"How do politics enter into your classroom?"

A while back, I had the opportunity to write to some concerned parties who saw my public Facebook page and were concerned that I might let my classroom be too strongly influenced by politics. Here's that letter minus their context, which is a story I don't know. I'm posting this here because it's worth reading, and because I don't want to fall silent if it matters. It's so easy to live thoughtlessly, I partly want this here to remind myself of what matters to me, and how politics should and should not enter into my classroom.

Dear ---,

Many thanks for the invitation to express myself more fully, in light of my more politically-framed posts online. I like to share in writing and I believe it’s one of the most thoughtful ways to convey ideas for posterity, so I wish to thoughtfully address how my politics, as it were, affect my teaching.

I believe a classroom is a sacred space for discovery. I do not see it as a place to clutter with my opinions; nor would I condone practices that discourage discussion. The podium at the front is no pulpit, and I would not presume to educate on my particular views of justice in the world. It is enough for me to present the sources and allow students time and space to talk together, to talk with you, to think, to pray, and then to write, when appropriate.

When research and argument are part of the middle school ELA curriculum, what I hope my students learn is the value of all sides of an issue. In a Language Arts class, our focus is not which side of the argument to take, but rather how to do justice to all sides, how to interpret texts and scan for bias, how to mediate multiple ideas. Instead of seeing an argument as warfare (gaining and losing ground, defeating or winning, enemies and allies, etc.), I would prefer that we treat it as a dance in which the participants must respect and keep in step with others to accomplish a greater thing.

On a more personal level, my ideas as to what makes a Christian an obedient Christian are constantly changing. I have never interpreted my Christian walk through the lens of a political party, and am even now registered as “Independent,” for better or for worse, because no party represents the incarnate Kingdom of God: that’s the work and the joy of the global Church!

I affirm the Anabaptist conclusion that we belong to no empire of the world before we belong to the Kingdom of God. As our forebears in faith, I have a strong suspicion of all things relating to the military, to nationalism, to charismatic dogma, and to any attempts at polarizing discourse on complicated issues. I cherish all life, and hope to be ever more loving. I cherish the poor and under-served of our society, people in prison, people without work, people who are sick; and I hope to be ever more cherishing.

My hope is that any participation I may have in discussions of politics will always be with the immeasurable grace with which God has dealt with me. Furthermore, I understand discussions of politics in the classroom require extra restraint from me (and all teachers, to be sure) to avoid taking advantage of the incredible power a teacher has to influence young minds. I’m humbled by the challenge.

I invite discussion, accountability, and correction within a diverse community of people trying to figure out how to love God without standing still. That’s how I will know Jesus better, and that’s what matters to me most.

All My Best,
Carolyn McKalips

There Will Be a Place For You

It was a promise I have held onto. It came from Carmen, who I have approached in the midst of many crises. Her magnanimity is inimitable.

This summer, I didn't know where I would live, but I knew that my church community and family would be able to make space for me. My friends on Plum Street let me stay there; my friends on Clay Street let me stay there; a few other places were possible. Carmen said as I returned from Morocco, "There will be a place for you."

A few weeks later, Sarah announced that she was moving down the street as a more permanent place to live (weddings were impending), and would I like my old room back? I said yes. The weddings didn't bother me; they seemed a long way away. But if we've spoken within the past four months, you know that wedding planning and weddings are what's been happening since August. Carmen's is under two weeks away.

The details will bore me now to write, but for a while I wondered if I would have to move out of Plum Street. Again, Carmen said it in a morning conversation, "There will be a place for you," with such confidence, like the eldest of three sisters that she is. When someone says it like that, you need to believe them.

A few other people I like were looking for roommates, but I hated the idea of moving all my things, which balloon up when I settle for more than a month, and I cherished a hope that there would be a person wanting to move here. I didn't have a second choice for a roommate, just the first choice, and she came to live here in January!

Change is always on the horizon. I want to at least believe the promise of a place for me, but I also want it to extend to you, and to people at their wit's end; to people returning from somewhere; to people estranged from loved ones. There will be a place for you. I pray it now, and proclaim it: there will be a place for you.

[Spoiler] God Healed My Back!

The Injury: I've had back issues since I came back from an intense, six-week mission trip with Teen Missions International the summer I turned 12. I started to go to a chiropractor that fall, and have had to return to chiropractic help almost yearly since then.

Knowing this about myself, I typically stay away from unnecessary pressure on my back, and I always practice proper lifting techniques. Until Wednesday last week. The Dorm Olympics were underway, and Lachelle was explaining how to do a piggyback race. But teenagers who speak English as a second language don't listen better than any other teenagers (who actually don't listen worse than adults, for the record, they just happen to be told what to do in groups more often... I digress), so Lachelle said, "Let me climb on your back, and we'll show them how to do the race!" I didn't hesitate. I didn't even put down my papers and markers. I did it all. I am so amazing. We showed those kids how to complete that race good! The Dorm Olympics went swimmingly.

The Pain: On Thursday morning, I woke up with incredible back pain. The muscles between my left shoulder blade and spine were all knotted up and having spasms. I couldn't breathe well. I wondered if I should go to the hospital, or call Leah (my chiropractor friend), but I had no time for that, because I had a prayer meeting from 8 - 10 that morning.

The Healing: I told my fellow prayers about my pain, and how distracted I was by it. They prayed for me, and immediately, the pain started to ebb away. The muscles were no longer having spasms, and I could turn my head to the left, which was causing shooting pain before. I had a bit of pain, but 90% of it went away right then and there.

The Aftermath: As I write this, I'm no longer astonished or even overjoyed, though I feel like I should be. I experienced a miracle! And it's difficult to describe because it was so simple. God did it. Things changed because He intervened! I've prayed for healing before, and not been healed, at least not how I expected. Then this happens, and it was all so simple. I didn't do it. It wasn't that I had more or less faith this time than before. I've prayed with more faith before. I don't know, folks. But God can heal, and we have to keep asking him. Praise God, okay? Praise Him because He CAN heal us, and because he DOES heal us.

The Horror/Honor of Needing People

After special needs week at my favorite summer camp, we were in the midst of group debriefing when someone began his story with something like: "Despite the fact that these people have been dealt a horrible hand, they are still cheerful..." I don't remember what else he said because I got all hung up on the word "horrible." What was so horrible about needing help with things? Even things like going to the bathroom. Or what was so horrible about smiling all the time? Or what was so horrible about occasionally bursting out in shouts or song? Or what was so horrible about pacing a lot, and needing to be calmed down by other people? These situations are not average, of course. But were they horrible?

We're afraid to need each other. We're afraid to have to bear ourselves in the most vulnerable way, like needing to be helped in the bathroom.

As we told stories at the end of the week, I know several of us were surprised that the sights and smells of the bathroom did not repulse us more. I know we were surprised that we felt incredible accomplishment, and incredible humility after helping to wipe another person. It's a matter for gratitude to the one in need that we were able to be so materially helpful, so intimately trusted.

Each of those most vulnerable people are able to bestow upon their helpers a valuable gift which cannot be repaid. Who is greater in the Kingdom? The person who has no choice but to be vulnerable (like widows and orphans in a patriarchal society, or the meek, poor in spirit, persecuted, Matthew 5), because God says he will personally plead their case, bless them, give them the earth for an inheritance; or the one helping the vulnerable person, like the good Samaritan, who fulfilled the requirements of the Kingdom by loving his neighbor as himself?

We have to become like little children, Jesus said, trusting implicitly. We have to acknowledge how we cannot help ourselves, and smile up at our Father, and say, "thank you for wiping me."

To be honest, just writing that makes me uncomfortable. But... vulnerable ≠ horrible, in fact, it may be the opposite in light of eternity.

Elyada: God Knows

On my way home after Christmas, I left my brother's house right before snow began. On the highway, heading south, I supposed I had missed the storm, and I began to praise God. I was so thankful: I hate driving in snow. In my heart, I felt a pressure, and wondered if I would still praise God if it were snowing hard, and the roads were bad. I told God, "Yes. I will praise You then, too!"

Lo, and behold: As my little green Chevy was speeding away down 322 South, just passing Newport, snow began to fall in more than a flurry, in a heavy nonchalance, oblivious to how dangerous it was making the roads. And I began to pray, and praise God for his faithfulness to me at all times, in all things, even if the worst would happen. (I have learned that all people are not as morbid as this. Snow on the road may not cause you to re-evaluate your life purpose, or get right with God. I, however, have never had any illusions of invincibility to which the young are reportedly so prone.) As I prayed and sang, my fear was occasionally uprooted by faith in God, who knows when I will die.

In church last week, I heard voices lifting up his name, voices coming from hearts that have been tested. They have lost children. Their hearts have been stomped in adulterous relationships and divorce. Their bodies have been wasted by diseases and injuries. They have lost jobs, some recently, and been unable to find more work. And they sang out this song:

O death! Where is your sting?
O hell! Where is your victory?
O church! Come stand in the light.
Our God is not dead! He's alive! He's alive!

It's hard to argue with people who know suffering and are still singing about God's love. One friend experienced the loss of his newborn. He said, in the midst of this song, "I can tell you, God is good."

It was a promise that in the worst times, at our weakest, in our fear, God knows.

(Song: Matt Maher. "Christ is Risen." Alive Again. Thankyou Music, 2009 (Admin. by EMI Christian Music Publishing))

Así Son las Cosas

Señor del universo,

Yo confío todo al cuidado tuyo. Si yo no te pueda confiar, ¿en quién puedo esperar? Ya me ha fallado mí misma. Fine. Take it all.

Voy a tomar el consejo que dí a una hermana esta semana: voy a contarte como me siento a tí. Si me siento que me has equivocado, y me debes a algo, voy a decirlo a tí. Pero, por ahora, sé que lo que me falta es la descansa. Aun todavía, mientras que yo no este bien, puedo descansarme en tus brazos.

Oh! the Places You'll Miss!

Is it a curse of getting older that you begin to miss people and places no matter where you are and how good a life you have? Does it keep piling up, the people and places you love and therefore miss?

Facebook has not been helpful here, really. I see my friend list, and think about Fairview Avenue Brethren in Christ, the first place where I felt as though God were my Father. I miss my mentors from there: I had six that I can count off, no problem.

And it was at FABIC that I learned the book of Hebrews as few have had the privilege of learning the book of Hebrews: forward and backward and forever.

And it was at FABIC where I made so many friends: irreplaceable, good people, who were too young to pretend to be something they weren't.

Let's face it, geography means an awful lot. You have to make local friends, though you keep less local ones forever.

My conclusion before I started was that missing people and places is not a curse at all, really. But an aching blessing.

Hebrews 10:39

"But we are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who believe and are saved."

So persevere. It's a matter of identity. We are the kind of people who believe and are saved. Just like runners first have to think of themselves as runners before completing a marathon, or an artist must call herself an artist before completing a masterpiece. We are perseverers. Holding out and fighting through is what we do.

Where I'm From

(This was an assignment based on the poem by George Ella Lyon: http://www.georgeellalyon.com/where.html )

I am from Waynesboro,
Pennsylvania,
the United States
of America,
the Central Mountains,
specifically the valleys.
I am rural
but not boots
raised on a farm.
Instead, sneakers
worn down from sidewalks.

I am from Nancy and Ralph,
Helen and David.
Babysitters who were family,
and family who were strangers.
From teachers and nurses

people trying to be faithful.
From church seats to pews to folding chairs--
One Jesus.

I am from early mornings and toaster breakfasts,
mashed potatoes and gravy, homemade chicken soup,
leftovers, and no recipes. Mismatched dishes, a
cluttered kitchen table, a TV on in another room.

I am from the cinema in winter, park in summer--
sunburns and freckles, chapped lips and runny noses--
snowfights and long walks to school with a delay.

I am from the sunset, quiet evening, iced tea,
prowling cat in the bushes of a fading day.
From the back porch overlooking a slanted field;
the field filled up,
now it's Crown Circle.

I am from tears and hope,
shouting and laughter,
trial and defense,
discord and peace.

Thoughts on Hospitality

Hospitality is so close to my heart that I hesitate to write about it publicly. I don't know when exactly I started thinking about it. But I have a feeling that it has been growing inside me ever since I was a child, always a guest in the home of a babysitter while mom was at work; always in someone else's house in the very midst of their lives.

I want to be as hospitable as possible. But, honestly, I have no idea what it means to be so. Todd says it's a matter of attitude--he feels comfortable when the host is happy. Lachelle says it's allowing people freedom--free cupboard access, freedom to go to sleep or wake up as they please. Bill says it's a matter of "food and drink, and plenty of it!"

I am beginning to believe that hospitality requires some self-discipline. It seems to be saying, 'I am giving what I have for your benefit, even that which is as close as the same food I eat and the same floor I walk on.' Welcoming someone into one's home is humbling: one does not keep one's guests company, they keep the host company--the guests are bestowing the honor upon the host. Pastor Josef did not know he was teaching me hospitality when he said that as a young man he made up his mind that no one should be lonely if he could help it. So long as he was in the room, he would find the lonely people. As he seeks them out, the once lonely person finds that he or she is received as an honored guest in his presence. What a gift to love people that much! It must be a discipline.

What's more, it is a sacred charge. A person is trusting a host with his or her own well-being for some duration of time. Naturally, when we take up such a responsibility, many blessings follow, regardless of the guest's state of gratitude.

This is a study which I am gladly undertaking. Though hospitality may not be in my nature, I hope to practice all my life, and to pray for it long enough that God must give ear.

Fiddler on the Roof

Don't ask me when I get time to watch whole movies. But this one deserves to be a priority. Here are the things I like about Tevye.

I love the way Tevye speaks with God right out loud, in conversation.

Upon hearing of their eviction, one man says they should fight back, "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth!" And Tevye, though he is a man of the Good Book responds with, "very good, then the whole world will be blind and toothless."

As the town reconciles itself to leaving Anatevka, a townsman says that the Jews have been uprooted many times in history. Tevye says, "perhaps that's why we always wear our hats!"

At the very final moment, the enigmatic fiddler follows Tevye and his wife and their two remaining daughters. Tevye stops, puzzled to find the fiddler still there amidst their muddy grief. Surely they carry all the heaviness, regret, and insecurity of any displaced people. The fiddler looks back, as if to ask permission to follow after them. And Tevye nods. He has not done with life yet. He will not give up. The fiddler may follow.

At the outset, Tevye tells us that their fragile lives are balanced on tradition just like the fiddler is balanced on the rooftop. But Tevye shows throughout the movie that his life is not just balanced on tradition. His life is also balanced with humor, love, patience, kindness, an appreciation for life (l'chaim!), and faith in God.

Thinking About Church Membership

I don't think I get it. Insofar as church must handle sums of money and decide what to do with it, I understand having official members. But what makes me a member? Is it attending a class and standing in front of a group and saying out loud that I am one of them? It seems to me the very moment someone quantifies this answer, the Holy Spirit has moved beyond it.

How do I recognize a church member? I want to equate "church member" exactly with "Christ-follower". Why would these ever be separated? I recognize Christ-followers most when they're interacting with one another, praying or singing or serving someone in need. I can recognize a Christ-follower when he/she is accountable to a group, under someone's authority, patient in affliction, joyful in hope... In order to be continuous and consistent in our lives, I think believers must live accountably as part of a church. I advocate that we continue to meet together, and all the more, as we see the Day approaching! But I am more than a little confused as to qualifications for church membership. What is more, official church membership seems superfluous after having been baptized into Christ's body.

I suspect that membership in a particular part of the body of Christ (a local church) is really recognizable by relationships. But I feel I am treading on ground too high for me when I think about the Church.

I asked my housemates about official church membership. Joella's response: "The devil is in the details."

Dear Literary Criticism Paper,

Right now you exist only in faith. But in a matter of four days, I will see you face-to-page. I await that glorious day with thoughts of uninterrupted slumber and an impatience with that part of my mind which is responsible for feeding ideas into a word processor. It is gone and is demanding a higher wage.

Your Expectant Slave,
Carolyn