There’s a pithy saying that I heard a lot growing up: “If you want to make God laugh, make plans.” It’s supposed to be a silly little proverb but it has started to take on an unkind edge in the past five years. Last September, my wife and I were in the process of buying a house, planning to make space for my parents to visit in early October. But then there was Helene, the house we were going to buy flooded, and we needed to focus on taking care of our neighbors. Prior to that, we had been planning to eventually move to Asheville in 2021, after I graduated from seminary. But then there was Covid and we needed to make an emergency move to Asheville to take care of family through the pandemic. In between there were elections and cancer diagnosis, and a thousand other crisis. And it makes me, a theist and a reluctant Christian, wonder about that glib little saying. I know that a loving God would never laugh at these tragedies, but does this saying actually speak to a deeper condition that I am feeling? There are times when it feels like the universe is out there ready to squash my plans as I make them, like a foot through a sand castle. As I look to this next October, I don’t want to take any trips and be away from those I love in case there’s another hurricane. Simultaneously, I want to get out of Dodge before Helene’s sister visits us. Maybe you are in the same boat where one crisis after another has started to wear down your ability to dream. And these are examples of recent collective tragedies, but any moment like this in a person’s life where they have to pause or cancel major life plans to address urgent needs can cause a similar effect. Psychologists would label this “anticipatory anxiety” but it feels much deeper than that. It’s most certainly related to PTSD and the effects of trauma, but the language used in trauma recovery doesn’t touch on this particular phenomenon, as far as I know. Francis Weller describes one of the Gates of Grief as “Grief for what we expected but did not receive,” so it’s probably grief too. I would label it an injury to our ability to hope. While knowing it and labeling it may be half the battle, there is still a question of how to heal this particular injury. My “hope” is that it is like physical therapy. We work on the movements we want to do, but just smaller, more carefully. My “hope” is that it is as simple as making little plans here and there, and seeing them to fruition through the power of our own will and joy. My “hope” is that God is seeing our dreams deferred and not laughing but doing the same work alongside us, always hoping for the best of what is possible. That’s my plan for my healing, at least for now.

Trevor Johnson

Connection Coordinator

As I prepared for my sabbatical adventures a few months ago, I shared that I was centering my Camino Portugues walk from Porto to Santiago de Compostela on the invitation by Francis Zanzaro in “Zen of the Wild” to focus not so much on what one can get out of the walk, but what a walk can get out of us. In the end, that became the focus of my sabbatical, not what I can get from the sabbatical –I tried not to create a “to-do list” of things to accomplish – but rather be open to what the walk and other activities- might get out of me. To practice letting-go. To be attentive to emerging thoughts and emotions, open to serendipity, open to what resonances might emerge from the new landscapes.

During these three months, many things emerged from my experiences. My overarching theme for journaling and reflection became “disconnect, reflect and reset.” I disconnected from work knowing that lay leaders, staff, Rev. Audette and I had thoroughly discussed how the Faith Formation and Justice Ministries were going to function in my absence. Thank you, team!
I am now ready to joyfully reengage with our liberatory faith and this community. Since my return, I have been reconnecting with lay leaders and staff catching up and planning for the new congregational year. I am grateful for all that has been accomplished in my absence.

It was difficult to completely disconnect from the news during my camino walk. Our European traveling companions often brought it up. TVs in small cafes and restaurants were unavoidable. Instead of trying to tune out, I listened, felt the feelings and affirmed to myself that I was taking a break from engagement to recharge my spirit for the work ahead when I returned. Later on, during our camping trip out west, I was truly able to disconnect, to immerse myself in nature, to appreciate the beauty and expansiveness of this country as we drove through diverse ecosystems, to enjoy new friends however briefly.  and an unexpected surprise, to learn the history of Indigenous Peoples of the southwest. 

One does not need to go far away to disconnect and recharge. Taking a 15-minute break, an hour, a half day when possible from one’s routines can be refreshing. Being mindful of how much time is spent consuming news can also be helpful. It is important to be informed and to create space for things that are uplifting and joyful. It allows us to be more present, resilient and intentional as we engage with one another in the many circles we are part of. I bought a postcard in a little café during my travels with this quote from Rebecca Solnit: “When you face a politics that aspires to make you fearful, alienated and isolated, joy is a fine act of insurrection.” I invite you to consider how you are making space for joy in these times.

A few of you have asked me about my sabbatical adventures. On August 20, from 6-7:15 PM I will host a potluck & slideshow in Sandburg Hall for those of you who would like to hear more. I will provide dessert: spicy carrot cake. Consider Joining in!

With gratitude & joyful anticipation for the new congregational year,

Rev. Claudia Jiménez
Minister of Faith Formation