Taylor Swift: The Next Great Theologian?

At the Taylor Swift "Red" Tour. 

Anyone who knows me in real life knows that I love Taylor Swift.  Like, a lot.  And most of you also know that I love Theology.

Today I am happy to bring these two world together.  Over at Millennial Journal, I take on the issue of Taylor Swift and liturgical theology in my essay Taylor Swift: The Next Great Theologian?  Check it out.

Struggles with Solidarity

Solidarity.
It is a tenet of Catholic Social Teaching that calls us to be connected to people throughout the world, especially those suffering.

For me, there are few words more powerful, yet also few words more cliché.

When I was in college, we threw around this word for everything. If I’m being honest, I’ll admit that when we wanted to make something sound good, we just threw in the word “solidarity” and knew that the inclusion of this buzzword would get us whatever we wanted- whether it was funding for a spring break trip or approval for any number of activities.

In Paul’s Letter to the Colossians, I am struck by his description of community, for it is really a description of solidarity. Listen to this:

For I want you to know how great a struggle I am having for you
and for those in Laodicea
and all who have not seen me face to face,
that their hearts may be encouraged
as they are brought together in love,

I mean, it is practically a definition of solidarity.

When I hear this passage, immediately a question comes to my mind,

“Am I struggling for anyone who I have not seen face to face?”
or, asked in another way,
“Am I in solidarity with anyone?”

And the answer to this is hard for me to admit:
If I’m being generous, then I’ll respond “not as much as I should.”
But if I’m being honest, the actual answer is “no”

And here’s how I know at my core, that the actual answer is no:
Immediately, as soon as I ask myself “am I in solidarity with anyone,” people jump to my mind, people who I know God is calling me to be in solidarity with. I know this is from God, because it is so close to my heart. I don’t even have to search my mind for it: as soon as I ask myself this question, the people of Syria are on my heart and mind.

Life has been crazy for me recently. The months of August and September in Student Affairs are so busy that it's hard to keep up with daily activities, let alone look at big world issues.

But this busy lifestyle, well, it’s only an excuse for not living a life of solidarity. We put our time to what we value, and I have not prioritized solidarity as something worthy of my time or energy.

So, why am I making this public confession?
It’s not because I want to feel sorry for myself, or beat myself up
Rather, I’m going out on a limb and thinking that some of you might struggle with this too.

Balancing all of the demands that come with life in a college is difficult as it is. Opening up the question of solidarity can be overwhelming. I mean, there are so many issues in the world, so many people suffering, how do we even begin to care for others? It seems impossible, right?

But, here’s what I know:
God does not call us to do everything.
That does not mean that we are off the hook.
God calls us to do something, and to do that well.

And here’s where solidarity comes in:
God calls us to do this with one another, but also importantly, for one another.

Solidarity is realizing that my struggles are not the only struggles in the world.
It is recognizing that there is a connection between myself and people in Syria who I have never met and likely will never meet.

And this connection is God.

Our call in this is to listen to God in our lives:
Where is God calling you?
With whom is God calling you?
For whom is God calling you?

While I cannot say for certain what God is calling you to do, there are two things of which I am sure
1) God is in fact working in your life
2) This call is communal, that is, God is calling you through other people and FOR other people

This call to solidarity does not mean that I need to quit my job and move to Syria. In fact, that’s probably a bad idea all around.

But here’s what it does mean:
I need to listen to God in my life
I need to respond to God in my life
I need to be aware of the struggles of others and ensure that they are not alone.
And finally, I need to act.

And that is the beauty of our God:
Through Jesus, we are united with others.
Through prayer, we ensure this community.
Just as Paul was joined with others in the early days of our Church, here we are, 2000 years later, called to do the same.

My prayer for all of us is that we can form a community, a local community, wherever you are, that is in solidarity with those throughout the world. And as we do this, may we avoid the trite meaning of the word, but instead focus on the call from Paul to the Colossians:
How can we be with those struggling throughout the world?

While I may not be certain of the answer, I am certain that God is calling us to be with one another- in solidarity.

This reflection is adapted from a Gospel Reflection delivered on September 9, 2013 at Lucernarium night prayer on Col 1:24-2:3

Liturgy on Fire- Literally

Earlier this week, I preached at Lucernarium*, a night prayer liturgy.  Joining this liturgy in this capacity is always an honor.  The liturgy is planned by students, yet it is also led by students in the role of the presider and cantor.

This particular service was one that by all external measures went awry, but from my perspective, was pretty incredible.

For starters, I was
incredibly frazzled.  To say that my day was crazy was a huge understatement.  Easily one of my Top 10 hardest days ever.  I arrived much later than I would have liked, and definitely not in the mindset that I would like.

Still, we began the liturgy with a sense of peace.  The cantor, presider and myself lit our candles and began the prayer service.  In the middle of the responsorial psalm, I smelt burning.  A lot of burning.  Not just a little spark, but something was on fire.  I looked next to me and the paper wax catcher was on fire.  Not just a little fire, but really, the whole thing was consumed.

As my liturgy training has engrained in me, we addressed the issue (my pet peeve is when people pretend something didn't happen, when it obviously did), the Rector assisted by grabbing the candle and taking it to the sacristy.  I tried to step on the smoldering paper on the floor of the chapel, praying that my TOMS did not catch fire as well.  We appeared to be in the clear.

Then the lector got up to read the first reading, on which I had prepared my sermon: Isaiah 7. This was the Solemnity of the Annunciation and I was ready to relate Isaiah, Mary and the students' lives.  Only the lector did not read this reading (it was set to the daily reading, not the Solemnity).  My internal monologue went something like this:

Um, this is the Acts of the Apostles, not Isaiah.  My entire reflection is on Isaiah.  ENTIRE.  It's ok, I'll just preach on the Acts instead.  But I don't know what this reading is about.  I need to listen.  OH NO. I keep freaking out instead of listening.  Listen, Annie, listen.  AHHHH.  THE READING IS OVER.  I'm up NOW.

So, for the first time in my life, I preached off-script.

I am typically quite attached to my paper when I preach.  I tend to be an external processor, which is not a good trait of a preacher, so I tend to stick to the script pretty strictly.  But here, I had no choice.  And honestly (and to no surprise to other preachers out there), I think what I said was much more suited to the community than my prepared remarks.  It was truly a sense of the Holy Spirit guiding me.

From an outsiders point of view, this liturgy was probably a bit of a mess.  But from the inside, it was an incredible experience of people gathering together, somewhat clumsily, to worship God together.  And isn't that what liturgy is all about?  The work of the people, when done authentically, has an inherent element of clumsiness.  We didn't let the desire for perfection overpower what we were there for: praising God as a community.

*If you want a sense of Lucernarium, I recommend this video of Luce at Moreau Seminary.