The Difference a Table Makes

Common knowledge tells us that food is central to hospitality and community.  What I hadn't given much thought to before now was the importance of how and where we eat together. 

Our house has been without a table for about 4 months.  Even before that, our former table (and its chairs) became uncomfortable after not very long.  (Which is why it was banished, in spite of lacking a replacement.)  Eating largely took place on couches and counters, sitting in chairs and balancing plates on knees.  Taking a meal out to the patio was about the best we could offer our guests.  Hospitality waned.  We didn't invite people as much.  When we did, it felt makeshift and apologetic.

I also have a theory that even individuals eat differently at a table.  There is something reassuring and stable about not having to hold onto your plate of spaghetti or bowl of cereal.  Sure, it's fine for a camping trip or a meal on the go, but every meal, every day?  Not great.

Last weekend, I gave in.  Throwing my reticence about buying and owning stuff that won't fit in a Corolla to the wind, I plopped down $40 for a well-worn table at a junk shop.  Wood, with an insertable, folding leaf. We got it to seat 10, so far. 

As we washed dishes later that night, my roommate and I observed how different that gathering was from any other we'd had.  At one table, we could have one conversation for the entire group.  Discussion could ebb and flow and fracture and come together again.  There was no awkward switch to the living room afterward, so eating was leisurely and long.  It allowed for courses and seconds and a changeover for late-arriving guests as they joined.

It reminded me of Jesus' fondness for banquets and admonition about how to do hospitality in Luke 14.  Now that there's a table, there are lots of people to invite! 
"But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”

How to start a morning at a California traffic school: Siempre dando gracias.  (Always giving thanks--- at least that's what the banner says in the front of the room.)  These are the places of incredible short story potential: waiting rooms, doughnut shops, and a room of chairs filled with law-breakers.

It's a Friends Church, - Quakers - "whatever that means," shrugs our instructor.  For us, it means that smokers must cross the street and keep their cigarettes off church property.  And we can't use the nice cushioned chairs in the room.

We're becoming friends, in a way.  By telling the stories of our tickets and bemoaning the state budget crisis, a camaraderie builds.  Certain people become types and characters.  Angry immigrant woman drives something like a van, big, oh what color is it... whatever, it is definitely not able to go that fast at the stop light.  She has tried.  She has children; of course she wouldn't speed past the school.  Young rebel man insists that he can drive while high.  It's never bothered him.  The police just asked him to extinguish the joint.  Military man heading to Singapore ships out Monday, won't be able to go to traffic court.  He drives a fast motorcycle fast.  All around me are college students, teachers, mothers, managers, criminals and head cases.  We gossip about conspiracies (how the state is out to get our money) and corruption, court trials (how to keep our money) and tragedies.

What may be most striking, though, is how docile the room full of us can become.  By some strange agreement, we allow this instructor to rant on her pet issues, separate antsy young-folk from their phones, and make jokes at our expense for 8 long hours.  We pay our $35 and make the most of it.  We don't make much.  The man beside me scored the tests of his 1st grade class.  I finished 2 Ken-Ken puzzles and wrote this reflection.  We were the only ones with pens in hand.

A Good Day

Drizzly early morning.  Delicious green tea. Dry autumn afternoon.  Dear, precious friends. 

Yet, what makes me pronounce the day a 'good one' is balance and scale, a sense of completeness and permission for unanswered questions.  In work and in leisure, this day let me flex and stretch and enjoy.

I woke up early to work on translation of a small portion of a report on violations of indigenous people's rights in Peru.  I don't claim significance or even particular skill in doing it-- just a few pages of English translation to help a friend.

Running late, I hurried across the dripping drying streets of City Heights to join a friend for some Bible study.  We asked questions and enjoyed insights from Acts 1-- final words on Judas, casting lots, and filling the apostolic leader board.  We let God do new things, show us fresh flicks and twirls of the Holy Spirit through the ages, and furrow our brows on things we thought we knew.  We prayed together.

I came back home for a ripe mango with lunch.  I dialed in for an Urban Mosaic conference call.  We updated one another, asked questions, and prayed for work and life.

I dealt with a few dozen emails.  I added things to my to-do list without crossing anything off.  I biked over to some friends' apartment, visited, hurried home before the early dusk.  I made dinner with a former roommate on the phone; I washed the dishes while catching up with a dear former co-worker. 

My day spanned 2 continents.  Touched people in 5 cities.  Bridged macro, micro and meso scales.  It doesn't make me a superstar - it just makes me happy.  It particularly makes me content that this is who I am and what I do.  Today.  (Ha, remind me in a few weeks that I wrote this.  I'll need the refresher.) 

For those of you who believe in me and what God's invited me into, I thought often in the later part of the day that you should know what this is like.  What a privilege and joy, what a beautiful invitation to say, yes, God is doing a new thing.  A new thing in Christ's bride, the Church.  A new thing springing forth from the desert.  A light in the dark.  A brightness for worn city streets.  A day that is varied and smooth and very good.

Marijuana

About two weeks ago, Mexican authorities intercepted a record 134 tons of weed in Tijuana.  They burned it - seen in the photo above.  (You can read more about it here.) 

Tuesday, statewide voting on Proposition 19 in California rejected legalization of marijuana-- but not by a large margin (54% voted against legalizing it).

I have friends who enjoy smoking, who draw inspiration ("thinking outside the box") from smoking, who view marijuana as no more harmful than cigarettes.  It shows up on their camping trips, after parties, in the back yard.

I vividly remember posters on the walls of our elementary school and even a few anti-drug campaign cartoons that offered terrifying depictions of what pot would do to your brain, your life, your relationships, and your perceptions of the world around you.  Horror, dude.  Absolute horror.  In contrast, what I see of marijuana among friends and neighbors isn't so scary.  They smoke, they talk, they have normal-seeming lives.  It is widely claimed that marijuana possession is unevenly prosecuted, with the brunt of arrests falling on young African American men.  (Note: none of my recreational weed-smoking acquaintances who happen to be white have encountered law enforcement around this issue.)  What is truly frightening, however, is the criminal web of money and violence that surround the drug.  No, it's not scary in the way that heroine or cocaine are, but when I think about the industry, about hundreds of lives lost directly or indirectly in its fiery wake... it's sickening.

"Marijuana destroys slowly but thoroughly was the consensus," writes David Foster Wallace from a Narcotics Anonymous group in Infinite Jest. 

I don't tout some kind of naive, drug-free pride (solid D.A.R.E. graduate that I am...), but neither do I want a detached anything goes attitude about something that is, when it comes down to it, destructive.  Aside from medical and legal arguments against marijuana, I've begun to wonder whether people who smoke recreationally have considered the use of marijuana as a justice issue?  It's not so absurd.  People consider purchases based on animal rights (change meat/ dairy/ egg- buying habits) and human rights (watch out for sweatshops and exploited laborers).  The drug trade is killing hundreds and hundreds of people, particularly along the border of the U.S. and Mexico.  Why participate?

These aren't particularly well-formed thoughts here, but I was moved by the drama of that photo and its back story.  I'm filled with sorrow when there's another drug- or gang-related death (and string of deaths) in places like San Diego, Tijuana, Juarez, etc.  I'm tired of it being a low-key, joked-about issue.  As with so many areas relating to Mexico, I'm frustrated by a lack of holistic, critical thinking.  Where are my fellow liberal arts grads with economic and international relations know-how!?  Let's talk about jobs and money and drugs and people and assumptions that cross the border every day, and let's stop pretending we're not all bound up in their causes and effects.

Today's Workload

That's right: the joys of paperwork.  I was trying to get all my lists of people straight and kept uncovering new lists... turns out I have at least 6 (so far!) working spreadsheets.  Oops?

Canoeing Mountains

This was the premise of a training event I just attended here in San Diego.  Solid insights from a pastor and strategic thinker.

Alternative Family

I was reading today: “By relinquishing a most certain way of knowing and loving and creating a family [in marriage], the celibate for the sake of the kingdom proclaims the validity of other ways to knowledge and community.”  I see that so clearly in others’ shock at how shamelessly I’ll draw people together.  I don’t do it out of any profound theological conviction as much as a survival tactic.  I’ll meet and eat and stay with strangers (friends of friends, usually) because that’s what I’ve got as a ‘stranger in a strange land’—whether it’s California or Cambodia.  I believe it’s worth risking and connecting as brethren/ sistren… what other option is there? 

Even though it seems obvious and completely practical, I can also acknowledge that this is not how the world operates.  People live alone and lonely because that's what they're told you do if you're not married.  People stay in hotel rooms, eat by themselves, and watch lots of TV because we do not live as though we have been born into a new and limitless family in the kingdom of God.  Give it a shot.  It's real, true, necessary, and so so good.

Who we are, for now and not yet

I received this in a pastor's weekly devotional email this morning:

"In the course of his remarks, Bishop Walker made the point that we should not “judge people on their right now.”  Rather, we should “judge them on their not yet.” 

       I thought this was extremely well put.  Just as we should take a plastic bottle and not see it littering the ocean but rather envision the shopping bag or park bench it can be so we should not condemn anyone for simply having difficulties just now.  We should not judge the awkward, uncertain college student on their right now.  We should look at them and see the confident, mature individual  they will become.  We should not look at the disheveled and angry addict and condemn them to that state of being for the rest of their lives.  We should look at them and see the sober, productive individual they will be after they change.  When we join in our prayer of confession every week we should not resign ourselves to being the fallen, sinful person we know we are.  We should look ahead and celebrate the free, forgiven person God is going to make us.

       Let us thank God that God does not judge us on our right now.  God knows we are fallen and need saving.  God judges us on what we will be: holy children of God sitting around the banquet table in the eternal kingdom.  And then God treats as if our not yet were already right now.

      Thanks be to God we are not condemned to our right now.  And let us help others reach their not yet."

Even as I appreciated their wisdom, I had some reservations about these words.   I often (though not as often as I should...) pray to see people as Jesus sees them.  Jesus sees who we really are-- who we were created to be.  Yet, Jesus sees who we really are right now, too.  It's true that he does not judge that state we're in, but he does not deny it, either.  The reason for my squirming, I suppose, is that I just don't want us to hop out of the mess too quickly.

  

I don't want us to console ourselves only with airbrushed, sanctified versions of the not-yet.  We don't ever need to judge, but we do need to make decisions.  All our decisions have to wade through both the now and the not-yet-- of other people, of our world, and of ourselves.  And so I do not tell myself, "Okay, I would be able to speak more kindly to this guy if he had the means and motivation to wash his hair" -- but I tell myself that Jesus speaks tenderly to those without homes and hygiene. 

We don't celebrate or worship who we (or those around us) are becoming, but we are filled with awe at the One who can make it so -- who can forgive and transform us into the men and women who will bring God honor and praise.  Thank God our identity is not how we present ourselves, but who You say we are.  How You love us.  How you transform us.  Our identity is being your disciples, your little children, your beloved.

"They Mattered Less Than Love"

I do not say that there were no misunderstandings, discontents and hurts.

I would it had been so.

Strange, how the heart sometimes assents

To angers that the will asserts;

But these we learned to live above.

I do not say there were no hurts—

I say they mattered less than love.

-Jane Merchant

What (Whom) Weddings Bring Together

Enjoying a fine Baltimore dining establishment after Angela's wedding... a long way from Park Street in Williamstown! 

"Talking about people who don't have any power"

Taken from Stephen Colbert's longer testimony on Capitol Hill.

Remembering the Vocation

The excerpt below was written the week after I entered my current position in CRM... I was looking through some old newsletters today and I was struck by the clarity I had before I even got here!  Good to remember: 

Why am I doing this?  And what exactly will I be doing, by the way?  =)  These are common questions I face.  Since I graduated from college, God has been pointing my heart toward ministry, listening to and caring for people, with a particular passion and frustration for the work of the Church.  Though I’ve begun to consider ordination in the PC(USA), I don’t feel ready to say that God has called me to the pulpit—or to parish ministry.  Instead, with Urban Mosaic, I want to walk alongside church leaders and pastors who are figuring out how to be missional, how to lead, how to care for their congregation and their community, how to imagine what “God’s kingdom come” might look like for San Diego.  It’s some of what I do with the Global Urban Trek, when I invite university students to take God’s words about justice seriously and prioritize their lives accordingly.  It’s some of what I did in Miami, when I encouraged a small congregation to pursue its dream of opening an immigration clinic.  It’s some of what I do in my home church when I lead and go to Bible studies, retreats, or prayer services—planting seeds and watering ground for my brothers and sisters to grow in God’s good will.  Who can say for sure what God will have for me in San Diego, or for how long?  (This is a job without distinct service “terms.”)  I do hope it will involve lots of cups of tea, conversations, prayers, hard work and full laughter.  I hope I’ll meet many people and draw them together.  I hope I can show God’s heart for the poor to the isolated sorrow of the rich, and I hope for righted relationships to renovate the Church.  Those are not small hopes, but I don’t think we were called to follow Jesus with a couple of achievable goals on a to-do list.  I won’t get everything done, but I’ll do something, and I want to do it as well as I can, with as much love as I have.

Not Strength but Tenderness

"Spiritual and moral tenderness, an awareness of our own frailty, is what allows us to survive in these ambiguous places."

I idolize strength. I think, "this person or that person is not strong enough to be able to handle these rough environments." It is not our strength that allows us to survive. We will crumble when it is our strength. Knowledge of our own frailty allows us to depend on God. Spiritual and moral tenderness will allow us to live with those who suffer despite not having an answer to give them. Grace, not strength, makes life on the desperate margins possible.

(taken from a distant blog)

These words hit the spot tonight as I returned home from a few hours in a hospital room.  I joined a friend visiting her mom, who is recovering poorly from extensive abdominal surgery.  The mom seems to have some serious cognitive setbacks as well as physical ones, and they're not sure why she rants and yells and calls for faraway people, even now that she's off the hard-core painkillers.  She asked the same questions, she begged to go home, she threatened to smack us, and she writhed in pain.

We did pray for her.  And I continually prayed for my friend in the room.  All the while, I was aware of the rigid strength it must take for my friend not to cry.  I was on the verge of tears as her mother railed against her and clawed at her clothing.  As we got into the car afterward, my friend and I talked about strength.  We talked about depending on Jesus.  But after reading this, I realized that what we offered in that room for a couple of hours wasn't any kind of superhuman or even divine strength.  What we relied upon was tender love.  What kept us upright was tender mercy for a woman in pain and confusion.

Strength can become a burden and obligation-- it means you're the one to do the heavy lifting, right?!  Tenderness, however, is altogether different.  I can't be resentfully or reluctantly tender.  I can only offer simple tasks to the best of my ability.  It was mercy, not muscle, that laid damp cloths on a writhing woman's slack skin.  Strength makes good superheroes, but tenderness is the stuff of shepherds and servants.

"Fund-raising is a very rich and beautiful activity. It
is a confident, joyful, and hope-filled expression of
ministry. In ministering to each other, each from the
riches that he or she possesses, we work together for
the full coming of God’s Kingdom."   -Henri Nouwen

Two days of CRM support-raising workshop start tomorrow!  Getting excited.  =)

What I learned at CCDA

A little over a week ago, I went to the Christian Community Development Association's (www.ccda.org) annual conference in Chicago with 3,000 other wonderful people.  I attended a handful of workshops.  I faithfully made it to most plenary sessions and all of the Bible studies.  There were PowerPoint presentations and handouts, books and pamphlets galore.  All of that was secondary, though.

What struck me as most significant, from the first night onward, was the common theme of friendship.  When John Perkins (CCDA's wonderful, wise, endearing founder) spoke about the significance of this association, he talked about his friends.  He spoke of the people who had come together to share their joys and burdens.  They formed CCDA, apparently, because they needed one another.

That purpose continues to drive the ethos of the organization.  A number of speakers and panelists strongly asserted that the greatest outcomes from such conferences were relationships-- not just your standard business networks, but finding friends who know what your life is like.  It's true: there's something unique about being at a gathering where you can figure a lot of other people might shake hands with people who live and beg on the streets everyday (for example).  Or, they might know how to put up a fight on any number of neighborhood issues, from speed bumps to crime.  And, they've probably got some ideas about intersecting theology with lifestyle choices, hospitality, real estate, buying habits, and any number of other things.  So no, it's not your standard conference crowd.

Having said all that, though, I'm still not a mass-market befriend-er.  I didn't even come home from CCDA with a new business card collection.  I might have added one or two facebook friends.  However, the preaching of friendship and the evidence of its impact in these leaders' lives did provoke fresh gratitude in me.  I remembered when I was in college, just entering conversations about racial reconciliation, social justice and community development (largely introduced by reading John Perkins' Justice for All, appropriately enough), and I remember older mentor-folk asking repeatedly, Where are your 'safe' places?  Who are your friends?  (Meaning: make sure you have them!)  Remembering that, I started to see afresh the depth of friendships carrying and sustaining me.  I felt an overwhelming gratitude for who [you] my friends are-- this miracle and gift God has given me. 

Even if I didn't need CCDA to be my friend-factory, I needed it to highlight this beautiful thing God's been doing in my life.  I learned to see with renewed thankfulness.  I also picked up a couple of spiffy brochures.

Word Power

This is a bit of a throwback/ nod/ reflection on my time in Asia this summer.  Some of you will remember my excitement about being in a place where I had zero fluency in their primary language. Until this trip, all my travels outside the U.S. had been to places that either spoke English or Spanish-- both languages in which I have functional ability.  As I looked forward to the time in Malaysia, Cambodia and Hong Kong, I told a number of people that I wanted to see what it was like to be language-less.

Several friends did look at me a little funny.  Some of them tilted their head and nodded or shrugged.  Sure, it's an adventure to go somewhere new, try different things, break away from the standard codes of life that surround us.  But yes, being mute is an unusual goal.

I’m not sure this makes the objective less weird, but I think the prospect of escaping English for me was less about getting away from familiar (as with WalMart or Starbucks) and more about testing my sources of satisfaction and control.  Part of what gives me such joy in Latin America is the forced dependence on God that comes when I don’t know what else to do but pray and let others help me.  Another thing that makes me really happy is speaking Spanish.  So as a horribly under-controlled experiment—would the thrill of helplessness (go ahead, laugh away...) be amplified without language skills?  Granted, it’s a drastically different setting to spend a week as a tourist, versus a month as a helper/ worker/ visitor/ friend in a slum.  But I think I really just love people, wherever they are, whatever language they speak.  I get pumped about the conversations that come with actual fluency, but even without that, I can taste (yum!) and see and smell life with folks.

 As it turned out, lots of people spoke English in the regions we visited.  It was never a problem.  Actually, it was more of an adventure to get a dress hemmed by a Vietnamese seamstress here in City Heights this week than it was to hire a taxi to cross Phnom Penh.  Ah, the impact of colonialism and the tourist dollar.  I suppose the quest for the brink of linguistic desperation hasn't taken hold of tourist market share.  Surely we're missing out!

Back from Big City

It's a courtesy post, to say that I'm back, to say that my trip in Chicago (and a little bit of Indianapolis) was great, and to say that I'll say more soon.  =)

Early sunlight as I walked along the Chicago River.

Want to go to Paris?

One of my remarkable roommates could offer the chance you've been waiting for!

Visit www.cargoofdreams.org to get a ticket!  It's a $10 donation, designated "First Class to Paris"  Buy for yourself, for friends, for family, and tell anyone else who might be interested!

Here's some of [my roommate] Gabrielle's story:

"I am excited to say I am working with an amazing organization called Cargo of Dreams. The faith-based non-profit uses peoples talents and passions here in the US to convert shipping containers into clinics, schools, community centers, and so on, for impoverished communities worldwide. It is an incredible network of people helping people and I feel blessed to be apart of it.

In addition to taking on the role of Director of the Department of Architecture, Cargo of Dreams will be a platform to do a pilot project of the construction system that I believe God laid on my heart during my thesis year. This is an amazing opportunity to see the potential of the system as it is implemented in areas of great need, but further, a way to show God’s love in a very tangible way. The construction system is quite simple, self-interlocking metal baskets [steel cage units] that can be filled with materials from in and around the project site.

The next few months are going to be quite exciting and I want you all to be apart of it too! We are raffling off 2 first-class, round trip tickets from NYC to Paris valued at $10,000. The funds raised will go directly toward designing, testing and implementing the hybrid construction system of shipping containers and steel cage units and will further continue the work of creating better conditions for those in developing countries."

Having seen Gabrielle hard at work in the throes of her thesis, and even having scavenged for materials for the prototype of these units myself, I am SO thrilled for this opportunity she has to put her design into the hands of folks who can run with it.  This raffle makes that work possible-- AND it gives you the opportunity to win 2 first-class tickets to Paris.  Your chance to win is 1 in 1,000.  The winner will be announced December 5th. 

Who wants to be my potential travel buddy?

Consuming Catastrophe -- & Amazement at Children

“Consuming Catastrophe: The Comedy of The Heart; A Play in Ate Parts”.

Kids wrote that.  For real.  Little kids.  Titling their art show at a local (Nashville) church.  Based on the parable of the mustard seed and the kingdom of heaven.

If you're in Nashville, you should go and tell me how it is!!!  Art Crawl.  Sept. 4, Downtown Presbyterian Church, 6pm.  Isn't the title intriguing enough?

It makes me want to think and write and reflect on the depth of what they're pointing to.  Really pretty incredible.  Much of what we take in (consume) is disastrous.  The awful manufactured foods we've gotten used to eating (watch "Food, Inc.").  The stuff we use as entertainment, whether it's fear-mongering or demeaning or doubting.  I'm thinking of the news and the movies, the magazines and TV shows.  We bring so much mess into our very beings-- some inadvertently pressed upon us, but most of it a voluntary response to our gnawing hunger for connection, significance or understanding.

It's a comedy in the same way Shakespeare constructs humor.  It's ridiculous to an extent that is truly sad.  I think of "The Taming of the Shrew" (hoping to see it at San Diego Shakespeare festival in a couple weeks!), and really, it's an atrocious concept.  In desperation to marry off the eldest daughter, a father pays a man to do whatever it takes.  The suitor/ groom takes a turn as a virtual ogre to turn a shrew into a lover.  Come on, it's absurd.  It's tragic.  It's an out-and-out brawl with human hearts and sensibilities at stake.  It's also pretty funny.  So, too, are our hearts engaged in comedic consumption.  We're a mess, concocting ridiculous solutions for ourselves.  Yet, we look at that mess, and as followers of Jesus, we somehow believe that the ending turns out well!  It's even a CLASSIC comedy, ending in marriage of Christ (the bridegroom) and his Church.

Hilarious as that is, we really don't need to take ourselves so seriously.  God invites us together to play and to eat the broken bread that truly nourishes.

I wish kids wrote things more often.

Life Humming, Blog Sputtering

The sun slides down to quietly close another day.  The weather is phenomenal-- I can almost imagine the dry air is part of autumn.  Palm trees mess up that image, but oh well.

Another day, and my to-do list still looms.  Instead of becoming the rare event of the month, it's now common to have several days a week completely full of meetings: churches, pastors, co-workers, friends.  Planning, praying, talking, exploring.  Here are some of the things on the docket (and my HOPE is to offer deeper profiles and information for you in future posts)----

-City College, with InterVarsity
-Third Avenue Charitable Organization (TACO)
-City Heights charter school & community center
-Bible study with some other young women nearby
-planning & leading a weekend prayer retreat
-supporting leadership at 2 local Presbyterian churches

Continuing to watch some irons in the fire: in Tijuana, at a local hospital, and with the Global Urban Trek. And renewing my energy for raising the financial support to keep it all going!

Back, with a Bang

Getting back to San Diego was a lengthy process, one that I don't even want to calculate.  Planes jumped me from Hong Kong to Vancouver, Vancouver to Los Angeles.  Trains took me from north L.A. to Union Station to downtown San Diego.  And I boarded a city bus to pop me over to my apartment.

I know that I could have asked a number of people to pick me up from the train depot, but come on, once I'd made it that far, why not just finish the public transportation adventure?  I didn't have to wait more than a few minutes for the next bus, and something inside me hinted that this was a good way to get myself back into San Diego life.

What followed was a loud and clear affirmation that YES, San Diego is a mission field!  Within a few stops of my getting on the bus, several other people filed in.  One was a man stooped and distant, clearly challenged by mental handicaps or drugs or both.  He gazed off to one side, muttering incoherently.  What immediately came to mind was: "I didn't see this anywhere in Asia."  As I flipped through my mental records, it surprised me that in fact, no, I had not encountered anything like this man in the past 2 weeks.  In that moment, his mental illness, drug abuse, and isolation confronted me, and the tragic dissonance only ramped up when a few stops later, a shouting match began on the bus.  The man had walked up to the bus driver and said something, to which the driver replied that he would not drive on until the man sat down.  The driver repeated himself several times, to no effect.  At that, several others on the bus, possibly fellow street-dwellers with this guy, began screaming at him to take a seat, they had places to go, etc. 

I sat in my seat, quietly watchful beside a man whose cane balanced against my backpack.  I wondered if riots happen on buses.  I wondered where all these homeless pals might be going on the bus.  But mostly I thought of how sad and twisted the situation was.  Here I was, back in the proud "land of the free," and I had not felt so disgusted in weeks.  I've heard people talk about poverty in the U.S. as a "hidden" phenomenon, but it was the bluntness, the obviousness, that hit me in this bus-ride drama.  A man, uncared-for, just wandering blindly through the streets and onto city transit?  Causing a score of people to run late on their bus route?  It's far from subtle.

Eventually another guy put his arm around the muttering man and loudly escorted him back to a seat.  He mocked him for "losing his place" and made jokes about what kind of drugs might be messing him up.  I sat and shook my head.  Vacation over, just like that.

Happily in Hong Kong

It's been a long first day here in Hong Kong... mostly made long by the days it took to get here and the lack of sleep to separate those days!  I can't really figure out what my "yesterday" was; I think I'll have to settle for simply acknowledging that I left San Diego on Wednesday, and today was Friday.  =)

But really, I can't believe I'm on the other side of the world.  As the sun rose over mountainous islands and the airplane began its descent this morning, I had a crazy moment of disorientation.  Really?  I'm on the other shore of the Pacific Ocean???  A thousand preparatory thoughts ran through my head: Okay, Laura, this time you might feel acute culture shock like you've never experienced before.  You won't know what people are saying or how they might interact with you.  You're entering a huge, fast-paced city.  Be ready.  (And stay awake!!!)

But the day was smooth, and it was fun.  My friend Ben picked me up and got me oriented to the bus, neighborhood and subway (and got us some fantastic lunch!) before heading out to work for the afternoon.  We walked through three local temples, the remnant of an old fishing village, a bustling street market, and a few "sitting out" spaces (literally, designated benches where people sit outside).  Then when Ben went in to the office, I struck out to see the HUGE Times Square mall.  (Laugh it up, friends.  It IS a sight to see.)  Hordes of people crowded through a Toy Story 3 display/ exhibit thing with sculptures and drawings of the movie's characters.  There were lots of Asian peace-sign photo ops going on-- too many to count.  I meandered my way over to Victoria Park-- gorgeous.  Had a halting conversation with an old man named Robert who was happy to see me, but I'm not sure why.  Got excited about a sign to the central library, and followed it.  Libraries are always beautiful.  I browsed through the stacks-- fascinated by how differently children's books are designed and organized in Chinese.  (Random.  Yes.  But I was curious.)  I read up on some Cambodia guide books and browsed worldwide newspapers for goings-on and information.

Just in time for a serious downpour, I struck out to find Ben again for dinner.  Tropical rain is something else, with its humid gusts and fatty raindrops.  Anyway, back to those guarded self-coaching thoughts that I had on the plane...  In fact, I haven't felt too helpless or shocked, even here.  It's been fun to try new things, and even more fun to simply learn, observe and ask questions.  To take in each street and the stories it tells.  I realized, as I took note of people, patterns, and movement through the park and library, that this has become habit and hobby for me.  Always pondering the context and even thinking, okay, who would I get to know by strategically spending time here?  Wondering what kind of ministry God might plant -- or already have underway! -- in any given place.  Asking for the conversations that will open a door or a window or simply offer a peak past the curtain or through the keyhole.

We'll see how it goes!  I get another day exploring here tomorrow (Saturday) and then hop down to Malaysia for World Conference on Sunday.  I have a feeling this trip is going to fly, but I'm already encouraged by its mix of familiar and adventure.

Newsletter Chi

(I mean chi - pronounced "chee" - like the energy source, like Tai Chi.)

Lots of you know.  Graciously, nobody's nagged or commented.  It's been a LONG time since I sent out a ministry newsletter email.  I've put it off.  I've done everything else on the list.  I've washed my sheets and vacuumed and taken walks and written cards to people.  But the time has come.

Those of us in the "biz" often lament the weird pressures of writing jolly newsletters to our various supporters.  Do we sound upbeat all the time?  Do we keep things real and gritty?  Do we have enough success stories?  Do we sound sufficiently busy?  Do people care?

I try to remind myself that people want to know how I am and what I've been doing.  They love me.  They want to know what my life is like.

Breathe in.  Wind up the computer.  The next engaging newsletter, coming right up.

Clarifying Words on Calling

"When you’ve found what you’ve been specially wired to do, you’ve found your GIFT. When you’ve found where it’s meant to shine, you’ve found your CALL. And when you’re using your gift in the place that you’ve been called, then you know that you are living out God's DESIGN. And there is nothing more gratifying that you can accomplish in all the world."

(a double-steal: I took this from a co-worker, who took it from someone else's blog.  oh information diaspora.) 


In and of itself, this is plenty to think about.  I'll only add that recently, I've given in to the truth that we NEVER fully figure these things out.  That may not be news to other people, but I know that the achiever in me really wants to get the answer and be set.  God, on the other hand, keeps on shaping and molding and adjusting and clarifying things.  Here's to being in the potter's hands...

Pieces of Life

This past week I've been crawling through the re-adjustment of being back in the U.S.  After a week in Mexico City, I'm missing friends and street vendors and crowded buses, and the days are grey and quiet here in San Diego.  I didn't know what "help" would look like, but I asked some friends for it.  They've done the things that good friends do: they've called and written and sent me scriptures and prayers.  They haven't busted into "The sun'll come out, TOMORROW...!" or anything ridiculous, but they've reminded me that life is good.  The  striking thing is that they've done that without platitudes or prescriptions for me.

What several friends did do-- not by my prompting, but apparently innately knowing what is good for the soul-- was tell me stories.  It didn't occur to me to ask-- far from it!-- but I've read and heard a collection of beautiful moments that they experienced these past few days.  I've read about sunrises over the ocean, and mist in fields of sunflowers.  They told me about kids jumping in and out of a pool.  They gave me a glimpse into the texture of a day, telling me what they saw, what they heard, what they felt.  They didn't interpret or draw conclusions from it; they just told it.

The comfort I found in that probably explains why we read books and watch TV and movies, but it's also different with friends.  The deep breath I took and the smile with which I responded had to do with feeling a little less far away, with thinking, ah, this is where ___ spent time today. 

Will you tell people where you were today?  What you saw?  What made you smile?  What made you sigh?  It is these things that make us humans, that make us real, that make us friends.

Global Urban Treks

I've now served in a full range of the roles available on InterVarsity's Global Urban Trek.  I was a student in 2005, staff in 2007, assistant director in 2008, co-director in 2009, and this past week assisted as a coordinator for Trek orientation.

Many of you have seen that the Trek nurtures me and gives me life, and this week was no exception.  I watched as students, staff and directors came together, met one another, and were formed into teams for the summer.  I led times of training and teaching and prayer.  I listened to fears and hopes and questions.  I experienced anew the hope and the promise of Isaiah 58:8---

"Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness will go before you,
and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard."

Against all kinds of odds, God insists on His kingdom breaking into the world.  And God does it through these bright-eyed, hopeful young people.  God does it through unpretentious, hopeful people without money.  God does it through hope in what is unseen, hope that is absurd, hope that does not disappoint, hope that keeps on growing and giving and leavening the dough.  Just how far will that hope spread in one summer?  Join me in following students through the next six weeks among the urban poor: they'll be blogging about it here.

Ever Feel like This?

This song hit the spot, for all those days that we can't quite locate our feelings on those little smileyface charts.  When we wonder, Um, what am I doing with God?  How is it between us?

LYRICS:
Woke up on the wrong side of the bed,
the wrong side of the room,
the wrong side of the world.
Can't put my finger on the mood.
It's not melancholy, anger or the blues.
I love my husband, my house, my job.
Couldn't be any better,
and really what else is there?
Then I realize I'm forgetting God,
and that's the root of all my misery.

Lord, first of all, how is it between you and me?

. Chorus:
How is it between us?
How is it between us?
When did I talk to you last,
and what has happened since?
How is it between us? How is it between us?
When did I talk to you last, and what has happened since?

. When I wake up I am on my way,
reinventing the wheel and saving the day.
I have learned this lesson a thousand times,
I am the branch, and you are the vine.
Apart from you we are mice and men,
with our fancy dreams of grandeur and no way to get there.
Oh I can think about you now and then,
or I can make a mark on eternity.

Lord first of all, how is it, between you and me?

. Chorus .

So let the wicked prosper, let the oceans roar,
let the mountains crumble, and fall into the sea.
There's something more important weighing on my mind.
Lord first of all, how is it between you and me?

Remember the Sabbath

A variety of circumstances have had me recalling God's commandment to keep the sabbath.  First, it was the dizzying flexibility of a ministry work-week that could, in quick succession, give me days of non-stop meetings and service followed by days that begged to be filled.  Before I had any standing weekly commitments, I was fresh in San Diego without a clue as to the flow or direction of any given Monday.

As I began to get busy, I realized that a non-traditional schedule (going 'till 9pm, doing errands midday, just as likely to lead a prayer meeting as go to the beach on a Sunday afternoon) could run me into the ground if I didn't take a stand on something.  So I started designating days off.  I've been trying to figure out what is "off" and what is "work".  My work is largely about people, but people aren't  always work.  =)  A small voice in my head kept reminding me of the beauty and refreshment of a sabbath-- something I haven't regularly observed since college.  Back then, the lines seemed clearer: if I didn't do my ever-pervasive academic work, then I was resting.  (Keep in mind that back then I also had hardly any responsibilities like cooking or cleaning or car maintenance.)

I began asking around, and I found sadly few people in ministry around me who took sabbaths.  Is it possible, I began to wonder?  What if a community or church event comes up?  I HAVE to go, don't I?  But I was also realizing that I HAVE to rest.  I needed this day/ pattern/ rhythm in my life.

Two weeks ago, I started reading Exodus.  Before God sent Moses down the mountain with commandments etched on tablets, God taught the Hebrews about sabbath through the pattern of manna collection.  He told them that they would go out and get manna for 5 days, just enough for their family to eat each day.  The 6th day they'd get a double portion, and they could keep it overnight for eating on the 7th day.  (If they kept extra on other days, it got gross and maggot-y by daybreak.)  I like concrete teaching points.  I like that the stone tablet commandment isn't a new thing about sabbath-- it's a reminder about this way of living that God has instituted for his people.

And so all this was percolating in me this weekend when I picked up Sabbath-Keeping, by Lynne Baab.  EXCELLENT book.  Practical.  Insightful.  Human.  Hopeful.  And it's pretty short.  Baab offers examples from many years of negotiating sabbath observance in the U.S. and abroad (she actually started while living in Israel, not so much by choice), with and without children, as a home-maker and a Presbyterian pastor.  Whether you've thought about sabbath a lot, or are just venturing into the conversation, I highly recommend the book.  But you don't have to take my word for it!  (Thanks, Reading Rainbow...)

My favorite take-home points from Sabbath-Keeping:

-Start and end the day with actions that set it apart.  Prepare yourself to enter and exit a time that is different, restful (slow), delightful, and restorative.

-This may sound obvious, but don't do anything that you'd find on a "to-do" list.  Whether it's email or phone calls or silver-polishing, stay away from achievement-driven tasks.  (Exceptions are made for milking cows and such.)  The heart of the sabbath is God's provision and love regardless of our DOing tendencies.

-Commit to it for 6 months at a time, and then re-evaluate.  So decide what day it will be, what things you will and won't do, and how you will mark the occasion-- and don't change it until you've given it many weeks to become part of your rhythm.

I am hopeful about the sabbath as a freedom and a joy.  It's tricky in a culture where rest is such a 'strange' choice to make, but I've begun to think our need for it trumps inconvenience.

"Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a sabbath to the LORD your God. On it you shall not do any work, neither you, nor your son or daughter, nor your male or female servant, nor your animals, nor any foreigner residing in your towns. For in six days the LORD made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but he rested on the seventh day. Therefore the LORD blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy."  -Exodus 20:8-11 

Read the Signs

Posted on a house for sale down the street.  Makes me giggle every time.

Yet I also ascribe some depth to it.  What if PEOPLE were able to wear such a sign with pride?  Every time I pass the sign, I think about it.  Are you gorgeous inside?

Ears to Hear

I have my share of feeling fear, annoyance and confusion when I'm around people who are homeless, addicted, or unstable.  I question their judgment and their motives.  I'm always ready for things to take a turn into nonsense.  Rightly or wrongly, it keeps me from being too shocked when the winds shift.  When things start sounding weird, I can hold myself back and say, Okay, this person's a little off. 

What I was reminded of today, though, was the no-nonsense insight that often comes from people who live on the edges of society.  This was the second Friday I've gone downtown and helped with a morning meal for the homeless.  It was a vibrant experience.

This morning some people on the streets reminded me that I love people.  As I took trays of food to individuals on the church patio, one lady began trying to ask me a question in broken English.  When I skipped into Spanish with her, a big grin broke out on her face.  Oh such relief!  I described how the process worked and later she got a meal.  She thanked me again and again.  Every time I passed, she smiled.  Whether sweet Rosie who claimed she'd "never forget" me or Tom who reads the Harry Potter books or tough Lisa who grumbles and smiles or Dax who makes jokes and talks about his granddaughter-- I enjoyed people this morning.  We all found big or small reasons to smile.

I smile at the way these friends told the truth.   Some walked up to me and asked if I was Irish.  Some told me I look 17 years old.  (Ouch.)  One sang me a love song.  One told me it was okay to serve the Lord by having conversation with people in the courtyard-- hoping I didn't "get in trouble" with the other volunteers for talking instead of clearing tables.  One told me not to stop smiling. 

It was the way Tom, Dax, Rosie and others looked straight at me and said what they thought-- that made me think about the repeated times in Luke when Jesus talks about those who have ears to hear.  Jesus says something that invites those who have ears to hear-- listen!  Immediately, the spotlight turns to this unruly bunch called "tax collectors and sinners" and puts them in a scene hanging out with Jesus.  This crowd is bumping into the Kingdom.  They hear what's true.  They know it.  They say it.

In community development and church outreach circles lately I've been praying for us (usually middle-class, well-meaning people) to have God's eyes for neighborhoods here-- "eyes to see."  What I've thought less about are the people who offer US their seeing eyes and their hearing ears.  And not just what they hear on the streets that we're interested in, but what they hear in us.  What they hear from Jesus.

At those fun gatherings around Jesus 2,000 years ago, the ones listening didn't cease to be tax collectors and sinners, but they stopped being left out of the conversation.  They became a crucial part of good news listened-to and understood. 

People without houses, people without money, and people without clear minds don't cease to be people with problems in the presence of Jesus.  Yet, they can be people with ears to hear his voice and his truth.  In their listening, and our listening with them, we could all be people of promise.

Godly Cancellations

I took a chunk of time on Tuesday for prayer, study and reflection, and one of the driving factors (other than the fact that those are all good things to do) was that I wanted to be more in tune with God's direction for my days.  I like to work hard and be productive, and as a result I am very capable of filling a schedule until I feel busy and accomplished.  I've done much too good a job of this lately. 

In the two days since, plans and meetings have cancelled right and left, and it's been beautiful.  That's right: beautiful.  Though I am sad that I didn't get to see 5 or 6 wonderful people, each cancellation opened me to something else, and in that, God gave me joy and freedom.

For example, on Thursdays I have a weekly meeting at the doughnut shop around the corner with a college student I'm helping to prepare for a summer in Mexico City.  I had done reading and prepared some scripture study in Amos for that meeting, and so I could have been grouchy when a text came through saying he wouldn't make it -- feeling sick.  Instead, there was a sense of openness, like , Okay, how will this morning go now?

It went by tackling a few little projects, having a fantastic conversation and time of prayer with a roommate, and slowing down the pace of the rest of my day.   Mmmm.  As much as I would have savored a string of meetings and "tasks accomplished," this is sweeter.

May God bring you the pace that you need and the peace that you seek, today and every day.

Week in the Life

I've realized how much of the blog lately has been REFLECTIVE, so I figured I'd put a little concrete update in here for those of you who want to know what the heck I do everyday.  While I don't have any kind of a typical day, maybe a glance at the whole week will help!

My week in review:
Sunday- 7.(something) mile run with neighbor!  Church with First Presbyterian.  Led prayer walk in City Heights for local church.  Joined CRM missional community folks for dinner and prayer and discussion.

Monday- inductive Bible study with a friend, digging into 1 John.  So many good questions there!  Then Tijuana boys' home for conversation, hanging out, talking about surfing, taking the kids to school.  Took about 2 hours to cross the border back into the US; a man just ahead of me in line got taken away in handcuffs.  I came home, cooked dinner, and watched a bilingual film ("English as a Second Language") about the emptiness of life on the border.

Tuesday- got up and started going through emails when I got a call from a college friend I hadn't talked to in 6+ months!  We talked 'till I had to get ready for my weekly check-in meeting with Geoff.  Geoff and I caught up, pondering God in daily life and the balance between being involved in lots of great things and a restful availability (ie: not being crazy busy).  Another long-overdue conversation with a college friend, and then with my family.  Bought plane tickets for our CRM world staff conference in Malaysia!!!

Wednesday- Weekly staff meeting with other CRM folks in San Diego, discussing Mansions of the Heart (spiritual formation based on Theresa of Avila's writings).  MARATHON emailing session to get my inbox in order.  (Sorry if I owe you an email, I've been backlogged lately as I spend lots of time looking for plane tickets in Asia.)  Bible study with roommates and some architectures students downtown.  Matthew 12 and Revelation 7.  Weird stuff.

Thursday- full day in Fullerton (Orange County).  Drove up for a roundtable discussion/ workshop with other community development practitioners weaving together expertise of City-Reaching (master networkers), Community Development (local organizer- neighbor ministry types), and Prayer/ Intercessors (the people who love to pray).  Great discussions and fun people to meet.  Then swung by the CRM office in Anaheim to catch up and wait out rush hour traffic.  Played with friends' baby boy.  Got home and went out for Vietnamese food and gourmet dessert with apartment #1 neighbors-- I'm still full! 

Friday- another early morning-- chopping vegetables to feed homeless/ low-income folks downtown.  Meeting with local church plant about community center planning and prayer.

And on and on! And those are just the highlights!  I'm sure I'm missing various fun nuggets of life and ministry in there, but if you want to know more, just holler and I'll fill you in.  =)

The Down Home Thrill

Have you ever felt that thrill that comes from feeling just a little more connected to the people in your world?  I hear lots of complaint about the faceless globalized world, but lately, I've started relishing the places where a personal touch persists.

At the coffee shop where I meet with various people at least once a week, it's so much fun to know and be recognized by the folks behind the counter.  To greet them by name and chat while steeping my tea.

My roommate recently went to the corner store two days in a row.  The cashier saw that she was buying the same kind of beer again the second day and said, "It's good stuff, eh?"

This morning I got what I assumed was a form e-mail, sent from my regional bank corporation back home.  They were inquiring about recent activity on my debit card (plane tickets to Hong Kong apparently look out of the norm for me!) and requested a call to clear things up.  So I called and punched the numbers in the automated directory and a woman answered and asked what I needed.  I told her about the email and she asked who sent it.  I told her the name and she said, "Oh, that's me."  How often does THAT happen???  I'm not talking small-town Tennessee bank office--- this is a bank with branches all over the southeast.  I was surprised and happy and I gave my bank extra points for giving me a sense of being known.

I know small towns feel stifling to some people-- they don't want others to know their stuff, their past, their buying habits.  However, I would say that it's much more frightening to have NO ONE know your past, your purchases, and your pastimes.  There's a buzz of happiness that comes with recognition and being acknowledged.  Apparently all I have to do is make a strange enough purchase with my debit card.

Going into Wedding Season

"I swear, in some ways, abortion and homosexuality are less contentious among my students than the issue of what kind of wedding to have, what kind of wedding banquet to plan. The way that young Protestant couples plan their weddings bodes very ill for the kind of family they are hoping to become. You watch what a wedding is often about these days -- it is about displaying one’s wealth to those one is eager to impress. If you think instead about the scriptural wedding itself, about being the open banquet that one hopes one’s marriage will be, I think weddings would look a lot different than they do. I think they would be on a Sunday morning service where everyone is invited. I think they would look more like a potluck than the kind of catered extravagances toward which even the middle class is climbing. I think the image of the banquet where the blind and the lame are invited, and those who cannot repay us, that image would be one in which to start a marriage."

-Amy Laura Hall

YES!  I've been talking with friends for a few years now about why more weddings aren't just part of worship on Sunday mornings.  AND how fun it would be to do a potluck, where those in town can bless and bring together what they have for the celebration of marriage.  I'm thrilled that my friends' weddings HAVE been about the covenant they're entering into, and I've been blessed by the creativity with which they celebrate it.

Not that I'm planning any weddings of my own!   :)  But when the time comes, I pray that it's one helluva joyful gathering that's about faithfulness and openness instead of ritz and status quo.  You can hold me to that.

The Desert Shall Rejoice

ISAIAH 35:    The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing. The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it, the majesty of Carmel and Sharon. They shall see the glory of the LORD, the majesty of our God. Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who are of a fearful heart, “Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God. He will come with vengeance, with terrible recompense. He will come and save you.”

Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water; the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp, the grass shall become reeds and rushes. A highway shall be there, and it shall be called the Holy Way; the unclean shall not travel on it, but it shall be for God’s people; no traveler, not even fools, shall go astray. No lion shall be there, nor shall any ravenous beast come up on it; they shall not be found there, but the redeemed shall walk there. And the ransomed of the LORD shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.                   


(Note: This is what the desert here really looks like right now!  Such a miracle of color and growth and life in unlikely places.  Dry, rocky, and windy, the desert DARES anything to survive-- the plants are dancing in the face of that dare for springtime.  Soon it will return to rough and tumble desert times.)  

Take off Your Shoes

Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God; so he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist.  After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples' feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him.

He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, "Lord, are you going to wash my feet?"

Jesus replied, "You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand."

"No," said Peter, "you shall never wash my feet."

Jesus answered, "Unless I wash you, you have no part with me."

"Then, Lord," Simon Peter replied, "not just my feet but my hands and my head as well!"

 Jesus answered, "Those who have had a bath need only to wash their feet; their whole body is clean. And you are clean, though not every one of you."  For he knew who was going to betray him, and that was why he said not every one was clean.  When he had finished washing their feet, he put on his clothes and returned to his place. "Do you understand what I have done for you?" he asked them. "You call me 'Teacher' and 'Lord,' and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another's feet.  I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you.  Very truly I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.

-John 13:2-17- 

A few days ago I was at a rocky stretch of seaside, and I couldn't resist the urge to take my shoes off and let my feet grip the sun-warmed stones.  There is a sensate exhilaration to barefootedness for some of us-- wiggling toes, grounded and balanced upon the earth-- and I think there are interlocked layers of meaning when we slip off our shoes and sandals.  There is the classic scene of Moses barefooted beholding the burning bush-- dusty feet a recognition and closeness with the ground that is holy.  There is some of that fear and wonder prompting my reverence at the seaside, but let's be honest, I also like to have my toes in the sand.  I like the water and waves to reach up and touch me.  (It always leaps up higher than my rolled pant cuffs.  Without fail.)

 

It's the sense of being touched that's so important in barefooted scriptures.  Moses needs to remove whatever stands between him and contact with the holy ground.  When Jesus washes the disciples' feet, he is TOUCHING their grungy, weary parts.  Feet are ticklish, funny-shaped, strong, stinky parts of the body.  Jesus wants to touch that?

 

This Maundy Thursday, I finally had the opportunity to wash someone's feet.  After years of wanting to practice it, it was simple, powerful, and beautiful.  Granted, the feet of my friend were pretty nice.  When I took her feet into the basin, no sludge came off and no blisters oozed.  But I held her feet in my hands and, looking up at her, realized I was literally under her feet.  She could have kicked me aside or splashed me with water or just walked away, but she sat and let me rinse and dry her heels and toes into cleanliness.

 

We can shield our feet from contact and our hearts from loving service and not realize what we're doing.  But sometimes, some days, we might hope to understand, we might take our shoes off, and we might end up washing one another's feet.

Joan's Palms on Sunday

If I told this story
you would worry
say "stay safe"
"carry pepper spray"
to stop it
stop her.
Was it
dangerous?

Danger of soft pillowed hands
filled with warmth of life
and sun and scraping by
and scrapping on the street.
Warm under waving palms,
this is no royal procession:
smells and scenes of rejection
men and women who want food
no flimsy 'bread of life'
but a hearty soup.
It is all backdrop to a bruised and limping plea:
"Got a quarter?  Or a dollar?"
No, but we can get food
if you want?
"Oh yes!"
Handshake introduction:
"Joan."
Laura.
Civilized and safe
until despairing strength pulls me in
too close
my hands wound in hers
and here is danger
close as a whisper-sob
of jibbered fear:
"the police don't understand."

I have to pull away
from the insane harm
and helpless hurt
in her hands.
I hate to
have to
let her go
admit defeat
and fear.

Walking away was right?
But Joan's babbled yells
were no consolation
no checkmark
for a task completed.

It is this uncertain
mess of conscience
pepper spray would not
ameliorate.
It is this day of significance
warming me up to
full absurdity of royal parade
led by a donkey.

Danger and bruises and hands and holiness,
wrapped in palms this Sunday,
invite me to tell a story
that repeats.

Eep! 2 Weeks!

There's been so much to write about these past few weeks, and I just haven't done it!  I don't know if others have that same experience... when there's too much to say.  There are days when my journal reflects that overload as well, and the result is short phrases and disjointed words.  Because I know it's important, and I want to transcribe it WELL, but there's a logjam from my mind to my typing fingers.

What's been rolling around in that time is a lot of reflection on Holy Week and Easter.  Lent was deep and powerful for me this year, so I had an odd sense of wanting to savor its last few days as Holy Week ticked down to Sunday.  In the small group I attend, a few of us talked about the beautiful focus of Lent-- this time to place ourselves firmly in a process of moving toward the cross.  Liturgically speaking, I've been mulling the last week or so on what focus can come from the season we're now in.  I read Acts 1-2 this morning:

After [Jesus'] suffering he presented himself alive to them by many convincing proofs, appearing to them over the course of forty days and speaking about the kingdom of God. While staying with them, he ordered them not to leave Jerusalem, but to wait there for the promise of the Father.

At a lecture I attended this week, the speaker advocated the value of "non-productive  repetition of the liturgy"-- meaning that we're not to put ourselves through Lent, Epiphany, Advent (etc.) for our own betterment and improvement, but for the sake of living in seasons of obedience to God.  In that light, I'd agree that observing Lent doesn't make me a better person... but it can prepare me to be an Easter person.  A person with fresh appreciation of the cross and its rending indignity.  A person who needs and welcomes the wounds on the hands and the side of Jesus.  A person who waits for the promise.  Waiting and teaching in turn can prepare me to be a Pentecost person.  And so on.

All that to say, I'm going to keep turning the soil of Holy Week.  Let's have Jesus appear and stay with us and speak about the kingdom of God. 

Reading Words

LOTS of words.  =)

Yeah, there's a bookmark in all of them.  Guess what I should be doing...
This is why I do so much quoting on the blog! 

Handmade Love

Homemade card + envelope I made for a friend.  Not gonna lie, I was pretty proud of it... so I share.  =)

Lines and Grays

"...in a world of poverty, the lines between darkness and light, good and evil, destructiveness and creativity, are much more distinct than in a world of wealth.
One of the temptations of the upper-middle class life is to create large gray areas between good and evil.  Wealth takes away the sharp edges of our moral sensitivities and allows a comfortable confusion about sin and virtue.  The difference between rich and poor is not that the rich sin more than the poor, but that the rich find it easier to call sin a virtue.  When the poor sin, they call it sin; when they see holiness, they identify it as such.  This intuitive clarity is often absent from the wealthy, and that absence easily leads to the atrophy of the moral sense.
David helped me see that living with the poor does not keep me away from evil, but it does allow me to see evil in sharper, clearer ways.  It does not lead me automatically to the good either, but will help me see good in a brighter light, less hidden and more convincing.  Once I can see sin and virtue with this clarity, I will also see sadness and joy, hatred and forgiveness, resentment and gratitude in less nebulous ways."     -Henri Nouwen, Gracias

Strong words.  When I read them, I literally stopped and said, "whoa."  I'm not completely convinced, but I think I mostly agree.

Ponder ponder?

Outside the box, but built in line...

"A key spiritual discipline, therefore, in the upside-down Kingdom of the oddly shaped Christ is the practice of doing out-of-the-box Kingdom things. When we respond to Jesus' example and actively step out of our comfort zone—the status quo, what is expected, and what is normal—on a regular basis, we give God the opportunity to gradually chisel away attitudes and habits that are not life-giving and to bring our values and life practices in line with the Cornerstone."

The stone the builders rejected has
become the chief corner stone; this is the
LORD’s doing; It is marvelous in our eyes.
This is the day the LORD has made; Let us
rejoice and be glad in it.
                Psalm 118:22-24

Too Good

"Sometimes the relationship I offer you seems too good to be true.  I pour My very Life into you, and all you have to do is receive Me.  In a world characterized by working and taking, the admonition to rest and receive seems too easy.  There is an intricate connection between receiving and believing: as you trust Me more and more, you are able to receive Me and My blessings abundantly.  Be still and know that I am God."

-from Jesus Calling

It was an incredible day.  Didn't start well, though.  I fought my alarm clock (cell phone) with swipes at 10-minute intervals.  The tender sunlight on the neighboring palm tree won my admiration, but didn't pull me out for a run.  I rolled over.  I moaned.  I finally pulled myself upright and started reading today's Lent devotional.  Be transformed by the renewing of your mind... The words of the prophet Isaiah (chapter 53) became appropriate, became interesting, became my prayers, became a window into God's heart for loving and redeeming the whole world with a suffering love.  It transformed me and my mind, my attitude and my morning.

The day wound through a meeting about me (goals, progress, plans) and a meeting about the state of the Presbyterian Church (USA).  Both were surprisingly encouraging.  I should write more about that.  Next time.

I finished the evening with a run at sunset.  All my prior trips to the local park had been in the mornings, and what a different scene it was!  I passed people constantly on the sidewalks.  School-kids ambled to get home before dark.  Adults finished days of work.  The noise!  A joyous tumult: Mexican lady walking buddies, street slang around a busted engine, Vietnamese moms and dads and brothers.  My favorites were the parallel soccer games.  Men/ young adults kicked up some serious dirt for an intense futbol match, while a grupito of young boys had their game set up with coke bottles marking the goals off to the side.  People FILLED the public space in a way that I rarely see in the U.S.  They overflowed into a place of fun and commonality and health.  People who would never be in a room together were linked in a rhythm born of shared life and limited space.

Jesus, it's too good and vibrant.  Help me receive.

Generate Hope

I've crossed paths with people pioneering a brand new non-profit called Generate Hope that's confronting the grim reality of sex-trafficking in San Diego.  Here's a glimpse into a little-known aspect of this sunny city, from an interview as their first women's safehouse opened last week.

There's not much commentary for me to add...  I am grateful for organizations like this one offering aid for a gaping need.  I feel strongly about the Church's responsibility to step up in the face of grim, stark realities like this.  I reflect on yesterday's sermon on Jonah, in which the preacher firmly argued that, "Our disobedience is the world's catastrophe."  Our failure-- and even refusal-- as the Church to engage a society that craves power, exploitation and literally cheap sex is disobedience.  And it is catastrophe.  Every individual actor in the sex trade screams for love, for ministry, for the light of Jesus.  Of course we feel compassion for the women entering recovery.  But what about the larger, frightening, disgusting system?  Are some of them our Ninevites?  The johns, the pimps, the gangs, the accomplices, the abusers who made that little girl feel unsafe?  Imagine a world in which THEY were healed as well.  Imagine a world where that resounding catastrophe could be replaced by hope.

It's a miracle, but one we've seen before: out of dark, wounded, belly-of-a-whale depths, hope comes.