My dream Sunday morning consists of sleeping a few hours past my weekday alarm of 6am, rolling out of bed to put the kettle on the stove for my coffee, opening my front door to retrieve my Washington Post, making my coffee while looking up pancake recipes, and then making whatever recipe looks best with what ingredients I have at home. It’s slow, unrushed, and centering.

It doesn’t include church. I love mornings in general, and when I lived in Seattle, I attended church at 4:00pm. It was glorious. 11:15am in DC comes a lot sooner than I usually expect it (my snooze alarm and I are getting so serious I should just put a ring on it). Needless to say, my motivation for church has been lacking so much that for Lent I opted to give up pancakes and add church back into my life.

Corporate or Sunday worship has never fulfilled me spiritually. In my adult life I can fit the times I felt it on one hand. I know, this isn’t something I should be saying. I’ve worked in most levels of my denomination, and I have a Master of Divinity degree, on route to become a deaconess… but it’s my truth (or reality to placate my Ph.D. friends). I go to church to see my friends; church has always been communal for me with some light formation.

I like a more grassroots, unpolished church where I’m asked to read scripture out loud with no practice of the Hebrew names of towns and/or people or pulled to help with offering. Yet, I want an elder presiding over communion and someone who is theologically articulate giving the sermon. It’s a weird blend for sure.

This disconnect grew more after I got my master’s and even more so when I moved from Seattle to DC, but I found a community at a church and joined it. I was really good about Sunday attendance for months, then this summer I took a break and it lasted until Lent. I probably went to my congregation’s worship twice in this time, but I picked up attending chapel a few times a month or more at work.

I’m not the model church-goer, yet today I admitted in a public space that I go to church and work for it. Perhaps before I get to my radical (for me) moment of evangelism, I should give a back story.

Last year, I decided the time was now for getting back in shape and discovered a studio that offered spin and yoga classes. I was sold. Since May I have been going for 5-7 classes a week. I do spin 4 times a week, yoga 2-3 times. I have a very embodied theology that is rooted in my personal piety. I believe in nourishment and healthy mind and body, so that, in turn, our bodies and spirits can sustain us for the long work of creating a just world. The fact of the matter is that I leave spin class feeling emboldened, empowered, one with my body, and ready to take on the world. I do not leave church feeling that way.

Back to today, I had just left my spin class and was starting to layer back up for the commute home when someone was talking about the class.

“It’s like church, but way less boring and fun.” (Okay, so I have texted the same words to the chagrin of my clergy friends.) This time it stung; it hit an unknowingly tender spot hard.

That’s when things got weird on my end. I turned around and said, “You haven’t found the right church then.” I felt so awkward that I felt the need to go on and say in the most uncool way possible, “I worked for a church.” I quickly turned around.

Do I think spin class is like church? Yes. My favorite instructor, Shafer, builds us up so that we leave the space ready to change the world. He has all these great quotes and sayings that I weave my own theological lens or biblical references into (I am that nerdy).  I am pushed to a breaking point; all the energy I have bottled up comes out in the form of sweat, tears, and sometimes both.

There is also a communal element to my spin classes. We are encouraged to introduce ourselves to our neighbors. We are asked to turn to each other in class to say, “You’ve got this”, “Your presence is powerful”, or just give a simple high five. We ride to the beat of the song, on the same lead foot. We are together and synchronized. My favorite instructor has taken the time to know me and calls me out by name. In a room full of strangers, I feel more seen in that space than I do in most places.  

Because I religiously attend spin classes, I am better equipped to live into my embodied spirit and live into my vocation. I truly wish I was able to say that about the average worship service.

I am left with the question, if I, a life long church-goer who is deeply committed to my faith journey, have issues with church on Sunday not being fulfilling, what are we to do with those who left the church when their parents stopped forcing them to go or who never went? These are the type of people who don’t add church back as part of a Lenten practice.

Do I have the answers? Not really. (I also tuned out during my worship class in seminary.) I have a fairly comprehensive list of things I don’t like in worship, but I’m not the target audience. I’m just left with the uncomfortable feeling that church worship services are boring and not worth the time to go to (a sentiment I sometimes share), while I am not practicing what I preach, aka, being fully integrated into a faith community.

In part 1, I spoke about my temple being broken, or seemingly broken (as I believe we are all made in God’s Divine Image). When I start reflecting on my years of struggling with food, I come back to Communion and the words our pastors say to us holding a usually glorious piece of glutenous bread before the congregation.

On the night in which he gave himself up for us,
he took bread, gave thanks to you, broke the bread,
gave it to his disciples, and said:
“Take, eat; this is my body which is given for you.
Do this in remembrance of me.”
-The Great Thanksgiving for World Communion Sunday by Nathan Decker

What does it mean to be broken and unable to consume what many Christians believe to be the sustenance of life? When your body cannot process or handle foods deemed vital by our society? Foods that break you and affect one’s quality of life? (Now this is a long post because identifying my food allergies has been a process that has spanned 3 decades, so be patient with me!)

I don’t remember a time before this past year when my body was truly happy with what I put in it. When I was a baby, my mom realized that something wasn’t quite right in terms of the foods I was eating so around the age of 2, I did something that is in vogue now: an elimination diet.

What my parents discovered is that wheat was my enemy, they put me on a gluten-free diet in the 1980s in the era before Whole Foods and the gluten-free slash allergen section. Despite their best efforts, a neighbor gave me a cookie once and I didn’t have the same reaction. My mom took me to the doctor and the doctor said I no longer had a food allergy. (Best science of the time, still the 1980s.)

Sometime around my teenage years, I start having issues again and this time, with a doctor’s blessing, I became lactose intolerant, but the lactaid pills never worked. (Don’t get me started on how that lactose-free milk tastes.)

As a baby I had colic and walking pneumonia. Growing up I got my yearly, bronchitis and sinus infections. Then in college I discovered a deep love for beer, pizza delivery, and continued my love affair with Tootsie Rolls. In fact, when I was sick with my quarterly sinus infection, I would buy Tootsie Rolls with my antibiotics and order a pizza in. It was also in college when amoxicillin stopped working and I became immune to it due to overprescription.

In high school I started taking medication to treat my growing anxiety. I was an emotional teenage girl, but I had bigger feelings than felt right. It helped immensely, but when went to college, I was bad about taking my medications and stopped. At one point, my health physically and mentally led to taking the spring semester off and going home my sophomore year to get healthy.

My temple aka body was broken on a few levels. We didn’t know what to do, year after year I saw my doctors and a few allergists, yet I was seemingly healthy when one looked at me. My temple was broken, broken for the world, and it would all come to a head the summer of 2007.

I had recently re-thrown out my back (more in the next post about this) and allergy season was in full swing. I woke up and it was hard to breath. I got one of my best friends to come get me and take me to the Emergency Room where I was diagnosed with walking pneumonia for the second time in my life. My anxiety was at an all time high, I had panic attacks while studying for, during, and after exams. It was at that moment, I felt irreparably broken. My mother flew to Pullman, Washington and drove me home.

Our pastor’s wife was a woman with food allergies and recommended a naturopath. As I sat in the office with my mom, we explained my history with food and the woman looked at us and said, food allergies never go away and you aren’t lactose intolerant, you are probably allergic to casein, the protein in milk (lactose is the sugar in milk). My mom despite her best efforts cried, yet it was the best thing that happened to me.

Even though I went back to an allergist in Eastern Washington, nothing showed up food wise, I still omitted gluten and dairy from my diet and something happened. My body lost inches, I was no longer always needing a nap, and I had only a few panic attacks my last year of college. For the first time in my life, food started making sense.

For over a decade I have lived with being a gluten and dairy-free person while it got hip. In many ways it has made my life easier. I usually can take gluten-free Communion, but it’s still a struggle (older thoughts on why all Communion should be GF). My last few years of seminary I started to see making foods that were good for me as a spiritual discipline linked to my justice work (a Lenten reflection I wrote at that time).

In May, I got glutened. You may be aware that it is really hard to reach perfection (especially if you rarely eat out), but this was a whole lot worse: I ate an entire cookie full of gluten goodness by mistake. My body revolted. I was so sick that I had to take sick days. I had flu like symptoms; my body was so inflamed I gained 10-15 pounds and looked pregnant. The anxiety came back with a vengeance, returning me to the state I was in before we discovered how I needed to eat. I knew something had to give, and I knew it even as I lay in bed fighting the anxiety and despair along with the bloating.

For almost five years I had been getting to know my body in new years through revamping the foods I consumed. I had been various levels of vegetarian for years before and discovered my body preferred the paleo diet. My body isn’t a big fan of a few other foods like corn and sugar, and my gluten allergy has been getting worse, but I pushed all of that away as it felt like too much to eliminate those foods. The moment of being glutened and feeling helpless was my wake up call.

A few months before my mom had sent me Dr. Kellyann’s Bone Broth Diet and I had started adding some hydrolyzed collagen into my diet, but hadn’t followed her diet. I rolled out of bed, grabbed the book and a highlighter, and read it in bed. She promised to make my broken temple whole again and I decided to give it a shot. I finally had the information I’ve needed my whole life about how I could eat, feel good, and be healthy. I could finally be in control of what I needed. For the first time in my life, I started to feel whole. I have been following this diet since last May.

The past few weeks I continue to reflection about how my struggle with food allergies has impacted my sense of embodiment from the broken temple analogy to Holy Communion. For years I simply could not trust or count on my body. “One body, broken for you” wasn’t available to me for many years and was yet another example of my body letting me down during a Holy Moment for many. (Most churches now offer a gluten-free option, although usually stale broken pieces, but something.)

In part 3, I will dive into the ways my temple has been broken through Bell’s Palsy and throwing out my back before I even left for college. Again, it will all be linked together in the final post. My story to embracing my embodiment is complex and has much context needed before.

“Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, which you have from God, and that you are not your own?” 1 Corinthians 6:19 (NRSV)

A few days ago, I had a moment. I had just come off a weekend of cooking and baking multiple new recipes. My freezer was packed, my fridge full of things I could eat and wanted to eat. I had just bought a bread pan because I was stoked to try this almond flour recipe.

In that moment I cried, noted it, texted my mom and one of my best friends. For the first time in my life, I felt emboldened by food and secure in my body.

The fact is, I have struggled my whole life with my body like many. The verse from 1 Corinthians has always been a sore spot in my life. As a Christian, I believe that we are all intrinsically intertwined embodied spirits. Yet, my body has often been a spot of anxiety, fear, and chronic disconnect.

What does one do when your body is a temple constantly under scrutiny due to societal norms of what is healthy? When your physical body aka temple shuns certain foods? When your physical body aka temple is broken? When your physical body aka temple needs to be repaired for building regulations?

In the August of 2012, a few months after starting summer school for seminary, I started a journey of wholeness. I was 211 pounds; unhappy with my body and it was not well with my soul. I couldn’t physically do the things that I wanted to and was eating extremely poorly. My life needed to change.

It was finally time to embrace my embodiment and I had no idea that it would take five years. These blogs aren’t written to glorify weight loss, it’s about my personal journey to embrace my embodiment that is linked to my spiritual well being. I believe we all have a journey to our temple’s wholeness and that looks different from person to person.

My aim is to be honest with who I am, where I come from, and where I am now. Part 2 will speak to my struggles with foods in the form of my food allergies. In Part 3 I will talk about having Bell’s Palsy when I was in elementary school and then slipping a disk in my back at the age of 16. I will end in Part 4 on my journey to an embodied wholeness where I finally start to love and feel emboldened in my body.

In a world where many of us woke up today to the Washington Post alert saying, Trump says U.S. military is ‘locked and loaded’ in latest warning to North Korea we are confronted with a cold dose of reality and seriousness. I know I am not alone surfing Twitter on my phone in my bed or before my first cup of coffee, trying to get a handle on what is going on.

As I sip my coffee in the safety of my studio, three separate experiences are melding together in something larger.

A few days ago, I had lunch with a new colleague who wanted to get to know me, and I her. After hearing about my job and faith journey she asked, “but where do you have fun?” I know I cannot be the only person who is struggling with that question as I balance my work, my responsibilities at home to my dog, attempt healthy habits, and seek social justice. As someone who has only lived in DC for a year, I have been missing the roots I had in Seattle and have realized, I need to focus on relationships this next year. I need to have more fun (and so far, I’m making it happen.) In the seriousness of my life, it’s important to remember the fun the joy of life despite the current state of the world. As I seek to make meaning, I need to stop and take in the moments of pure joy and delight that come my way.

Then, yesterday, I woke up a little early so I could make the 7:30am yoga class at the studio I attend. As someone who is a) trying to get into the best shape of her life before her Jesus year, b) practices her personal piety through fitness, and c) prioritizes self-care, I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss my yoga day due to a work lunch so morning yoga is not usual.

Anyway, I have been practicing yoga on and off for years now, and have really gotten more serious about it in the past few months. I have slowly started attempting more difficult poses. When I lived in Seattle I had a yoga instructor that took her practice seriously, yet held joy and embracing falling close. Trying new poses involved smiles and sometimes laughter. I still hold that close, but awkwardly feel like I’m the odd person out in the room. My lunges often wobble and my warrior three is less than graceful, but I love it.

The other day, my noon class which attracts many advanced yogis (I call it the trick class) did wall stands. I had recently done my first full bridge pose since high school, so I decided to try it. In my corner of the studio, I concentrated and took it seriously. Miraculously, I made it and my feet stayed over my head. I was conscious that I was smiling and deeply happy. But as I glanced around, everyone was serious. I felt like I violated some unwritten rule like wearing a sleeveless blouse or dress around Paul Ryan.

Back to yesterday. I have been attempting crow and gotten close, but this day, freshly fueled by my pour over coffee blended with coconut oil/cocoa powder , I felt solid in my body to really go for it and I did. I reached the pose, my knees on elbows supported by my budding Michelle Obama arms. I opted to go for round two and firmly fell forward. I smiled and laughed. But something was different, my instructor smiled back and said she loved how I just went for it. I felt joy in a sea of the spiritual seriousness of yoga.

The last experience is from a few weeks ago when I attended my Theology of Mission course as a candidate for the Deaconess/Home Missioner Order in The United Methodist Church (I’ll write more about this later). After a week of missiology, it was time to write a paper and as I sat down refining, or perfecting if you will, my definition, I went back to Anselm’s classical definition. Here’s that section of my paper:

The theologian Anselm defined theology in this simple phrase “I pray, O God, to know thee, to love thee, that I may rejoice in thee,”. Here theology is faith seeking understanding and rejoicing in one’s relationship with the Divine. I often forget about the joy aspect of ‘doing’ theology. Theology is not intended to be followed as a rule book, but is instead something we study, ask questions of, and develop a sense of curiosity for. We do not do it only for academic purposes, but to live into the mutuality of our relationship with God because of the joy that shared grace gives us.

Back to my yoga class. My mind went to the paper I had turned it and how I have been focusing on remember the joy of theology because my seeking of God should and can be delightful. My yoga class should be that way to. After class I spoke with the instructor and talked about how I do theology for a living. I told her about the definition of theology, yet we forget the finding joy in God and how I feel that sometimes yoga is the same way. We are too serious, we need the joy in the practice, in the relationship to our bodies and those around us.

We live in a moment of time, where many of us are seeking understanding. So many areas of my life are muddled and messy, I am continually curious and trying to get a handle on the nation and my church. But where am I finding joy? Where are you finding joy? Are we finding some portions of our busy lives fun?

I delight in a God who wants to be in relationship with me and some of my best relationships are filled with joy. Joy needs to be more integral to our day to day lives, in the seriousness, in our moments of scarcity and abundance, seeking justice in a world stacked against us, and especially in our spiritual practices however we find them.

So here’s to seeking joy and finding understanding… and to finding fun in that.

In March 2016, I visited Washington, DC for a rally and a board meeting. I graduated in June and then in August I moved from Seattle to DC. In December I signed a lease to stay in DC another 6 months. Now it’s April 1st and my life is no joke. (Sorry not sorry for the dad joke.)

I often have to take a moment and pinch myself. My life is so much better than I thought it could and should be at this point. I’m in a city that I love. I have found deep friendships with new friends. I joined a church that has a Sacred Resistance team that I am actively involved in. Leo, my dog, loves it here, or that I’m here. I have found an active lifestyle that includes lots of spin and yoga. I found more discernment that I will blog about later. Most of all, I have found a job that is in my vocation at Wesley Theological Seminary’s Center for Public Theology.

A year ago, I knew there was hope, possibility, and wonder out there waiting for me to actualize it. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined I would be working in public theology, at the table with people I have read about, surrounded by some amazing coworkers, found new friendships, and am making it in DC.

I am deeply grateful for my life and the fact I can live into my vocation.