This week I made my first trip to the Caux Palace in Switzerland, to discover the work of Initiatives of Change and, if I'm honest, take a break and sort out a growing restlessness in my heart.
Eighteen months ago, I experienced the first of a series of 'coincidences' that led me to discover the work of Lutheran Pastor Frank Buchman, at the end of WWII. His work in building peace and reconciliation after the War sparked a movement that is now connecting people from around the world; people seeking to build peace where violent extremism lays threat and where dishonesty in the economy is feeding social inequity.
So, what happens when you spend a week at the Caux Palace?
It was a week of holy moments ...
I ate at table with four of the most impressive women I have ever met, who are working to enable women in India and Pakistan to develop their own businesses, open savings accounts and develop financial independence. I felt small in their presence, in a completely good way.
I sat at the feet of the amazing Mohamed Abu-Nimer, Professor of the International Peace and Conflict Resolution program at the American University in Washington DC. I inwardly cheered as he exposed the absence of theological literacy in western civilisation and mocked governmental attempts to 'tick the box' on inter-faith dialogue, by "putting a bloke called John and a bloke called Achmed on a committee, and then asking them not to talk too much about their religious beliefs." When will we realise that 'keeping religion out of it', isn't actually going to work, and that merely taking photos of people from different faith backgrounds standing in the same room, isn't going to prevent religious violence?
Doing theology is part of the answer.
I met a man from Zimbabwe who had lost his sight as the result of a terrorist attack. He 'looked' at me ... I mean, really looked at me, and said, "I praise God every day for the gift of losing my sight. This is a gift because, as we sit here, I don't see what you look like, I don't see the colour of your skin, or your eyes. I don't see your clothes. All I see, is the essence of who you are. Imagine if we all, could see each other like this, all of the time? This is a gift from God, because now I get to really see you."
I held the hand of one African sister, as the burden of generational pain manifested in her tears. She spoke of the battle that women in her community face to complete an education. She told me it is still common for girls to be forced into marriage at ages 12 and 13, and as she spoke, my heart sank at the thought that for so many women, marriage, which is meant to be a sacred partnership, has been twisted into yoke of slavery.
I woke in the early hours of the morning and stepped onto my balcony, which overlooked the Swiss and the French mountains surrounding Lake Geneva. Night lights lit the local villages. The air was warm and the sky seemed deeper and wider than I've ever seen before, as though it were raining glitter from every angle, and I realised that God had created this moment for me to retreat from the front-line and be romanced again. I told Him over and over how much I love Him and delighted in the way He is both extremely demanding and rediculously, extravagantly kind.
I laughed my pants off with my new mate Abby, from The Netherlands, when I smuggled coffee-making facilities into our rooms, after we discovered our shared concern that hot drinks were not available first thing in the morning. Since there was also no alcohol at the Palace, we also made it our business to source a local bar. We hope to re-group at Caux next year! Conversation with Abby was intelligent, fun and had a hint of rebellion that we mutually valued.
I was blessed to be a part of one man's journey to discerning a vocation to become a Pastor. We ate dinner on the grass, overlooking the evening sunset and talked about his experience of the Church in Nigeria; the corruption of many Church leaders who are making money out of tithes and instilling hatred in their congregations, towards their Muslim neighbours. We spoke of Jesus' warning that many who claim to be His representatives will one day be met with the words, "I don't know you" (Luke 13.27), and of the Apostle Paul's leadership, which boasted in weakness and not in the things that impress the world (2 Corinthians 11.30).
Eventually, I was able to say to him, "You know, you could be the kind of Pastor the Church needs. Maybe instead of only naming the problem, be a part of the solution? I see a calling on your life my friend." He became serious and went silent. Then he told me that he had felt it for awhile, but that he had been afraid to face it. I said, 'Well, we're all afraid. Feel the fear and do it anyway? Just be real with people! Let them see your weaknesses and imperfections and then they will trust you." He said, "Are you kidding?" I said, "Well, it's what my husband and I do, and people love that we are real with them and then they see the power of God in our lives even more and they know we're not faking it. You don't need to be perfect to be a Pastor, just be willing to let God use you."
I hit it off, big time, with a Muslim Sheikh, who works in deradicalisation programs in Islamic communities. In fact, I can't remember when I last had so much fun discussing theology. We quickly developed an openness to ask each other serious and even personal questions, which covered a host of theological issues, ranging from the role of restitution in achieving reconciliation, to the purpose of marriage, contraception and the nature of relationships between religious leaders and their congregations. We shared a heart to bring theological literacy into secular conversations. It was funny when he teased me for not eating all the vegetables on my plate. I told him, I do eat vegetables, I just have difficult childhood memories associated with brussel sprouts.
I prayed with a couple who had recently become engaged, for God's blessing over their household and future children.
I sat up all night with my not religious, but spiritual and insightful roommate, sharing our life stories and discussing the nature of love and the ultimate meaning of life.
One evening, I went for a long walk, talking to God about everything and anything, but mostly about the creeping restlessness in my spirit. We had some business to settle. Eventually, after I had said everything I needed to say, I gave Him a chance to speak.
I wanted a strategy, a road map, a plan for my next move ... but as so often happens, instead, He exposed a road block that needed to be removed from my heart before any next steps could even be conceived. He reminded me that He has made me a priest in His Church. As He did, all of my flickers of doubt began to surface: doubts that still want to reduce this calling, rename it, reframe it, as I still wait on man's validation or permission, distract myself with other tasks, shadow behind someone else's calling, shame my own ability and demonise the personality that God has given me, which is ... powerful. 'That's not what godly women are like', says my road block.
What yoke of slavery is this? Still?
"You are a priest, Heather."
But I went to bed that night without being 100% convinced. That's not God. That's just my weird head being weird.
The next day I was sitting in a group session with my new Nigerian friend who is, maybe, going to become a Pastor. He began to speak to each of us in the group and when he came to me he paused, looked me in the eyes and said, "You are a priest", and moved on.
And for a second, I glimpsed the eyes of Jesus.
That same day, my next steps started to become crystal clear and the restlessness subsided.
