On Eucharist

Perhaps this is a custom only shared by a distinct subset of Protestant churches, all of which happen to be the ones I have attended, but I am led to wonder: why is the Body of Christ always crusty, white bread? It is usually dry, and tough, and in most situations I cannot swallow it down until I have received the thimble-full of Blood to aid in this most difficult of sacraments.

Is it not traditional that the bread used in Passover — and thus the bread Jesus himself would've used — is unleavened? So why, when we Christians ignore this particular specification, do we content ourselves with the tedium of white, European-style crusty breads? Perhaps the Body is equally and appropriately represented by a rosemary-parmesan ciabatta loaf, or a corn tortilla, or (for those Southerners amongst my readers) a buttermilk biscuit. Surely the Son of God embodies all aspects of the human experience, and the bread chosen to represent his Body should have a more complex flavor profile.

I should perhaps not even mention the implication inherent in using white bread to represent the Body of God.

A project

The challenge: write a new hymn, set to a tune you already know. While this project is required for a class I'm currently in, I'm fairly excited about it. I own a copy of the United Methodist Hymnal, which was given to me for graduation several years ago, and I have been known to add in a verse of my own here and there, or make notes on why I really like this particular verse and not that one. (On a related side note: does anyone ever sing the second verse of How Great Thou Art? It's my favorite). But for each of these things that I have done, there is already a framework set out; I'm merely adding to an already beautifully-themed piece.

For this project, we are expected to write a hymn that fits a tune we already know, but about a theme that we don't normally sing about in church. As a writer, I find it difficult to write about things that I don't have experience with, and unfortunately, a lot of the themes suggested I just cannot talk about.

Here's to trying. Our professor suggested it might be a nice devotional for Lent, trying to write a new verse or hymn every week. I might have a go at it. Alas, to combat writer's block.

Theology of the Body

For we were all baptized by one Spirit into one body—whether Jews or Greeks, slave or free—and we were all given the one Spirit to drink...Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it.

-- 1 Cor 12:13,27

I take the title of this post from a series of lectures given by Pope John Paul II, exploring the theological implications of the human self. I have not yet gotten a chance to read this series of lectures (which have since been compiled into a book), though I look forward to the occasion. I am writing this post because a thought crossed my mind as I was at the gym this evening, after about 19 minutes of running, and though the thought is not completely developed, I felt it was important to share.

The gym fascinates me, because it is a room filled with people who are so focused on their workout that they do not seem to communicate with anyone around them. In fact, it seems to me that it is considered somewhat rude to look at other people while they are exercising, perhaps because of the delicate nature of exercise: most people exercise to improve their own bodies, due to the perception that one's own body is imperfect in some way.

I wonder about the negative reinforcement that is at work in the gym. I personally have struggled with workout routines in the past because of my self-consciousness. I am terrified that everyone is looking at me while I run on the elliptical or lift weights. I am prone to sweating profusely, and I am not in the best shape physically. This self-consciousness sharply contrasts with how I feel about my own body while I am exercising. The process of burning calories and working up a sweat improves my self-esteem like nothing else. Even though I often look terrible and feel sticky after a good workout, I feel at my best physically and mentally, like I could take on the world.

So what would it mean for me if someone else at the gym looked over and smiled? Would such an experience affirm my own self esteem and body image in a way that smiles in any other context do not? I am also a proponent of physical contact, usually in the form of hugs. What would it mean for me if someone hugged me while I was at my sweatiest, without seeming disgusted by it?

My question comes from the nature of the human body, as laid out by the Bible and Christian thought. There are two main ways to think of the human person. The first way considers the person to be made up of two completely separate parts: a holy, perfect, immortal soul, and a fleshly, imperfect, mortal body. The second manner of framing the person is to consider that the body and soul function as one unit, neither more perfect than the other. The first viewpoint implicates the fleshly body as something that is unholy and should be denied; the second viewpoint glorifies the fleshly body and celebrates it.

My own personal theology rejoices in the beauty of the human body, whatever form it comes in. I am ashamed of the self-consciousness I feel in my every day life. In what ways can I affirm the glory and sanctity of the body in my daily world?

Figs

I had a fig for the first time the other day. I was shopping a class called Family and Society in Ancient Israel, which is a subject I'm passionate about, and the teacher handed out dried figs for us to eat, hoping to get us into the mindset for considering everyday life in Ancient Israel. As it turns out, I didn't like the fig very much, although I'm sure that has everything to do with the fact that I don't like dried fruit generally. I'm hoping to get the chance to try a fresh fig someday. I've never been able to find one when I wanted it.

I ended up not registering for the class, not because I didn't like it, but because I can only take 4 classes at a time, not all 17 or so that I actually wanted to take. Picking classes for this semester was a challenge because most of the classes I really wanted to take were scheduled at the same time, or involved extra paperwork because they are downtown classes. And although the subject matter of this course is my passion, the class required more general knowledge of the historical context of the Bible than I currently possess. So instead, I switched to a Hebrew class on the book of Esther (I really wanted to title this entry with a pun about this being a new sem-Esther, but even I groaned at the terribleness of it, so I decided not to share). I think being in two separate Hebrew classes will be good for me, although it means I spend most of my time translating Hebrew -- again, probably good for me. And Tony, Jennifer, Brett and I are going to meet every Sunday night and work through the books of Samuel to improve our literacy/fluency.

My other two classes for the semester are probably going to be more relaxing. One is on sexuality, theology, and ethics, which I find to be a fascinating subject. The other class is a music class, focused on improving music comprehension for future pastors. I'm really looking forward to this class because I feel music is vital and perhaps one of the purest forms that worship can take.

Race and Religion

Indigenous peoples have the right to determine their own identity or membership in accordance with their customs and traditions. This does not impair the right of indigenous individuals to obtain citizenship of the States in which they live.

United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, Article 33, section 1

Three of the classes I am taking this semester reflect on racial identity, religious identity, or both, and how this concept of self shapes a person's interactions with the Other, those who define themselves as belonging to a separate racial or religious category. One of the topics that has come up most frequently is the definition or classification of these identity categories, and how these definitions come to be. Interestingly, the mutual conclusion reached is that there is no way to satisfactorily define religion or race inclusively, and that they are invariably defined by the Other. Some of my colleagues have even thrown out the idea that we should get rid of these words altogether, and try to find new ways of describing these personal identities, while one of my professors has already taken this step, prefering to refer to "lifeways" instead of "religions" or "traditions".

An article I read for my class in Race and Religion in American History (REL 705), entitled Race, Nation, and Religion in the Americas by Goldschmidt and McAlister, argues for the conflation of religious/racial identity, citing examples including the widespread prejudice following 9/11 against Arab-looking peoples, who were targeted for hate crimes based on the misconception that they were Muslim terrorists. According to the article, one's identity is composed of multiple aspects, including race, nation, religion, gender, sexual orientation, etc., which are not discrete. Nation may include race, race may include religion, and religion may include nation.

While the article did not address the formation of identity, I have extrapolated from my readings that there are two kinds of identity: internally-defined identity, and externally-defined identity. Internally-defined identity is how one defines oneself; externally-defined identity is how one is defined by others, normally through socio-historical processes. In most circumstances, externally-defined identity is the root of tension.

In 2007, the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples was adopted by General Assembly, and in Article 33, it gives indigenous peoples the right to identify themselves as indigenous. To me, this is momentous. Giving the people the right to identify themselves by their own standards, rather than standards laid out for them by a governing authority, may seem like a small step, but it is the first step on the road to relieving racial tension.

A Meditation on Names

ce-les-tial /səˈlɛs ʧəl/
adjective

1. pertaining to the sky or visible heaven;
2. pertaining to the spiritual or invisible heaven; heavenly; divine;
3. of or pertaining to celestial navigation;
4. (initial capital letter) of or pertaining to the former Chinese Empire or the Chinese people.

noun

1. an inhabitant of heaven;
2. (initial capital letter) a citizen of the Celestial Empire.

fig¹ /fɪɡ/
noun

1. any tree or shrub belonging to the genus Ficus, of the mulberry family, esp. a small tree, F. carica, native to southwestern Asia, bearing a turbinate or pear-shaped fruit that is eaten fresh, preserved, or dried;
2. the fruit of such a tree or shrub, or of any related species;
3. any of various plants having a fruit somewhat resembling this;
4. a contemptibly trifling or worthless amount; the least bit;
5. a gesture of contempt.

tree /tri/
noun

1. a plant having a permanently woody main stem or trunk, ordinarily growing to a considerable height, and usually developing branches at some distance from the ground;
2. any of various shrubs, bushes, and plants, as the banana, resembling a tree in form and size;
11. ...the cross on which Christ was crucified.

I am beginning a journey. It is one I have wanted to begin for many years now, and I have only just reached the point in my life where I feel capable of trying. The trail that I want to hike leads not to some blissful meadow, or stunning mountain peak; it leads instead to a friendship, a relationship, a communion. I have been called to know Christ.

I have been a Christian all my life, though I have never been particularly religious. Church was not a large part of my childhood. I came to know God in other ways, mostly through living in a beautifully isolated mountain region in the desert of West Texas. So to me, religion is a historical thing that I study, while God is something I experience.

Now that I have graduated from Rice University, I am pursuing a Master of Divinity degree at Yale Divinity School, where I have already experienced God in different ways. I never before understood the importance of being grounded in a Christian community, but now I have experienced it. There is nothing quite as remarkable as being able to study in a place where everyone around you seems to know God, even if they experience him in different ways.

So I have decided to (try to) keep this blog as a record of my personal growth through my years at YDS. And, being the person that I am, the name I chose for it was of the utmost importance. So here is a little bit of the thought process behind the name I chose:

While I was still in my mother's womb, my parents spent a very long time in the process of picking out names. They both had ideas for names they liked, which often conflicted. My mom liked long, flowery names, while my father liked simple, short names. Eventually they came to choose Katelyn. My middle name, on the other hand, was harder to pick, and they first encountered the name I was given while browsing a nursery, where they found a Celeste fig tree. They liked the name, and debated it for a little while. The fact that it was the same as my aunt's first name sealed the deal, and my name became Katelyn Celeste.

I have always loved that in some way, I was named after a tree, but I never really thought about the significance of the tree. The name Celeste, I have always known, meant "heavenly". But what I did not know was that figs were used as a symbol for peace and prosperity in the Bible (1 Kings 4:25; Micah 4:4; Zech. 3:10). Trees are symbolic as well: they represent growth, life, and more obscurely, rebirth, through the crucifixion of the Christ.

At heart, I am a tree-hugging, Christian girl, and I know that I am always striving to be better than I currently am. To me, the Celeste fig tree is a symbol of the kind of growth I am pursuing. My journey: peacefully heaven-bound.