No electricity day

Our community has wanted to experiment with a “no electricity day” for about a year now.  On Holy Saturday (April 11), we all went without power, and it was amazing.

This was partially motivated by wanting to do our small part of using less electricity.  There’s just not enough to go around!  Furthermore, South Africa has experienced “load shedding” over the past few years – times when there is too much strain on the power grid and whole cites have to be shut off.  Yes, it’s that serious.  The resources we use to create electricity are finite.  God wants us to take care of this place

A local friend told me last year that every Sunday, his family goes without electricity.  They started this practice during load shedding – involuntarily at first.  But they felt it was a good way to rest – tangibly – from the busyness of life.  Also, it reminds us of all those who go without electricity every day, not by choice.

This year, we finally managed to organize a day to try it ourselves.  We chose Holy Saturday because that is the day we remember Jesus in the tomb.  He had not yet been resurrected.  It is a day of questions, darkness, and even doubts.  Going without electricity served to reinforce our sense of helplessness on this day.  it also forced us to use candles and literal darkness as part of our meditative stations that day.

We didn’t just do this at Pangani.  Those of us who live offsite also chose to go without electricity.  The staff get-together was held at the park.  We all had to make other arrangements for food.  In the evening, our family lit candles and played charades.

It seems that for most, the discipline of going without electricity did several good things. First, it forced us to be more intentional with what we did, how, and when.  Also, it instilled a surprising sense of stillness and silence.  Finally, it seems to have actually brought people together more – sharing candles, playing games, and having conversations.  In fact, people enjoyed it so much that we are considering making it a monthly practice.

We hope that others will also practice “no electricity day” themselves.  Would love to hear how it works for you.

God Appreciates My Sarcasm

My friend Eric (who I refer to, with the greatest affection, as “the annoying little brother I never wanted), once told me he had seen a t-shirt he was tempted to buy for me. It read: “Admit it, you appreciate my sarcasm.”

Sarcasm is often defined as humor at the expense of another. It’s not, really. Technically, it means “the use of irony to mock or convey contempt.” It’s the contempt part that gives sarcasm a bad name. But come on, sometimes mockery is harmlessly funny. I’m especially fond of sarcasm as humor, but try to rein it in before it becomes a cheap joke at the expense of another person’s feelings. I have no such reservations about using sarcasm as ironic mockery in the proper context. This sarcasm often extends to cheesy lines in worship songs. More on this later.

“Jesus, I’m a sucker,
I wish I believed less of the lies
did anything I thought I knew
turn out to be true”
(Waterdeep)

I’ve discovered that the two times I cry the most are: 1) when I realize how deeply I doubt myself, 2) when I realize how deeply God loves me. Over the past couple of weeks, I have ended up in tears during our Monday morning worship times, and it’s been for both of these reasons.

Lately I’ve been struggling with doubt in the areas of my identity, calling and spiritual gifting—doubting the value of all of the above. Last weekend, I was able to take part in a weekend retreat with the theme of “Listening with the ear of the heart.” I didn’t expect God to speak so deeply of his love for me and didn’t expect such deep reassurance in my identity and calling, but… that’s what God chose to do.

On Sunday afternoon, I was reminded of a passage from Hannah Whitall Smith’s book The Christian’s Secret of a Happy Life that was tucked inside my journal, and I pulled it out and spent some time with it. Here’s just a quote:

“The lump of clay, from the moment it comes under the transforming hand of the potter is, during each day and each hour of the process, just what the potter wants it to be at that hour or on that day, and therefore pleases him; but it is very far from being matured into the vessel he intends in the future to make it. … we are, in the Scripture sense, truly pleasing to God, although it may require years of training and discipline to mature us into a vessel that shall be in all respects to His honor, and fitted to every good work.”

I needed to hear this: that God is pleased with and takes joy in who I am, in all respects. He is still forming me into what I will be, but I am all I should be, right at this moment.

However, the retreat ended and on Monday I found myself going back to the same doubts I had been struggling with before. As part of that Monday’s worship time, everyone was encouraged to get up and move around, to express worship through dance and movement. I have a hard time with this. (And it’s not just because of the Southern Baptist upbringing that I feel this way!)

I understand that others can find movement in worship incredibly freeing and joyful, but when I try the same, it’s like asking me to pray in Afrikaans. I’m self-conscious, awkward, and uncoordinated. I find myself frustrated and stifled; dance just isn’t my language. And during this particular worship time, I was confronted with the lie that my worship isn’t acceptable, that quiet worship and adoration from my heart without outward physical movement isn’t pleasing to God. I knew it was a lie. But I also believed it in that moment. As I sat in the corner of the couch in tears, Doug began to play a worship song that I usually dislike. This is where the sarcasm comes in.

Small caveat: I love Waterdeep—they’re one of my favorite bands, and their music generally brings me before God in a powerful way. Please note that above I have quoted another song of theirs. But this particular Waterdeep song includes the following lines:

A grateful heart I give
A thankful prayer I pray
A wild dance I dance before you
A loud song I sing
A huge bell I ring
A life of praise I live before you

I can’t get past the huge bell. It pulls me out of worship every single time. I begin asking myself: why a huge bell? How many people even own a huge bell, let alone find it helpful to ring a huge bell in worship? Is it a metaphor for something else that I’m not getting? Or did they just need something to rhyme with “sing” and that was the best line they could come up with? If I had any part of leading this song in worship, I would lobby to change the words at this point. These are the types of thoughts that run through my head. One might call this sarcasm. And that particular Monday, when I heard this song being sung around me, I felt God’s laughter—as inside my head, I mocked the huge bell. The lie that who I am is not acceptable began to break.

I don’t know if I would go so far as to say that sarcasm can be worship, but that morning, it became a window into worship for me. I was able to set aside the lies I was caught up in, and find joy in God taking joy in me. You see, I think God appreciates my sarcasm. And how can I not worship a God who likes my sense of humor? A God who laughs at my jokes?

Somehow this made me cry more, but this time it was Barbara’s Reason #2 for Crying, which is definitely a better place to be than Barbara’s Reason #1 for Crying.

Caveat: I realize that today is Good Friday, and this isn’t really a Good Friday-ish post. I started writing it a week ago, and am only now getting around to finishing and posting, so… here you go anyway. =)