The Bests of My 2018

2018 has been the longest year on record.

As I compiled these little lists, I was shocked more than once about how far back the start of this year seemed to be—“whoa, that was this year?” ad infinitum.

Was 2018 the best year of your life? The worst? The middlingest? All of that is okay.

You are here because you are interested in what kind of 2018 I had. Onward!

The Best of the Books I Read in 2018

1. The first book I read was so good that it was basically downhill from there all year, but that’s an okay problem to have, really. Hanif Abdurraqib’s They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us was, as I have come to expect from him, full of correct opinions about things I didn’t know we were forming opinions about. It also invited me into his deep grief, which is a sacred space. He has a new book coming in 2019 and you can bet you’ll find it on that best-of list—if he wrote a book that year, it was one of the year’s best.

2. Though she wrote the book more than a decade ago, Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle changed my life in 2018. We all know that I am not about to dedicate my life to subsistence farming, but this book reminded me of the incredible blessing of my life in Northern California, where growing food and eating food grown locally is almost too easy. We built three raised garden beds in our backyard this summer and we have eaten whole salads that used to be seeds I held in my own hand! How is that even real!?!?!? I love earth.

3. I heard Stacey May Fowles interviewed on Rhea Butcher’s baseball podcast, ordered Baseball Life Advice before the interview was even over, and started to read it the day it arrived in the mail. It arrived in the midst of my reading drought, and is responsible for bringing me back to life. It made the 2018 baseball season even more enjoyable for me as a fan, too. What can’t this book do!?

The Best Podcasts I Started Listening to in 2018

1. Somewhat inexplicably, the Binge Mode: Harry Potter podcast is produced by The Ringer, a sports website. The concept is that Mallory Rubin and Jason Concepcion close-read the seven original Harry Potter books (though they make reference to the wider Potter canon [such a wide canon]) a few chapters at a time, and discern themes and lessons and make note of easter eggs and innuendos and cry about Dumbledore’s death (and like literally everything else) and speculate about forthcoming Wizarding World content. It is a truly deranged undertaking, as was my decision to basically listen only to the backlog of episodes (three or four books worth?) until I caught up with them. I do not even want to estimate the number of hours I have spent listening to them cackle, though I have enjoyed every minute of it. If you want to test your commitment to The Boy Who Lived, try listening to this podcast.

2. In probably like 2016 or something, BuzzFeed published a listicle of podcasts produced/hosted/etc by Latinas. As I am late to every party, I finally found a new favorite in Alicia Menendez’s Latina to Latina in 2018. She’s Latina (Cuban, from New Jersey) and she interviews one Latina (so many kinds, from so many places) per episode. Essentially, it highlights the myriad ways to be Latina, and the incredible life stories and work of Latinas across the US. I learn so much about so much!

3. I stopped listening to Dear Hank and John in 2017 (though it is still going on) and then in 2018 John began The Anthropocene Reviewed, a monthly podcast with a nearly opposite vibe. In each short, scripted episode, John gives two very human things—Googling Strangers and Kentucky Bluegrass, for example—starred reviews. That’s the best episode, by the way. Each episode is a delightful ~25 minutes, in general. I give it four stars.

The Most Memorable 2018 Episodes of Podcasts I Have Been Listening to Since At Least 2017

1. Through a very unexpected turn of events, December 2018 saw the commutation of Earlonne Woods’ prison sentence, and so change is afoot at Ear Hustle. There’s a great mini episode about his release, but the most memorable episode of 2018, for me, was The Row. Life inside a prison may seem homogenous to us on the outside, but Death Row is a mystery even to the general San Quentin population. Earlonne and Nigel were able to communicate with some of the men there, and I was riveted. If you, like me, are interested in working to abolish the death penalty, visit NCADP to find out what you can do in your state.

2. Obviously I would just recommend that you listen to every episode of my all-time favorite podcast, Call Your Girlfriend, every Friday. They interviewed some I N C R E D I B L E women in 2018, so perhaps start there: Hot and Bothered with Cecile Richards, Pay Caregivers Fairly with Ai-Jen Poo, A Woman’s Anger with Rebecca Traister, Be a Good Ancestor with Stacy Abrams, Rewriting Herstory with Alexis Coe, and Delicious Company with Samin Nosrat! Ugh, the Ladyweb is strong.

The Approximately Four Things I Watched On Screens in 2018, Which I Would Recommend

1. Holy forking shirtballs, you guys, I love The Good Place. I binged the first two seasons on Netflix with Jonathan in like...four days. I am still catching up on Season 3 (which just ended) on Hulu, so I won’t be current until Season 4 (which just got ordered). I am fascinated by how much TGP is like my other beloved Michael Shur project, Parks and Recreation, and how it’s unlike anything else going on on TV. It’s so smart—I mean, they go to Philosophy class half of every episode in S1—and I love every character’s absolutely bonkers terribleness. One of my favorite things that is not actually about the show is how many people on twitter thought that Blake Bortles was a made-up name for the show, not the actual quarterback for the Jacksonville Jaguars.

2. Can you even believe that Black Panther came out in 2018? It honestly feels like 100 years ago. I loved this movie so much that I watched it on an airplane with closed captions because my dumb iPhone headphones don’t plug into the thing. It was like the fourth time I’d seen it and I just needed to pass some turbulent time. I digress! If you don’t like comic book movies or whatever, you should still see this one. It’s gorgeous, the music is fantastic, bad guys are vanquished, what more could you want?

3. As a general rule, I do not watch stand-up comedy, because it’s just...not for me. This year, though, I enjoyed two (two!) entire stand-up specials, and so you should know about them. John Mulaney’s Kid Gorgeous and Hannah Gadsby’s Nanette have nothing to do with each other besides being things I watched. You have probably read (or scrolled past) a thinkpiece or twelve about Nanette. It gets right at why I, as a general rule, do not watch stand-up comedy. Kid Gorgeous has perhaps changed my working life for the better, if only because our staff now routinely intones “the bread of bread is bread” at all available opportunities. Laughing is good for you, but be sure what you’re laughing at should be laughable.

The Best of the Things I Did for the First Time in 2018

1. If you are reading this, you probably are also subscribed to my fortnightly email newsletter, A Little Bit of Sunshine, which I launched in January. It is delightful (and challenging) to repackage all of the things I’m consuming into this format—someone to meet, something(s) to listen to, something(s) to read, and a closing poem—and stave off the apocalyptic news cycle we’re all already dealing with. It’s not incredibly consequential, but it’s a little bit of sunshine. The first edition of 2019 hits inboxes on Friday, January 4.

2. If you've been reading my writing for a while you may recall that I ceremonially announced my reading list in December/January and then in May I abandoned my reading list. That's not a thing I do. I do not mean to imply that I always finish everything I start. On the contrary, I often draw things out for an unnecessary long while and feel very bad about essentially quitting them. The "first" in this instance was that I dumped a project and refused to feel shame about it. Life is too short to read things you don't want to read when you could be reading all sorts of things you do want to read!!!!! Go read.

3. Jonathan and I bought a house! This is the wide open internet so I am definitely not going to tell you our address or post a virtual tour or whatever, but you are invited to visit us in Woodland, CA at your earliest convenience. Owning a home is one of the parts of the American Dream that seems the most unfair. We could not have done this without the generational wealth of our families, who generously contributed to our down payment. Everyone should be able to live safely and securely, and I intend to keep that in mind as housing regulations come through the legislature and onto my ballot—how are we ensuring that more people have housing, not just that our housing is worth more? I hope you are thinking about that, too—especially if you own a home.

The Best of the Places I Went in 2018

According to TripIt (an app you should be using if you travel even a little bit), I spent a total of 71 days this year traveling 32,313 miles to 24 cities in 5 countries. What a year!

1. On our honeymoon, Jonathan and I spent 4 days in the Italian city of Genoa, from which many delicious culinary inventions hail—Genoise sponge cake (known in Genoa as pan di Spagna), basil pesto, and dried pasta, to name a few! It's not just that the city of Genoa was among the best places I went in 2018, but especially A Small Kitchen in Genoa, where we spent half a day cooking and eating and learning with Enrica Monzani. I don't know if a trip to the Italian Riviera is on your agenda, but if you get the chance to swing through, Enrica will enrich your stay significantly.

2. In October, I spent a whirlwind week doing several holy things. I started by flying to Denver, meeting up with my mom, and driving to Grand Junction, CO for the ordination of my friend Ben. Then we drove to Fort Collins, CO for the baptism of a beloved babe, Hannah Christian. Mama K flew home, but I flew on to St. Louis, MO for the Episcopal Service Corps Program Director meeting. Over the course of those 9 days, I saw dozens of people I love who are doing incredible things for the world by their very lives. I also enjoyed two the sights and sounds of three communities that matter to people who matter to me. I am not, perhaps, recommending these cities for your next vacation, but recommending that you get in the car or on a plane to the people you love, when you can.

“That’s it. That’s all. That’s all there is.” —The Beastie Boys

Is This Your King?—A Sermon on the Reign of Christ

Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

It is good to see you. The return after Thanksgiving usually feels like we’ve been apart a while, but this time it’s particularly odd. I was away a few weeks ago, and then the fire and the smoke closed campus and kept us indoors and apart. It is always good to see you, but tonight, it is especially good to see you.

I have been thinking for the last several weeks now about the gift of community, and how precious it is to be able to gather. People all over California have lost their homes, workplaces, and places of worship in these fires. We are blessed to be gathered here tonight, and it’s important to acknowledge that fragility.

Before Thanksgiving, I traveled to El Paso, Texas and Juarez, Mexico with other pastors from around the southwest. We met people on both sides of the border whose lives are perched so precariously. Families with mixed documentation statuses, where some are US citizens and some are not, are so vulnerable.

As I listened to their stories, I thought about all of you, and whether you’re able to celebrate holidays with your families or not, for whatever reasons. I know that none of you have the same story, all of you come from different families and have different capacity to be with those families in the flesh. I pray for the reunification of your families in this life, as much as possible, and most certainly in the next.

On Sunday, US Customs and Border Patrol agents in San Ysidro, CA, fired tear gas across the border at families attempting to present for asylum. The “migrant caravan” you’ve perhaps heard about? Many of them have arrived in Tijuana and are hoping to make their way into California, soon.

My heart breaks for these people, who have survived horrific conditions with their children, decided to make the dangerous trek toward the mere hope of a safer future, and are met with violence. I am not sure, right now, what we’ll do about this, as a community. But I want to know what you want to do about it. How do you want to counteract that violence? Let’s wonder about that.

The celebration in the church this week is of “Christ the King” or the “Reign of Christ.” It’s the final week of the church year. Next week, when the season of Advent begins, we start again. The feast of Christ the King is officially known as the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe. It came about in 1925 during the rise of Benito Mussolini, the fascist dictator in Italy. Pope Pius XI insisted that supremacy over the universe belonged to Christ alone, not to any earthly leader. Contrary to popular belief in 1925 and in this year of our Lord 2018, no human being deserves our unwavering allegiance—no political leader, no church leader, no celebrity, no king.

The idea of Christ the King is to subvert the idea of kings. No king wields as much power as the God who created the universe. Powerful people should take a look at themselves, have some perspective. It can be all too easy for us, these days, with our incredible technological advancement and our global communications, to think that we are truly the masters of this planet and its inhabitants. Let me be clear—our actions on this earth can have ramifications on a global scale. But we are not all-powerful. We are not God.

When I first had to preach on “Christ the King” during seminary, I was angsty about it. I didn’t know the history of the feast, and I assumed that this was a day to celebrate Jesus as a king, and to glorify earthly kings as being Christlike in their kingliness. That sounds gross, and, fortunately, I was wrong. I did some googles, and found out the truth about this feast. Rather than ascribe Christ-like-ness to kings and rulers and dictators and autocrats and despots, Christ the King reminds us what true leadership looks like. In response to the sin that so easily entangles us in our earthly kingdoms, the feast of Christ the King proclaims that the only, true way to wield power is to wield it like Jesus. To preach good news to the poor, to free the captive, to liberate the oppressed.

Our scripture tonight from 2 Samuel tells us, straight up: “One who rules over people justly, ruling in the fear of God, is like the light of morning, like the sun rising on a cloudless morning, gleaming from the rain on the grassy land. Is not my house like this with God? For he has made with me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all things and secure” (2 Samuel 23:3-5).

Do any of you watch The Good Place? Okay, so, I just started watching season 1, because I am uncool and late to every party, but there is a totally excellent spoiler-free piece of the show that I find so, so, excellent. Eleanor goes into one of her neighborhood’s many fro-yo shops, and there are a bunch of new flavors. One of them, which she tries, is called “full phone battery,” and tasting it makes her feel relaxed and free. Another patron orders “folded laundry” which I presume tastes like accomplishment, comfort, and readiness. This is what I think we’re being invited to imagine in this Samuel text.

Imagine fro-yo, I suppose, that tastes like the light of morning, the sun rising on a cloudless morning, gleaming from the rain on the grassy land. What does that feel like? Peace, comfort, rest, tranquility, security, safety. These are the feelings we have when we remember that we are in the care of God. Good leadership, true kingship, does not make us afraid, or anxious, or hateful, or spiteful of others.

We have seen, in the world around us at present and in our history, the ease with which “good people” ignore the growing terribleness around us, because it feels too big to topple. We have to remember what we do have control over. What are our own little “kingdoms” made of?

When you are in a position of leadership and power, notice how you use that. Notice how you engage with your peers, your classmates, your coworkers, your roommates, your partners, your neighbors. Notice how you engage with people who work in the service industry; notice how you engage with children; notice how you engage with people you are supervising, organizing, teaching, or otherwise leading. Who do you take your cues from? Kings of this earth, or Christ the King?

We do not have the immense power of our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe. But as children of God, as the baptized, as the priesthood of all believers, we are co-conspirators in the work of the gospel. We are able to recognize the kingship of Jesus over any earthly leader, and to hold every leader—our family members, our employers, our teachers, our pastors—accountable for how we speak about the powerful and the powerless, for how we act as power-brokers.

I hope that this feels freeing to you. You are free, as a child of God, from the compulsion to capitulate to earthly powers. You know the truth, and the truth has set you free. You know that true power and true glory is not of this world. You know that Christ is King. Any person who tries to convince you that they bear the real truth, that they wield the real power, that they have the real control, is wrong. You do not need to be seduced by empty earthly promises. You know that no leader can save the world, no matter how they boast. No matter how many people shout their support for that person in an arena.

As we transition into the Advent season next week, we’ll remember that a light shines in the darkness, and that the darkness has not overcome it. We’ll anticipate the birth of the Christ child and the return of Christ as King. Our world will get whipped into a capitalist frenzy in the coming weeks, and we will have the opportunity to speak into that void. Just like Christ the King is not about what the world might think it is about it, Christmas, too, is a subversion of power.

The season of Advent is a time for peace and quiet, for hopeful expectation, for joyful recognition of a changing world. We don’t get to spend as much of Advent together as I would design, but we’ll be here as long as you’re here, waiting patiently for the world to change.

Jesus the Christ, King of the Universe, will come into the world as a tiny and vulnerable baby. The child of refugees, fleeing one oppressive regime for another. From the absolute humblest of beginnings, God will enter into our world to show us what true power and true glory look like. Stay tuned.

It Is Time Now For Prayer—A reflection for the Davis Interfaith Thanksgiving

As advertised, I am Pastor Casey Dunsworth. I’m ordained in the Christian tradition through the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, the largest Lutheran denomination in the United States. I serve at The Belfry, a little yellow house on A Street, home to our Lutheran Episcopal Campus Ministry to UC Davis. I also direct a program called LEVN, the Lutheran Episcopal Volunteer Network, a year-long faith-based service corps for recent college graduates.

Being in ecumenical ministry—two different flavors of Christianity living in harmony together—is a delight and a challenge. We have similar postures and practices for many facets of our life of faith, and we also diverge in several places. One of my favorite things about the Episcopal tradition, which I’ve learned from being adjacent to it for four years now, is that they believe that the way you pray shows what you believe. They have an important prayer book—the aptly-named Book of Common Prayer—which, ostensibly, contains all of the prayers, scripture readings, and orders of service an Episcopalian might ever need. While this is not my tradition or posture, I appreciate their consistency and the way they honor the church that has come before them as they continue on the way.

As a Lutheran, I agree with the Episcopal idea that the way we pray shows what we believe about God. How we communicate with God and what we expect to receive from God say a lot about who we think God is. Martin Luther, the 16th-century “founding father” of our tradition, was a man of many, many, many words. It is a bit ironic, in fact, that Martin Luther is quoted as having said, “the fewer the words, the better the prayer.”

In the Christian tradition and the Jewish tradition before it, we have always been in conversation with God. Our holy scriptures are teeming with thanksgivings, laments, joys, sorrows, celebrations, grievances, discoveries, questions, and answers. The beauty of our scripture is the richness of this language. One of the blessings of the modern Christian life is that so much has already been written and prayed and proclaimed, that the inspiration we need is likely within those pages. And it isn’t all sunshine and rainbows! There is real, deep angst in the words of our sacred texts. The people of God for generations have cried out in joy and in grief.

Two of my Lutheran clergy colleagues, Tuhina Rasche and Jason Chesnut, have a project whose titles I’ll let you Google later, but whose subtitle is “To convey a visceral Gospel, we must sometimes use visceral language.” When we pray, we need not self-censor. There is perhaps nothing we can say that God cannot hear.

Whether we want to “Praise God with trumpet sound; praise God with lute and harp! Praise God with tambourine and dance, with strings and pipe, with clanging cymbals; Let everything that breathes praise the Lord!” (Psalm 150:3-6 ish)

Or if we want to groan, “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I bear pain in my soul,  and have sorrow in my heart all day long?” (Psalm 13:1-2)

Or if we want to “Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me praise God’s holy name.” (Psalm 103:1)

Martin Luther is also quoted as saying that those who sing pray twice. For me, personally, this is most certainly true. Singing praise or lament, singing by myself or in community, there is no experience holier. At the Belfry, before we sing and pray together on Wednesday nights, I remind everyone that God asks of us a joyful noise, not necessarily a beautiful one, and so everyone should feel welcome to sing out.

And why, then, do we pray? Søren Kierkegaard is a famous Danish Christian philosopher, and Lutherans claim him ever so carefully, as he was born into a Lutheran family, but later denounced the State Church of Denmark. Somewhere along the line, he wrote brilliantly on a number of topics and, most meaningfully to me, wrote these words: “the function of prayer is not to influence God, but to change the nature of the one who prays”.

When we pray, our petitions do not coax God into action. Our prayers engage us more deeply in the communities for which we pray; in the relationships for which we pray; in the world for which we pray.

...it is time, now, for prayer. I will invite you to participate as you feel moved. Each petition, or section of the prayers, will have a theme. I will say the phrase, “and, for this, the people pray,” at which time you can speak aloud for the room to hear, quietly to yourself, or silently in your heart.

Let us pray. Good and gracious God, we come before you this evening in gratitude for our lives, our communities, and our freedom. As we enter into this Thanksgiving Week, we remember all the people, places, and things for which we are grateful.

For this fragile earth, our island home. We pray for the enjoyment, care, preservation, and restoration of our environment. We pray for the creatures of the seas and skies, forests and fields. We seek your wisdom as we discern the courses of action necessary for the sustainability of life. We grieve for all those affected by wildfires and lingering smoke. And, for the earth, the people pray…

For our leaders; locally, nationally, and internationally. We give thanks for those in authority who wield their power for liberation, equity, and joy. We remember the courage of your prophets, who spoke truth to power. We seek your wisdom in our own leadership, that we may be accountable to one another and to you. And, for our leaders, the people pray…

For our communities; our siblings, parents, cousins, friends, and all whom we love. We pray for the safety, welcome, and celebration of all whom we encounter, that we might invite more and deeper cooperation. We grieve relationships that are painful, are ending, or are beyond repair. We give thanks for our communities of faith and shared values, that we embolden one another to live fully. And, for our communities, the people pray…

For peace; in our hearts, in our homes, in our schools, in our public squares. We pray for an end to violence, war, oppression, and degradation. We pray for those who are fleeing violence, that they may find safe harbor. And, for peace, the people pray…

We know, O God, that you are the healer of our every ill. We give thanks for healers in our communities, of our minds, bodies, and spirits. We grieve that which cannot, in this life, be healed. We pray for healthcare providers, researchers, faith healers, prayer teams, and all those who contribute to our wholeness. And, for healing, the people pray…

For our ancestors, elders, saints, and all the dearly departed. We give thanks for their lives, their witness, their teaching, and their blessed memory. We name aloud those we love who have died.

Into your hands, gracious God, we commend all for whom we pray, trusting in your mercy. By the many names you are known, we pray, Amen.