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A liturgy for transitions in the staying. Father, they say that change is the only constant. Maybe this saying is meant to provide me with comfort, yet I am not consoled. One more year ends, another season of life comes to a close, and more major shifts ensue. But because you, O Eternam One, are the same yesterday, today, and forever, I will not fret the transitions in life; I will proclaim that You alone are the only constant, and that knowledge carries much joy and assurance for the road ahead. However, sometimes I am weak. I am not sure I can bear another move, a new team, a change in role. My self-defined search for permanence and stability always seems to escape. Another term ends, goodbyes are said, tears are shed, all while preparing for the newness to come. I should always be joyous at the new ways you are using my skills and gifts to bless others, and thankful for the ways new people and circumstances are being used to form and shape me more into the image of your Son, but I admit that at times I am anxious about the unknown. I confess that this is one area of imitating your Son in which I am unlearned. I look for a home on earth; he had no place to lay His head. I lay out disturbance-free plans; he saw the opportunities in the interruptions. I seek to keep my friends close; he blessed His friends to go and tell. Teach me Your ways, O Master, for You are in the changes before me. Thank you for delighting in using me, your servant, as you deem best. You are my Rock and the Overarching Constant that sustains me in the transitions. What joy it is to follow Your leading because that is where goodness awaits me! You are good and You never change; You will be good in this next season. You are kind and You never change; You will be kind to me in this next season. You are faithful and You never change; You will be faithful to me in this next season. I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but I know You hold tomorrow. Amen Written by Michael

A liturgy for transitions in the leaving . I glance up   I don’t want to think about what’s to come.   I'm too busy. There are too many things on my list.  Last meals,  last hangouts,  giving final exams,  grading, packing and shipping,  squeezing in one last trip and   deciding who to see and when;  interviews for new positions,  goodbyes to be said,  notes to be written and the list goes on. Maybe I can process next week, next month, next semester  oh wait nevermind   Again, I glance up   Where are you? What's going on? I mean I know the logistics, but how did we get here? Ok, I know that too and yet why does it often feel like I am constantly losing  someone or something,  a teammate,  a neighbor,  a student,  a colleague,  a close friend,   a family member It’s exhausting this loss, I feel  Exhausted. In my bones, in my marrow, in my Heart… sometimes it feels like it may turn inside out. Maybe it has, is it still there? It must be. It’s hurting.   Father? What are you doing? You must be doing something, right?  Aslan’s always on the move  So again I lay down these years, memories and special ones, trusting that every cup of  tea or coffee,  every spicy hotpot,  every walk around campus, every hand of Uno,  every English Corner,  every cafeteria meal,  every bike ride,  every bowl of noodles and dumplings,  every KTV song,  every hour studying language,  every story heard and shared,  every tear shed and hand held,  and every laugh experienced  served and is still  serving Your purpose. Future memories will also serve Your purpose.  It’s hard to walk in this ‘new’ way, back towards a country I haven’t known in years and away from the people you have taught me how to love.  I look up   You say you are with me, that I am not alone.  You've said when I experience this specific valley that you'll bring me comfort.  This was and is still  Your promise.  You’ve kept it before, and I’m holding you to it again.  Thank you, for that bittersweet reminder. I never would’ve thought the memory of a past pain could become a potent salve.   Please do it again. Don't allow me to focus on me, become distracted or wallow in anything other than you. Create a desire for you in me again and again.    Looking up smiling , I'm reminded of your faithfulness. Even as I cry, sometimes without tears, I'm looking for you. As I saw you before, help me to see you again.    Amen

A liturgy for counting the cost. Father, When I left my passport country I thought I had considered something of the cost of being thousands of miles from my family, of living in a different culture and environment, of facing opposition for my values, of the resources needed to facilitate my transition to the other side of the globe. But, when I hear my family member ask,  “Are you done with living over there, yet?” and she sends the classified Ads for jobs in their area, or a leader wonders why I'm teaching there  when 'we have so many needs here,' the cost of serving overseas cuts a little closer to the bone, and home,   than when I somewhat naively, zealously, said, “Sure, send me!” Your name is at stake. But my heart does ache. Over two decades into it,  I don’t want to  be someone who started to build, and didn’t finish well. I see this stark reminder in a few construction sites here,  some shells left empty  and incomplete--  useless towers left bankrupt. Your name is at stake. But my heart does ache. I confess my understanding of the cost was limited By my naiveté, time, excitement, pride,    my “self.”  Please give me the vision and willingness  to die to self, as I follow,  despite the unknowns of ailing parents,  or missing my loved one’s lead role in her high school play, or hearing my relative’s realization  that I wasn’t there for that special Christmas memory,  or having hometown relationships somewhat cool  from the distance of years  living apart.  Your name is at stake. But my heart does ache. Remind me that you experienced thirty-three years of it. The distance traveled and cost  of that trip  can’t be compared-- all that You bore for me,  including a heart aching for time with your Father,  yet You finished it, completely. So, help homesickness to push me closer  to my true Home,  to deeper love for You,  for those in my classroom,  and for those still in my hometown. Please continue to grant me the desire to bring more Home with me. I confess I need a touch to persevere and finish many todays well. Thanks for enduring for the joy set before You. Thanks for the cloud cheering us on.  Your name is at stake. So you have born the ache. Thanks for completing the work  In me.

A liturgy for those who send us off. Will You pour out blessings  on those who give up  family or friend for Harvest’s sake? When they send us across an ocean, around the globe, or a world away, may our empty place in their lives  be filled with Presence. Color in their loneliness  with people who give  and receive. When they send us across a border and into unknown situations, may they work out their worries on their knees with thanksgiving. When news of disease or disaster comes from afar, calm their unsettled hearts and fill them with inexplicable peace, the special kind found only in You. When they receive good news  from this distant land, about light and love, about Your strength perfected in our weakness, may their spirits be moved  to bow in surrender with great rejoicing. When they manage our left behind possessions, money, people, pets and plants, may their minds be wise, their energy full, and their patience unending. May this participation in Harvest bring them purpose. When they are broken in body, mind, or spirit… You were pierced,  beaten,  crushed so that they could be whole. Will You pour out blessings  on those who give up  family or friend for Harvest’s sake? May they receive in return one hundred times what they lose. An extra measure of goodness,  full and running over in this life and countless treasures for the one to come. Amen.

A liturgy for sudden loss of life. Today my heart aches, and I choose Your joy. Today my heart wants to pull away, and I choose to lean in. I heard the news, and my world stopped. My student. Gone. It’s not supposed to be this way. Perhaps I could have said more. Did I even know her need?  So many faces in front of me, so many needs. How did I miss hers? I bring this deep ache to You. I bring the what ifs and the regrets.  As much as my heart aches, I know Yours aches more. Your love is deeper than mine could ever be. It was never meant to be this way. I thank You that You never meant for this to happen. You desire all to live in the light, and death wasn’t in the original plan. Thank You for your patience and graciousness. Thank You for more time. Thank You that I have history with You. Though death and darkness do not come from You, You often use even the deepest of tragedies to create the most breathtaking works of art.  Loneliness. Pain. Hopelessness. Death. They were never meant to be. It’s true. It was never meant to be this way. I thank You that it was never meant to be this way. Thank you for not giving up on us when we gave up on You. Thank You that there is hope when all seems lost.  Moving forward, may this tragedy for one bring life to many. May those who grieve be met with true comfort. May futility be met with hope. May loneliness be met with the truest of friendships. Give Your eyes to see what’s underneath the surface, to see the struggling and the forgotten. It was never meant to be this way, and You know. You see, and You love.  It was never meant to be this way, and one day, it won’t be.

A liturgy for hosting an English Corner. You are the One who made me in Your image, who knows all about me, and who invites me to come. Remind me of this as I head to English Corner. Let me be a small reflection of You. Help me to see all who come through Your eyes, as those who are made in Your image, and as precious to You. Remind me that this is not about me and it’s not about the number who come. Whether one person comes or many, may each one feel seen, known, loved, and welcomed. May this gathering be a place where conversation flows freely. Give those who are reluctant or shy the courage to speak. Give those who would dominate the willingness to hold back to give others a chance. May our time together be filled with both laughter and deep conversation. Use this time to give me insight into the lives of my students and friends - into the things that bring them joy, into their challenges, into their heartaches, into the daily routines of their lives, and into the things that keep them up at night. Help me to be curious, to ask good questions, and to listen well. Give me opportunities to offer a cup of cold water in Your name through an act of kindness or a word of encouragement. If I get asked (for what seems like the hundredth time) whether I can use chopsticks, let me answer with patience - grateful that they are curious, making an effort, and seeking to communicate. May each interaction no matter how trivial or how significant be forming a foundation of relationship and caring and trust. When we say goodnight, and I lock the door and head home, remind me once again to lift these precious ones made in Your image before You, asking that they too one day would hear the invitation and come.

A liturgy for personal health. Chronic conditions now mark my body and others mark those I serve alongside. For all of us, our bodies exist under the canopy of pollution. It afflicts our daily well-being and changes the life of some beyond the point of repair, even causing pilgrims to end their journeys early. We sigh a sigh of compassion for those of this country whose lungs know no different. May it not be so when the skies are rolled back, the canopy is lifted, and all is made new. And may the broken body serve as a reminder of the body broken. For us. For them. For some of us, it is an allergy that keeps us from ever tasting the local traditional foods of the culture we now call home—the handmade noodles from the road-side stand near our apartment or the freshly-made steamed buns from our student’s grandmother. Recounting the narrative to every wondering friend, student, or waitstaff wearies the soul like the broken faucet that just won't stop its drip drip dripping. May it not be so at the marriage feast where no burden limits and the narrative is one of healing. And may the broken body serve as a reminder of the body broken. For us. For them. For some of us, it is chronic pain, hidden from the view of others but constantly sapping the body of energy and fortitude—at times preventing participation with others in life-giving connection. Though the pain may be hidden, may the truth that not one is hidden from Your sight ring out. And may the broken body serve as a reminder of the body broken. For us. For them.    For some of us, it is the daily struggle of mental health often stigmatized, forgotten, overlooked, and misunderstood. May the reality of the Maker's complete acceptance and fullness of understanding be the message that quiets hearts and minds. And may the broken body serve as a reminder of the body broken. For us. For them.    We participate with You in Your suffering, communing with You in our own. We do this to remember The One who makes us whole. Like Your scars, may these transient realities all serve as a sobering reminder of the sting of death, the brokenness of this world, and the ephemeral nature of the body. Yet, just as Your scars, may they, too, remind us of abundant life and a new body--whole, free of pain and sickness, void of tears, marked by glory. For us. For them. Amen.     —Jean Morton

A liturgy for numbering my days. Would You teach me to number my days? They are days and times that You have ordained. Days mixed with work, rest and play. Would You teach me to number my days? Teach me to turn to You throughout the day. Inviting You into the rhythms that You’ve placed on my heart this term: Go to bed earlier.  Eat more of this, less of that.  Meet with so and so on this day Study language at this time Nap along with my students and co-workers in the afternoon,  because I actually need to rest, too. Remind me that these rhythms are not to box me in.  Instead, they help me to be a better steward of the days I’ve been allotted.   Would You teach me to number my days? Whether I rise up early to meet with You, go for a run and feel Your pleasure,  or linger with You in the night. In You I live and move and have my being. Would You teach me to number my days? Show me how to steward the gifts and resources You’ve given me. Directing me to those who need a listening ear, or working with a student or colleague who asked for my help. One who has prepared good works for me to do,  I look to You to confirm the work of my hands. Would You teach me to number my days? Teach me to abide with You this semester, Whether I’m working, resting, learning language, or doing mundane tasks, You tend my days. May I be humble when I’m consistent in these things,  and restored by Your daily grace when I’m not.   One who holds all things together,  Please teach me to number my days so that I may gain a heart of wisdom. Amen.

A liturgy for making language flubs. O, Maker who spoke the universe into being;  to the One who healed with a word; whose speech stirred hearts to wonder anew;  who celebrates in song:  We come.  We come bringing our past language learning;  we come bringing our fears of messing up;  we come bringing our hesitation and our nerves;  we come bringing our focus on ourselves:  We receive.   We receive Your grace for our mistakes;  we receive Your humor when we have none;  we receive Your focus on the other;  we receive Your gift of trying again:  We give.   We give up our pride for the humility of a learner;  we give the gift of shouldering the burden of understanding;  we give our words and ideas, our thoughts and ideals;  we give grace to all, including ourselves:   We learn.  We learn that all is not lost when misunderstandings come;  we learn that we can laugh, with others too;  we learn that the flubs create some of the best opportunities for learning to root deep; we learn that broken speech doesn’t sum up a person’s worth:  We rejoice.   Rejoice in the learning;  rejoice in the giving;  rejoice in the growth;  rejoice in the journey.   O, Maker  who spoke the universe into being:  speak knowledge and understanding into being for us.   To the One who healed with a word:  heal our wounds, our pride, our embarrassment.   To the One whose speech stirred hearts to wonder anew:  stir our hearts to wonder too.   To the One who celebrates in song:  may we join the nations to sing along with You.  We will try again.

A liturgy for pursuing peace. I’ve read books about this people. I’ve studied some of their language, and I have close friends among them. Yet, I am confused, again. How did I misinterpret this situation? What am I missing? Now, they’re offended, and I am too. Their silence or bluntness reveals the fracture. Wonderful Counselor, how I need your mediation. Intervene where experience, language, and cross-cultural knowledge fail. Reconciler, restore what has been disrupted in this relationship with my student, co-worker, or _____________. I confess my part in this breakdown of communication, and acknowledge that I still have much to learn about this place and these dear people. Make me a learner. Someone who is ready to follow the lead of others instead of presenting my ways as best. One who came not to be served, but to serve: Show me how to lovingly serve this person before me, even in my woundedness and confusion. May my response in this offense demonstrate Your love and longing to fix what is broken, for I don’t want my actions to be a resounding gong or clanging cymbal that does not fulfill Your will. Quiet me. Help me to be quick to listen and slow to speak, to be angry, or to defend my perspective. As much as it depends on me, may I seek to be at peace with the image bearer before me. Grant me Your wisdom to know how to pursue peace with them, in this culture, where I am a guest. I yield. Spirit of Truth, reveal the heart of this conflict and dismantle the schemes that are at work behind the scenes, for we do not wrestle with flesh and blood. Abba, You forgive my many failings and have lavished your unmerited grace on me. In Your strength I too forgive, and entrust this situation to You.

A liturgy for giving exams. Father, today I come to You as I prepare to assess my students in their final exam. As I plan, may your hands guide mine typing up instructions and study guides. Show me how to examine them with care and concern for their English abilities and for their futures. Thank You for bringing us to the end of this long semester. I am worn out from early morning classes and grading assignments. The rapid darkness of winter seems to make work harder some days. As I think of these things, may You kindly point my eyes towards the many provisions and graces You’ve given all the way through the finish of this course. I see that my students are tired too - from the long hours of studying in the library, and the stress of managing multiple exams in one compressed period of time. When I get frustrated at the systems, stresses, and pressures they’re captive to, may You remind me of the deepest gifts of love, peace, and freedom. When I see their fatigue from studying and their anxiety over the outcome of this exam, may you allow me to extend peace through a smile or an encouragement. Teach me how to praise not just their academic abilities, but their perseverance and dedication too. Remind me that my weariness is seen and known. Remind me that my students’ weariness is seen and known. And remind me that the One who provides everything we need in every moment is able to provide peace in this exam season.

A liturgy for grading students' work. Learning about my students. Commending knowledge to them. Offering an apt response or timely word. Do I view grading in this light? “Grading papers again!” I confess that this is often my thought. When I see this pile of papers and work in front of me, I groan. I’m tempted to sit down and with a resigned determination work through it one by one. Instead, help me to think about what I might learn about my students, where I might commend knowledge, how I might offer an apt reply to each student. I confess I care more about my own time than taking time to help others. Forgive me for rushing through the work. (Add your own words of confession here) Thank You for helping me view grading differently - as a way to help writers learn to write better sentences and essays; readers learn to comprehend words and deeper meaning; and listeners and speakers learn to use skills and strategies in order to communicate. Thank You for allowing me to learn about my students, commend knowledge, and offer apt and timely words. I am not perfect and sometimes need reminders. Once I had seventy-nine papers to grade. I was busy and slipped back into “getting the work done” mode. I usually wrote an encouraging word at the end of my students’ papers even if it was only something like, “I really appreciate how you are trying.” But this time, I forgot to write something. I was in too big of a hurry to get through the pile of papers. I handed the papers back to the students, and I noticed one of my students who was usually enthusiastic; I could tell she wanted to say something to me. After class, I went over to her. She showed me her paper with a score but no encouraging words. I apologized. She asked, “Would you write something?” I did. In that moment, I asked forgiveness for overlooking one of my student’s needs for encouragement. Help me to view others as You do. (Add your own words of confession here) Thank you for Your reminders and gentle corrections. Learning about my students. Commending knowledge to them. Offering an apt response or timely word. Thank You for helping me to view grading in this light.