by erinrobinsonhall@gmail.com | May 25, 2020 | Reflections, Resources, Uncategorized |
I love a good podcast. I’ve listened to them, hosted and produced them, critiqued them, used them for teaching, and listened with my children. Most of us have our favorites and we follow when new episodes will release. Why does this matter for the practice of ministry? Because we live in a time of digital connectivity. Digital connectivity, a term from digital theorist Douglas Rushkoff, refers to the ways in which internet resources and social media permeate both society and how persons relate to one another. It seems like connectivity would be such a needed thing in a time of social distancing. This may be one reason we love podcasts. But what does “community” mean in a society shaped by this kind of connectivity? When it comes to digital devices, the experience can be like what Rushkoff calls “digiphrenia.” The perceived necessity to keep pace with the onslaught of information available creates a “tension between the faux present of digital bombardment and the true now of a coherently living human.” If we didn’t believe this before #pandemicpastoring, we know it now. We are (faithfully and rightly!) distanced from in-person gatherings. We have Zoom Church, virtual gatherings and podcasts. These are a gift. And. Even as we are grateful for the opportunities that digital resources offer, we can name that technology can be exhausting. We can wonder which best practices will nourish and sustain a flourishing ministry. Digital connectivity is not an accessory to ministry but a thread that weaves throughout the lives of most congregants. Rushkoff suggests that the context of “present shock” in digital connectivity is incompatible with...
by erinrobinsonhall@gmail.com | Feb 12, 2020 | Reflections, Uncategorized |
My mama has always done this. Since we were little bitty things, she has given us treats to celebrate special days. This week is no different. I am a grown woman, with a family of my own. And a box full of Valentine surprises arrived on my doorstep this week. Now, we don’t do simple or understated in my family. Sometimes, I have wished we could. I have envied those straight-laced, buttoned-up families from time to time. But, since subtlety is NOT our spiritual gift, I have come to accept that all gifts from Mimi will be chock full of more extras and fancies and sparkles than any child needs. (Need is not really the point when it comes to celebrating, my mom will tell you) We are just EXTRA. It’s a whole thing. As I looked through the box, I was in awe of what I saw. Not the array of stickers and markers and stuff. I was in awe of the attention she paid to each person in our family. Little things that were selected or hand-made for each person, my husband included. I mentioned ONE time that I saw an ad for a Valentine mailbox, and wondered aloud if Mom could make something like that for the kids. She did. Just like that. For the child who loves art, there were new markers. For the Mama who sometimes needs little ones to have a quiet thing to do, there were mess-free coloring books. For each of us, there was something to make us smile. She has always loved us well in this way. My siblings...
by erinrobinsonhall@gmail.com | Jan 16, 2020 | Reflections, Uncategorized |
I had a whole plan to get through Christmas Eve unscathed. In a pastor’s family, Christmas Eve is often a last hurdle on the 100 yard dash of this liturgical season. We usually arrive at this high holy moment in our congregation after a feat of planning that feels more like an American Ninja Warrior sprint than a sacred practice. Add to that pace the fact that this year our family was different. Doubled in size, actually. We have welcomed new children from foster care, age seven and younger, into our family in recent months. Their curiosity and wonder at all things Churchy should have given me a clue that my plans for a *calm* moment of worship were just . . . laughable. But sometimes we miss the glaring clues. So, into worship we went. My plan was to slip in right after the service began, because our little ones tend to take in every sound and sight that most congregants take for granted and . . . ask about it, touch it, pick it up, jump on it, or point to it. For this particular, no-seat-left-in-the-house kind of service, I wanted to maintain some level of chill. Since I knew the liturgy by heart, we waited until the organ prelude had quieted and my Pastor/Husband Jake began the invocation. He bowed his head, and in we walked. Quiet reverence covered the whole sanctuary. And then. My three year old looked up and saw WHO was giving the prayer. Even though Jake did not look up. This sweet little boy pointed and exclaimed in a shout, “Daddy! That’s...
by erinrobinsonhall@gmail.com | Jun 9, 2019 | Reflections, Wonder |
This week, I got the high and holy privilege to volunteer with Camp Create in my church, our week-long summer children’s event. Our theme – Better Together – played out in five mornings of creating: cooking, science, music, drama, lettering and painting. This glorious week was chock full of giggles, bubbles, songs, squirt-gun painting, and exactly the amount of high energy you might think. I stayed caffeinated each morning. On the last day, our story was about Pentecost. Leading up to Pentecost Sunday, Associate Pastor Ruth did a beautiful job inviting the children to wonder about the “birthday of the Church.” Then, she gave each child a red ribbon to hold as they fashioned a prayer of thankfulness or concern. As they tied the ribbons together, they could choose to say their prayer aloud or keep it a silent prayer. The heap of loud, energetic children became silent as they took their task very seriously. Ruth let each child have a turn to tie their red ribbons to hers. I added my silent prayers to theirs. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done. My prayers are tied up with yours. My prayers are tied up with women and men around the world who offer prayers for peace. for their families to be well. for a job where they can thrive. for their loneliness to ease. for community. for the safety of their sons and daughters. for strength to face this day. for a place at the table. We are praying. I’m thinking, today, of this thought from NT Wright about Pentecost and prayer: “Thy kingdom come, he taught...
by erinrobinsonhall@gmail.com | Apr 20, 2019 | Prayers, Reflections |
At dinner with friends the other night I got to explain one of my very favorite Easter traditions: flowering the cross. It’s a true Easter moment for me. Some people say Easter happens when they sing at a sunrise service or say Hallelujah. For me, it’s when a chicken wire cross fills with flowers. Probably because it’s so communal and sensory and all those other churchy words. And I just love that there is no way to pattern out what this display will look like. Everyone is told to bring their own flower, so you may have huge daffodils or store-bought roses or scrawny looking “daisies” that we all know are weeds. You can try to have some easy carnations there for people who forgot their own, but like the Church itself there will always be one obnoxious, mis-matched blossom shoved in there. That’s what makes it beautiful. One year there was a gigantic, stubborn tulip. It was shoved onto the cross by a frustrated, heartsick woman. It slowly became surrounded by wildflowers and lilies, the whole thing processed into the sanctuary during a choir anthem that sounded like the skies opened to heaven. But it didn’t start out that way. That tulip showed up on that flower cross because I showed up at church at 6:00 am that morning. Our family had been in a season of struggle: everyday frustrations, tough moments of ministry. And infertility grief. But life doesn’t stop for liturgical seasons, and Easter did not go easy on us that year. It hurt. My husband and I had welcomed a rainy Good Friday that seemed...
by erinrobinsonhall@gmail.com | Apr 19, 2019 | Prayers, Reflections |
Today is Good Friday. I’m remembering a Friday a few years ago. My husband and I learned some heartbreaking news that a friend, a young woman, had reached the end of her life. Her three children gathered for goodbyes and last moments. Everyone wept. A few hours later, we also learned that our friends had welcomed a baby girl into the world. Death and also life, in that one day. I wrote a letter to this precious baby girl as a gift for her to keep, as her birth story begins on Good Friday. Today, I am remembering this letter as I worry for friends who received a frightening diagnosis, and pray for another friend who weeps for her lost loved one. I believe my friend Elizabeth, who reminds us, “We cannot get to Easter without Good Friday.” I am ready to get to Easter. But we can pause at Good Friday first. “Letter to a Baby Girl Born on Good Friday” Dear one, We have waited for you, hoped for you. Your mama, daddy, grandparents, cousins, family, and friends can’t wait to see you and say that because you are here, this is surely a good day We woke up this morning glad that we can mark this day as the one that brought more joy into the world. We know how we have done Good Friday in the past, remembering the darkness, remembering the words that we have chiseled down to neat phrases we can handle: I thirst. My God. It is finished. But it isn’t. Not for you, beautiful girl. It is just beginning. And...
