, letting each new snapshot unfold before me.

In one particular moment, at the edge of Baldwin Lake (more the size of a pond), a turtle surfaced its head and said hello, bobbing in and out of the water a few times before submerging again.

Turtles are curious creatures, able to navigate both land and sea, pond and (lily) pad.  They move most easily in water, but they can plod above ground, too.

A few weeks ago, in a meditation class at school, I imaged myself as the Little Mermaid, leaving her childhood sea kingdom in order to explore human existence.

I was surprised, because that particular Disney movie was never one of my favorites.  I may not have ever watched the entire thing.  But I began to interpret the shore--even losing my musical voice--as an interesting path to more freedom and agency.  Doing, rather than saying and singing.  Living, rather than wondering what things were like not "under the sea."

Water is the Source of life.  Some of my recent endeavors have been around interviewing people who are part of a family of churches called Blue Ocean.  My church in Boston was called Reservoir.  I am familiar with life under the surface--the subcommunities of Evangelical eels, Presbyterian piranhas, Methodist mackerel, Catholic cod, and Lutheran lionfish.  I've made the rounds, and I've encountered Ursula's wrath along the way.

I can breath better above water, sometimes, but returning to the Source of Life has always been important to me.  Some of the people I respect most have swam to shore and walked away, never to dip their toes back in the water.  They have their reasons, and I completely understand.

Life underwater continues to teem, and the fish often struggle to understand why some turtles can breath so well on land.  Sea turtles have been known to rescue shipwrecked souls--including pug-nosed pups, in the movie Milo and Otis--taking them from bodies of water to masses of land.  If only they could commit to journeying the whole way, rather than simply dropping us off at the beach.  Still, I have a special and interesting place for turtles in my heart.  I would not have made it to shore just swimming on my own.

I'm exploring what it means to live and breathe above water, but I will never forget the importantce of Water.  It sustains me, and I drink from it in order to live.  There will always be deep wells of pure groundwater, streams in the desert, and yes, the occasional Beach Day in my future.  What I will not do is drown in the ocean, simply to please fish.

Jesus had a "fishers of men" ethos.  I've been caught up by the net of Experience and Exploration.  I'll let you know how it goes.

Eating Healthy

Imagine a person who grew up going to McDonald's, sometimes for a sit-down with family and friends, and sometimes just going to the drive-through.

At some point, this person moved away and began eating at other places for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  She encountered organic vegetables, conscientiously grown beef, and vegan and gluten-free options.  She learned that the source of food, and the way it is prepared, is important--not only for the health of the consumers, but for the ethics of society.

She shuddered at the thought of McDonald's, especially after seeing the documentary, Supersize Me.

Years went by, and when she visited home again, she stopped by McDonald's on a random day.  She was surprised to see how much it had changed, how much nicer the decor was.  It was populated by diverse customers of all ages, and it no longer had that "fast-food feel."  People were actually sitting down to eat, taking their time, and not smelling greasy afterwards, either.

She didn't investigate why, but it seemed that the overall awareness of health had affected McDonald's too.

This doesn't change her eating habits, though, and she still eats at places that serve kale and quinoa and chia seeds.  But if she's really hungry someday and there's a drive-thru, she wouldn't mind paying McDonald's a visit again.

After all, food is food, and sometimes we can't be too picky.  I may have moved on from Evangelicalism and now consume things that come at a higher cost to me, but that doesn't mean that I don't appreciate all the Happy Meals I've had in the past--and that I reject that part of my growth entirely.

Bon Appetite!

Gym Membership

It is not a bad thing to have a gym membership.  Everyone needs a bit of support in order to stay healthy.  Thursday night barre, Friday morning Zumba--these are all part of the rhythms of people who have a gym membership.

Among friends, we no longer ask, "How is your body doing these days?  Are you keeping it active and healthy?  Are you having breakthroughs in your endurance and energy?"  Instead, the default question is, "Which gym do you belong to?"

Occasionally, someone will admit that they don't have a gym membership.  But they walk to the grocery store and bike to work, rather than driving.  They go on long hikes--albeit by themselves or with a few choice companions.  They are still getting their exercise, but it just looks different.

If exercise were spirituality and church were the gym, then what do we say to those "working out their salvation" in different ways?

Something to ponder =)

The Expansion of Faith

I attended a candlelight vigil for victims of the Christchurch Mosque attacks this evening at Pasadena City Hall.  It was pretty well-attended--I'd eyeball it at 120 people, from all faiths and walks of life.  There was also representation from City Council and the police department.

Driving home, I marveled at the expansion of my own faith over nearly three decades of religious upbringing and spiritual pursuit.

When I was little, I led several other little girls in inviting Jesus into their hearts.  My childhood friend Katrina; my other childhood friend Katherine; my little cousin Sophie.  As I grew older, I continued sharing my faith, but the conversions ceased.

At church--I'm thinking in particular of a charismatic megachurch we attended from 1996-2000--my heart would swell with tears during altar calls.  People were being saved and made whole again.  My sense of family was spiritual--and my immediate family was my site of discipleship.

My dad was especially gifted in Evangelizing family and friends--we said he had the gift, because it happened so naturally for him.  Much of our extended family in Taiwan was unsaved, and we prayed for them regularly.  We weathered "persecution" from them, too, ranging from mockery to outright conflict.

I went on mission trips when I was older, but the scope of our work was that of witness rather than overt proselytizing, due to the sensitive geographic area we were trying to reach.  As I interacted with poor farmers and minority tribes in China, my heart was stirred, but I knew that my long-term calling was to minister in the U.S.

The thing that has always puzzled me is why I inherently feel more comfortable, sometimes, around very good people who are not necessarily Christian.  My violin teacher in high school is one example, as are several friends from college.  I always "fellowshipped" and shared my "true heart" with my Christian community, but sometimes I felt I could be more myself with "pagans."

When it came to dating, Christian guys seemed both attracted to and cautious of my spiritual core.  I so longed for a life partner who would have my back in spiritual warfare, run hard after Jesus with me, and stand up against hypocrisy and injustice--even if it came at a personal cost.

I have yet to find a man like that in the church.  The American church has been so corrupted that sometimes I feel sick going to worship services.  I felt guilty for the last few years both about the amount of discomfort I would experience and also for the times that I opted out of Sunday worship for something more soul-satisfying.

I am now stepping out of that guilt and into the freedom that comes with know who I am, what I value, and those I call my family.  I spend about 10 hours a week in ecumenical community at Claremont School of Theology, where we engage in contemplative practices (as early Christians in the desert did), talk about the intersection of ministry and social justice (like so many founding leaders of faith in America did), and share personal theological struggles (in a way that I often can't within church structures).  I still listen to at least one sermon a week via podcasts, and I read Scripture daily.  I check in with a very prophetic friend on the phone once a week, and I keep running group texts with other friends from Divinity School.  God continues to speak to me in the dawn hours, right before waking, so that I can write down what I have received as soon as I get up.

I also spend about 10 hours a week interning for the Orange County Interfaith Network, where I have met some of the humblest and most faithful people I have ever encountered.  There is something very sweet and winsome about the interfaith community, where hearts are stirred to action whenever any segment of humanity suffers.  It's not about "us" or "them" or "this church" and "that congregation."  It truly is about following our collective conscience for the common good.  My faith is strengthened whenever I participate in interfaith gatherings.  "Let your light shine before all wo/men..." --and that includes lighting a candle for sisters and brothers of humanity, who express their faith in mosques, half a globe away.  Amen.

The Evolution of Faith

I finished my paper.  I turned it in.  I'm officially on spring break now!

In the course of putting John Calvin's Institutes in conversation with process theology, I was convicted of certain attitudes I've held in the last few years.

Due to the role of evolving theology in my own faith journey, I have become very critical of doctrine that I deem patriarchal, kyriarchal, oppressive, White Supremacist, misogynistic.  In my opinion, much of American Christianity has been corrupted by these beliefs, but most people in western churches are unaware--or unconcerned.

I struggled with how much of my new views to share with old friends, fearing their judgement or concern.  At the same time,  I wanted to Evangelize the Evangelicals with the Gospel of freedom I had experienced in Divinity School.  I wanted to see a revolution in Christianity.

But without reading the theology I had read, having the conversations I'd had, and making the friends I'd made, how could I expect others to understand where I was coming from?  How could my former communities of faith accept that I was now fully LGBTQIA inclusive, acknowledged God as being both masculine and feminine, and chafed against Conservative Christian interpretations of gender roles?

It's been a little over six months since I've been back in California.  I feel more integrated and balanced, like the New England views I came to could now come into a conversation with my upbringing.  I realize that there was a mix of pride and sincerity in my desire to see change.

Like I wrote in my paper today, most theology is an attempt to bring humanity closer to Divinity, in ways that the community of faith for which it is written deem to be life-giving and God-honoring.  Different stages of life and culture inform how we choose what we believe.  I have no right to judge others for how they choose to live out their faith.  If their beliefs are serving them well, then should not I rejoice with them?

After all, at previous points in my life, certain viewpoints I now reject did work for me.  None of us have a complete handle on God's intention for us, and we must remain open and humble, letting both difficulties and joys teach us how to live.  (For me, personal trials often led me to the end of certain theologies, forcing me to look for deeper ways of understanding and relating to God.)

At the same time, I desire to speak up if and when I feel people are being harmed by beliefs that are theologically and psychologically unsound.  Otherwise, what is the point of my own transformative journey of academic training and spiritual exploration?

Perhaps the key to the right attitude is to allow God's spirit to work and speak through me whenever and in whatever manner sHe deems best.  This is not about an agenda; it's about all of us coming closer to the Source of Life.  Conversation and communication take both heart and soul and mind--and so does loving God.  Love should be the starting point for any revolution.

There is room for dialogue between different viewpoints, and not just in papers written for school.

Papers

2 due this week, one submitted and one still in process.

I'm working on a paper that functions as a conversation between John Calvin's The Institutes of Christian Religion and process theology.  Many of the Conservative factions of Christianity have been influenced by Calvinism, calling themselves Reformed and priding themselves on adherence to Scripture and emphasizing expository preaching.  I seek to put Calvin in his cultural and previously Catholic context, and to show some similarities between his theology and the process-relational worldview.

It's a beautiful thing when a paper sort of writes itself.  Thoughts unfold, quotes and commentary self-organize, and the word count continues to grow.

At some point, you get up to eat, and when you come back to it again, your mind feels like it's in knots.  You know what you want to say, but you can't quite get it out in the right way or a good order.

So you take a break.  You do some yoga, you Facebook message some friends, you blog.

Papers are a wonderful thing--and I've never really minded them.  But at this point in my academic journey, I do feel like my brain is slowing down like an old computer.

Thank goodness spring break is next week--and I'll use it to install some updates on my software!

Process

Process Theology is an integrative way of looking at the world that is quite compatible with non-Western thought.  It is the hallmark of Claremont School of Theology, where I am currently pursuing a doctorate.  It is the only kind of theology I have not been "allergic to"--probably because it has not been colonized by Enlightenment-influenced worldviews.

Process Theology "works" in a way that much of what we learn in church does not.  Some of my close friends who have left Christianity did so with the utmost integrity and sincerity.  It takes more courage to leave religion than to stay, sometimes, and those who remain are not always more faithful, but rather more fearful (of the unknown, of stepping outside their comfort zone).

I've been wanting to leave Christianity ever since I was 15.  Somehow, I have not managed to succeed.  Something always pulls me back.  But that is not to say that I completely understand and respect those who do leave--especially when Christianity (as they know it) is more damaging than life-giving for their mental health.  (The fancy terms for this are "pathogenic" and "salugenic.")

At this point, Process Theology is a helpful filter through which to process my own experiences around God, Christianity, pastors, the church, and community.  Each phase of acute suffering in my life has shifted and expanded my view of my faith.  In the most recent chapter, I nearly lost hope, and I'm hanging on by a thinner thread than ever before.

Thankfully, seminary, both past and present, offers good company for critical-thinking and meaning-seeking individuals like me.  In the classroom, one can ask the hard questions that scare church leadership.  One can criticize unsound doctrine while expressing appreciation for the mystery of faith that much of American Christianity has turned into a commodified cultural expression of Capitalism.
I am very much in process, and that is what keeps me going.

Queerness and the Quran

Since graduating from Divinity School, my faith journey has only continued to expand and test my commitment to the Journey.

When I moved to Boston the summer after graduation, I felt God put on my heart the invitation to explore LGBTQIA+ issues in conversation with faith.  During Divinity School, I had met many wholehearted Christians who were gay, or allies of the queer community.  I have always been a believer in God's Progressive Revelation--take issues of circumcision, Kosher diets, and slavery, for example--and I was firm in needing Scripture to be source of Life rather than Death, for the "letter of the law killeth."

I now only worship in open and inclusive spaces, and for me it is not only a matter of personal principle, but of integrity and responsibility towards my friends who have been oppressed by Christian theology.  If my friend would not feel welcome in a certain church setting, then I will also stand in solidarity with them by not setting foot in a service.

When I moved to New Haven, my good friend Ted had asked me to come back with some answers over gay Christians.  He and I had both grown up in conservative settings, and we both wanted to be faithful to Scripture but kind to our brethren.  So he gave me the challenge of exploring this topic.  The other thing he gave me was a Quran, which he had gotten from someone during college.  "Use it for reference," he said.  "It'll go to waste sitting on my shelf."

Since moving back to California, I have been attending an interreligious seminary and working for an interfaith nonprofit.  For some Christians, this is the "work of the Devil"--but I don't see it as compromising my faith.  I'm letting my "light shine before all men," and I am bearing witness to some truly amazing social justice work among diverse religious leaders.  It's humbling, and it makes me live with more gratitude and joy.

This is the life of faith--we step out into the water, and sometimes we feel like we're going to drown in uncertainty, especially when the majority of our friends stayed on the boat where it's safe, but if we call out of Jesus, he will make sure we're all right.  I've been close to drowning several times in the last year, but I'm all right.  I'm still here.

Hell and Headcovering

I'm back at it, after a year off!  (A lot has happened in that year, which will be the topic of future posts.)

For now, I am thinking about two topics that got me to Divinity School: hell and headcovering.

Hell was a Given for any person who grew up as an Evangelical in the '90s.  But as I pursued a call towards hospice chaplaincy, I needed to know what I believed about hell, for the sake of the dying.  During Divinity school, my own grandma, for whose salvation my family had prayed over 20 years, passed away, without becoming a Christian.  Could I honestly say she was going to Hell?

It was during that semester that I was reading Jurgen Moltmann's In the End--The Beginning: The Life of Hope, which framed Eternity and God's Justice in very nuanced ways.  Moltmann is an important theologian because he was writing in Germany after the Holocaust.  He truly had to wrestle with difficult issues!  For my final paper in Introduction to Theology that semester, I wrote about a Theology of Hospice, and that helped me to process my grandmother's death.

That semester, I was also enrolled in Introduction to New Testament, for which I wrote a paper on 1 Corintians 11 and the topic of Headcovering.  Headcovering had been a topic with which I'd wrestled as I left an intimate church community and an almost-fiance in 2012.  It symbolized competing values within Christian communities--on the role of women, complementarian marriages, and how to interpret Scripture through historical and cultural lenses.  I paid a price for living into what I felt was the person God had created me to be: spirit-filled, free in Christ, and bold for the Gospel.

My ex wanted a "nice, simple girl" who would submit to his leadership and ask no questions in church.  He has since gotten married, I've learned, and I hope his heart's desire has been fulfilled.

I went on to become a theologian, and my current field of study is Practical Theology, which puts diverse human lived experiences in conversation with our (often limited and damaging) interpretations of Scripture.  In the West, much of the ways we read and think were influenced by Greek Philosophy and the Enlightenment.  Much of Scripture should be understood from a Jewish and Middle Eastern perspective.  So what we say is "Biblical" in the American church is often already a skewed interpretation.

Divinity School was a liberative experience for me.  My view of God is much deeper and broader than it was before.  My ethos was always to follow Jesus wherever He leads.  Even if that means losing friends and a feeling of stability and security.  But that is the life of faith that every believer is called to--and neither Hell nor Headcovering can deter me from the One who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life!