The Year of Small Things: A Conversation with Sarah Arthur & Erin Wasinger

Sarah Arthur (left) and Erin Wasinger

Sarah Arthur is a fun-loving speaker and the author of numerous books and resources on the intersection of faith and great stories. Her most recent title, with Erin Wasinger, is "The Year of Small Things: Radical Faith for the Rest of Us" (Brazos Press, Jan. 31, 2017). A graduate of Wheaton College and Duke University Divinity School, she speaks around the country on the role of stories and imagination in spiritual formation. She lives in Lansing, Michigan, with her young sons and her husband, Tom, pastor of Sycamore Creek Church.

Erin F. Wasinger is a writer, speaker, and blogger. After eight years at a newspaper in Wisconsin, Erin's now doing the freelance thing. Her favorite things to write about: personalities, her city, and faith. A native Midwesterner, she now lives in Lansing, Mich., with her family. 

When Sarah and Tom Arthur were appointed to a suburban church after three years in an urban Christian community, they faced a unique challenge: how to translate the practices of "radical" faith into their new context. Together with their friends and fellow church members Erin and Dave Wasinger, the Arthurs embarked on a yearlong experiment to implement twelve small practices of radical faith--not waiting until they were out of debt or the kids were out of diapers or God sent them elsewhere, but right now.

The Year of Small Things is Sarah and Erin's story, told with humor, theological reflection, and practical insight, exploring such practices as simplicity, hospitality, accountability, sustainability, and social justice--but, most of all, discernment. 

What has happened since The Year of Small Things was published? Can you provide an update?

Since the book came out in January, we’ve been able to take our discussions from the parsonage dinner table to the church and worlds we inhabit. That’s been the most meaningful. We’ve shared the Sycamore Creek Church story with Sycamore Creek, and we’ve been able to watch others form covenantal friendships and try their own “small things” challenges, be it joining a small group, being intentional about finances, or clearing out the clutter.

Personally, we’re still in the rhythm of “small things.” The Wasingers and Arthurs are still covenantal friends who meet weekly for dinner. Our kids are a little older, of course, which means they engage in our conversations more -- but even when they don’t, we adults keep talking because the kids can finally play outside without us hovering. A lot of the rest is just a little further down the path: Tom and Sarah still practice hospitality in our homes to those on the margins; Erin and Dave, meanwhile, have partnered with a refugee resettlement agency to practice hospitality to newcomers.

What has been the biggest takeaway of your commitment to live simply?

Probably the biggest takeaway is that it’s really hard to practice simplicity alone. That’s what prompted the whole project to begin with. It’s one thing to personally identify some good intentions--taking care of creation, knocking out debt, engaging in social justice--but it’s a whole different thing when a Christian friend looks at you across the dinner table every single week and asks, “So how is the budget going? Have you gotten that composted manure from the farm yet? When is the garage sale to get rid of material madness?” Something as simple as accountability--telling a trusted Christian friend about the steps you’re taking to follow Jesus in the small things--is the most important step.

One of the reflection questions after the Holy Times chapter is: “Where is there emotional clutter in your life?” How would you answer that?

Still, Facebook.

I (Erin) have been convicted lately that I need to steward more of my energy in relationships offline, as having that sphere of relationships online is a distraction from the knock on my door from my neighbor. (Not the other way around.)

In the chapter on Vows, Erin writes, “Be there. Be in touch. Be transparent. That’s how you prepare the soil for friendship.” What is the greatest way you’ve found to foster this in your own life? In the lives of your children?

Sycamore Creek Church (our church in the Lansing area) models this story of transparency from the teacher on Sunday (or Monday night) to the small group leaders I’ve had. It’s easier to be open about our lives when we’re not the only ones hanging our laundry outside, so to speak. I can’t emphasize enough how having others in our church be open about their lives has shaped my own understanding of what friendships should be.

Our church is our kids’ too, so this is their culture from worship to breakfast to bedtime every day. I don’t feel the need to superficially teach them or curate their lives in the hopes they’d experience this kind of friendship. I trust that modeling the importance of deep friendships in my life and our family’s life is shaping their view of what these relationships look like.

Speaking of children, in the chapter on Kids Monasticism, Sarah’s husband mentions John Wesley’s  3 Simple Rules. Erin writes about the challenging decision regarding which school system to choose for your kids. What is your biggest take-away for engaging kids in the New Monasticism?

There is no single big takeaway, unless you count the truth that each day our kids get older and present new challenges and opportunities for us to talk about our values. “Our family chooses not to buy (something expensive) so we can instead …” is where we find ourselves a lot. Same with how we spend our time.

This is tough. Kids don’t want to be counter-cultural at age 8. They want to have a big birthday party like their friend did, and wear the name-brand sweatshirt that their classmates are wearing. New Monasticism will not make you the most popular parent.

The older the kids get, too, the more prayer, covenantal friends, and church are necessary for us to feel supported. This parenting stuff is hard.

Erin writes, in the chapter on Unselfish Self-Care, “We’re all broken; we’re all in need of redemption and healing. Recognizing that is a gift. Pretending otherwise kills authentic relationships.” In your own experience, why is this, on the one hand, so obvious and on the other, so difficult to face?

Simply put, it’s way more fun to deal with someone else’s mess than to open the closet door and look at your own. It feels good when we can help someone find healing and redemption. On the other hand, radical vulnerability is a practice in humility.

Sarah writes in the chapter on Just Living, “I can become habituated in a love of God that is stronger than fear, stronger than any cultural narrative that values safety, security and comfort above all things.” How do we develop this type of love of God? And why is it so important?

It comes right down to the way our muscles move our bodies through the world, particularly the way our fives senses--especially our sense of smell--respond to the bodies of others. In the New Testament we see Jesus reaching for the “unclean,” touching the diseased, eating with the people our mothers warned us against. He self-identified as homeless. He hung out with fishermen, who smelled like their trade; and prostitutes, who also smelled like their trade; and sinners, who smelled like everything from alcohol to urine to sweat and underarm odor -- all of the things that make us pull away from the very people Jesus loves.

Somehow we’ve been taught to associate “difference” with sin, with depravity, or at least with overwhelming need that spotlights our own inability to actually change the world. The challenge is to retrain our muscles and senses to move toward the people we’ve been taught to fear--and not because we’re trying to save them, but because that’s where Jesus hangs out. If we love Jesus, we want to be where he is. On the margins. With those who look, sound, smell funny, or bad, or just different. And we learn to ask, out of the depths of our own inadequacy, for the love of God. Because if we try to draw upon the well of our own natural abilities or inclinations, we run dry every time. It must be God’s own love.

In the same chapter Erin writes, “Knowing starts with listening…” Can you offer any tips on how to become a good listener?

Plenty of books exist to improve your listening skills, but here are a few I remind myself:
Set aside your phones or tablets first. When someone’s feeling vulnerable, they need to know they can trust you to give them their full attention.

Practice active listening -- when someone is sharing something, don’t interject with a story or words of advice. Instead, echo back to them their own thoughts.

One of the tricks up my sleeve is to talk while we’re driving somewhere. No one has to make eye contact. There feels like a natural start and end to the conversation. Silences feel more natural, too, which allows me as an introvert to pray between bursts of conversation.

A helpful book (which isn’t religious) is There is No Good Card For This: What To Say and Do When Life Is Scary, Awful, and Unfair to People You Love by Emily McDowell and Kelsey Crowe.

You can listen to a podcast discussion of The Year of Small Things, featuring Sarah and Erin with at: http://erinwasinger.podbean.com/

You can follow Sarah on Twitter here;  and Erin here

Sarah's website:  and Erin's website

The website for The Year of Small Things can be found here

To purchase a copy of The Year of Small Things, go here