A Homily on Jesus and the Gedarene Demoniacs

Today I preached my first homily, at the Healing Prayer and Eucharist service Church of the Incarnation holds Wednesdays at noon.  It's an intimate service, with only about 30 people attending, and led by Fr. Rick Phillputt, who has a deeply pastoral heart.  Incarnation uses the Roman Catholic lectionary for weekday eucharistic services, so the texts were Amos 5:14–15; 21–24 and Matthew 8:28–34.  Though it was tempting to preaching on the passage from Amos (a powerful one that ends with the passage about letting justice roll down like a river), I opted to preach on the Gospel, as I thought it would be more appropriate for the setting.  It's an informal service, so I preached without a manuscript, but wrote out what I wanted to saw and read it a zillion times so I could remember it.  I've included the written version of the sermon below.  

To my surprise, I enjoyed the act of preaching and felt that the delivery went well.  I'd appreciate your feedback (for good or ill) on the content, though, as I'm less sure about that.  This business of sermonizing is not as easy as it seems! (For a sermon on the same text by a man much wiser and holy than I, the late Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh, go here.)

Durham Declaration on Immigration and the Church

Hey everyone,

I recently discovered this declaration that came out of the Duke Center for Reconciliation Summer Institute. Those of you who were there may have heard about it or even been a part of it (if so, talk to me!). I think it gives a great example of a Christian response to what's going on in the US vis a vis immigration, especially in contrast to strictly secular responses.

The declaration was largely a response to what's happening in Arizona right now. If you're unfamiliar with AZ's new immigration-enforcement law, go here: http://immigration.change.org/blog/view/so_whats_in_the_arizona_bill_everyones_talking_about

I'll do like Zac did and post the declaration in the comments section, so as not to overwhelm the blog homepage...

Hope y'all are doing well.

Hymn of Praise

For my FE placement, I get to print church bulletins.

Here is what one of the bulletins that I will be printing will look like for this Sunday, July 4th:

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Welcome

Responsive Call to Worship

Leader: This is the day the Lord has made.
People: We will be glad and rejoice in it!
Leader: What shall we return to the Lord for all the good things he has done for us?
People: We will lift up the cup of salvation and call on the name of the Lord! We will love and serve the Lord!

Prayer of Invocation

Hymn of Praise: "O Beautiful for Spacious Skies" # 510

Unison Prayer of Confession:
...

Assurance of Forgiveness
Gloria Patri No. 546

Hymn of Praise: "My Country, Tis of Thee" # 513

Announcements...


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A Christian Confession of Our Oil Spill

I just picked this up off the ekklesiaproject website. It is the first good thing I have heard said about the oil spill in the Gulf.

http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/lamentbpoilspill/

The Petition
As followers of Christ, creator and redeemer of all creation, we mourn the Deepwater Horizon catastrophe and the BP oil spill now polluting the Gulf of Mexico. We mourn the human and animal lives lost, the economies and ecosystems destroyed, and the gifts of God, created from and for his love, squandered and poisoned. Most of all we mourn our complicity and active participation in an economy based on toxic energy that has made such death inevitable.

We find our lives dependent upon the destructive forces that have been made visible in the oil spill, but which have been a sinful and deadly presence in creation for many decades now. We acknowledge that our current lifestyle of convenience and hyper-mobility, which is based on oil and oil-based products is at the root of the problem and that the irresponsibility and hubris of companies such as BP are only outgrowths of this deeper reality. As the prophets of old said, we hear the land witnessing and testifying against us.

Having acknowledged these realities we now make a public confession of the sins against God’s creation that we have committed and have been committed on our behalf. We pray for the grace of God to change our lives, and we invite all of our Christian sisters and brothers to join us in this acknowledgement of our sin and culpability, and in working toward a true repentance.

As a sign of this recognition of our sin we commit to:

•Fasting from all food on Fridays except that which has been locally grown with methods that do not rely on petroleum-based fertilizers and pesticides.

•Making every effort to take each Friday as a day when we do not drive but rather walk, bike, ride public transit, or carpool to school or work.

•Praying for the transformation of our lives as individuals and churches toward freedom from fossil fuels and reconciliation with all God’s creation.

•Continuing these practices until the oil spill has been cleaned up and the work of restoration of God’s creation in the Gulf has begun.

On Sunday June 20, the two month anniversary of the beginning of the spill, we invite all Christians to lament the oil spill with a fast from oil. On that day, we will celebrate the Sabbath as we mourn: abstaining from driving motor vehicles of any kind, avoiding food that was grown and shipped great distances, and reflecting on the aspects of our lives that are so entrenched in the oil economy that we cannot even quit them for one day.

We commit to exploring other appropriate acts of lament in our own church communities.

We hope that on this national day of lament, church communities will gather together for meals prepared of local ingredients and begin to discuss a new future that honors God’s creation and seeks to love the world as God does. Out of these discussions we pray that communities will begin to organize farmers markets, encourage alternative modes of transportation, and build a creative hope in their communities.

We are confident in God’s grace to give us hope from our lament as we repent and turn from our sin. Now is the time for our turning.

Litany of Lament:

We hope to join with our congregations in mourning this disaster by praying together this litany in our churches.

The earth is the LORD’s, and all that is in it. (Ps 24:1)
From the depths of our hearts, as from the depths of the seas, let lamentation pour forth over what we have made of this good earth.

In the garden, our first home, you planted two trees, O God: one to feed us, and one to limit us. (Gen 2:16-17)
As Adam and Eve ate what was forbidden to them, we have feasted on the bounty of your creation, but ignored the boundaries you ordained. Forgive us, we pray, and teach us proper restraint.

Oil pours into the sea, a judgment against our destructive pursuit of a life that is cheaper, faster, and easier.
For these sins, the land trembles and the people mourn. (Amos 8:8)

If the people of God are silent, the very stones will shout out! (Lk 19:40)
We confess our silence. This disaster leaves us speechless; Lord, give us the courage to repent with out lips, and with our actions.

The earth is the LORD’s, and all that is in it. Hear the cries of your servants, O Lord.
Deliver your creation from this peril, and put a new and right spirit within us. (Ps 51:10)

Durham District Pastors' Meeting of the United Methodist Church

I have finally witnessed it!

A few times a year, the District Superintendent meets with all the pastors in the UMC North Carolina Conference Durham District. I would guess this is approximately 80 pastors. I went with my new supervisor Grace. A room full of pastors is probably one of the weirdest rooms a human being can find themselves in, if only because pastors are continually the ones who are outnumbered in their own churches by the laity. Now I find myself vastly outnumbered by all of these people who are supposedly leading churches of their own. It was terrifying. I felt like Jane Goodall among the Gorillas:

Field Log Day 46: "It has taken me almost 5 weeks of building trust with one of the members of this elusive group, but finally I have built up enough normalcy to be allowed to observe a rare group interaction of these eccentric, somewhat awkward, creatures as they convene for their odd ritualistic meeting.
Immediately I note the male dominance of the group. It seems that being white, male, and slightly overweight gives one some kind of unspoken authority in the group--at least it seems this way from the way these particulars members of the clan are allowed to make extremely poor jokes and laugh out of turn without being punished by the leader of the group for their disruptions.
The leader of the group, a well-manicured silverback begins the ritual. It seems there is some kind of greeting ritual they call an "icebreaker." In this case, the members of the clan are told to gather in small groups with 3 or 4 people they have not met before and introduce themselves by saying which Bible character they most identify with, and which historic Methodist figure they most identify with. This seems an odd ritual for a group this old, most other species utilize icebreakers with groups of pimply-faced, awkward highschoolers--yet it seems effective: soon the awkward silence is broken by a comfortable laugher as one male pastor who looks like George Clooney and pastors a church in Durham (Bish Carder Peeps out there know who i am talking about) says he is most like Jezebel. This is greeted with, perhaps unwarranted for the level of the joke, outrageous laughter by the members of the clan. What a strange humor custom this group has developed, perhaps as a result of their total lack of connection with other social groups from their species. I personally find myself sucked right into the heart of one of these small groups. For a moment I panic, thinking this group will realize I do not belong here and turn on me. I pass the test on bible characters easily enough, recognizing that this is a mere formality and that few of these brave creatures really know the identity of the names being given. I sweat through stammering something about John Wesley hoping that they will not detect I know nothing of their odd tribal cult and its various historic leaders. The small group seems satisfied and returns to the ritual of clan, leaving me nervous but temporarily secure to observe as an insider among this strange group.
Not surprisingly, given my initial observations of the lack of fitness of many of this groups members, the silverback leader spends a considerable amount of time discussing the health of the clan. Apparently there is a conservation group working to protect the health of these historic and noble creatures called the Duke Endowment. They have launched the Clergy Health Initiative which costs $13 million dollars and attempts to train these majestic beasts in self-care, in order to prolong their lives in the wild. The silverback explains that the food choices of the clan must alter, an apple is different from a donut. I notice that more than a few of the plumper middle-age males appear confused by this pronouncement--some bristle, bordering on anger, as if their status in the clan has been threatened by these comments.
The meeting now turns to a long, protracted, monotonous ceremony of endurance. The silverback bellows and calls in an erratic and incomprehensible rolling howl. The members of the clan must compete to pretend to stay interested in the silverbacks boring and unending announcements to the group. I soon notice one of the oldest females of the group nodding off to sleep. This act is greeted with social shame in the group. I find my own patience pushed to the very brink. I calculate the odds of making a break for the door, but decide that even though these gentle creatures appear slothful, they may have hidden quickness that could stop my getaway and consign me to disastrous results once they realized I did not belong to the clan. I stay hunkered down, trying not to cry as discussions of Christmas Parties, Church meetings, and Sexual Ethics training sessions assault my senses. As if to mock my efforts, the silverback allows a previous leader of the clan, now a very old, frail creature to make an announcement. This member of the clan reads an announcement almost as if he is dying in between phrases: "The Durham District ........ will be .... trainign Lay Speakers........... What are Lay Speakers?...... Let me tell you..... Lay Speakers are....." I assume that the members of the clan know of some previous reputation for this creature that makes sense of their respectful silence.
Finally, the silverback brings the meeting to a close, and a feast ensues. The overweight males exhibit unprecendented speed and aggression as they jockey to be the first out the door into the fellowship hall where food has been prepared by what seem to be hunter/gatherer tribeswomen. I do not fully understand this arbitrary gender construction, but assume there must be some mythic cultural understanding among the clan which accounts for this unnecessary gender hierarchy. The beasts dig in to a meal of pasta, lettuce, and frozen fruit--a part of the new dietary choices of the clan. When I have finished my plate, I find an ideal moment and slip out a side exit door.

I will never forget this rare day, when I was invited into the clan and allowed to see what happens in the inner sanctum during these incredibly special group interactions. What strange, majestic creatures, and to see them interact together when they normally spend much of their lives roaming in isolation... what a special gift. I hope to continue to build trust with the clan members in the hope that I can learn more about what motivates them to live in such a difficult, confusing fashion.

I remain yours truly, explorer and anthropologist extraordinaire,
Matt J.

farm visit

We pulled up to the ramshackle farmhouse in the boondocks of North Carolina just as the sun was setting. I took stock of the rural imagery as we parked and got out of the car. This sunset is beautiful, I thought – yet my thoughts quickly ran to the farm workers whom we were preparing to visit: Each sunset merely concludes a day of sweltering summer heat. And what beautiful farmland! But would I like to work this farmland on my hands and knees twelve hours a day, six days a week? Indeed, much of the bucolic setting comes at the expense of unrewarded human labor. I couldn’t help but think, How much of this soil has blood in it?

Thankfully my cascading thoughts were diverted as we padded our way onto the front porch of the house. Both curious and cautious, we knocked on the trim of the screen door and peered through the mesh. A smiling face quickly appeared and greeted us warmly in Spanish. Alex’s disposition changed immediately as she recognized Luis, a farm worker from Veracruz, Mexico with kind eyes and a gentle presence. Luis ushered us inside and introduced us to his two coworkers and housemates, who are also from Veracruz and, like Luis, are working in North Carolina as part of the government’s H2A guest worker program.

For ninety minutes, we – Alex, Lauren, and myself – sat in the front room of this old farmhouse, beneath one exposed lightbulb and amidst stifling humidity, and we told stories. Sometimes our stories were of lighter fare – our thoughts on the World Cup, for instance, or on the awkwardness of learning another language – and sometimes our stories focused on more serious issues, like immigration reform and the recent death of a farm worker friend. Since my Spanish is pretty rusty, I spent most of the time listening.

Luis told the story of his recent journey to the US with the H2A program. He detailed the painstaking trip from his pueblo in Veracruz to the US border and finally to North Carolina, a journey that took five days in a hot, crowded bus. Upon arriving in the US, Luis – like all H2A workers – was shown a brief safety video, set up in temporary migrant housing, and put to work in the tobacco fields. Luis does receive income for his work, and thankfully H2A workers gained an increase from last year’s wages, but the hourly pay is pittance considering the arduous labor. And since the H2A program only allows Luis to be in the US during the growing season, he must return to Mexico in the fall, and hopefully repeat the process next year. This is Luis’s tenth year working in United States agriculture. He is familiar with the process and grateful for the work and pay; yet, despite his labor and track record, he is not allowed to take any steps towards citizenship or green card status. He is, frankly put, imported labor.

Yet I also heard the story of how Luis, through his ten years of working in the US, has become empowered. He is a member of the Farm Labor Organizing Committee in North Carolina and is eager to help farm workers find their voices throughout the state. He is also well aware of his rights as a worker and a human being, and, though he is dissatisfied with the condition of US immigration policy, does not seem to be discouraged or easily taken advantage of. Rather, his voice is calm and confident. Indeed, it is the voice of a hard worker who simply wants to be treated with dignity and to be adequately recompensed for his work.

I listened to Luis and his friends, who became our friends, talk in brisk Spanish and I tried to process the gravity of the scene. I was, of course, aware of the power of language as both a unifier and a stumbling block. I could follow the majority of the conversation, for which I was grateful, but I was also keenly aware that there was a lot I was missing linguistically and therefore culturally. Visiting these men made me want to hone my Spanish skills more than ever! Additionally, I was aware of the newness of the experience. While I have spent time with Spanish-speaking people in both church and academic settings, I’ve never visited a group in the United States who so often carries the label of Other. Migrant workers, particularly farm workers from Mexico, are arguably the most prejudiced against and least understood of any people group in the United States right now, even if they have proper documentation; one need only look at Arizona for proof of this. So to be sitting amongst them in their own living space was a huge step of reconciliation for me, a sign that if the three of us – all white, American, and from politically conservative backgrounds – could reach out to and learn from these oft-rejected men, then maybe a new story about immigration can really be told.

On the way home from the farmhouse, before we could even leave this little town, we were stopped at a police checkpoint outside a Hispanic tienda. The officer shone his Maglite into Alex’s face as he asked for her driver’s license. What’s all this for? she asked non-threateningly. The officer peered at her license and responded, Just a standard license check, ma’am. Nothing to worry about here.

Note: names of people and places have been changed.

Reflections on a Theologically Interpreted Sermon

Yesterday I got to preach from the pulpit for the second time. It was the Feast of the Nativity of John the Baptist. I was thankful for vestments and a pulpit for whole new reasons - my leg was shaking hardcore from nervousness, but no one could even notice :) haha.

You can hear my sermon here: http://www.saint-peters.net/sermons (it's only about 8 minutes long)

It's been very fun to write these sermons. This one was particularly interesting for me to write, because I never would have written it before this last year at Duke, which is encouraging. Our education is actually accomplishing something. I just hope that it's a good thing. The reason I never would have preached this before this year, is that this is clearly a theological interpretation. My text was Luke 1:57-80, but my sermon is anything but an exposition of those verses. In fact, there's little chance that the point I'm trying to get across was in the mind of Luke as he penned this chapter. I think my sermon is true to the text, but what I mean by being "true to the text" has changed dramatically since my "Biblical Hermeneutics" class at Wheaton, which taught me that for your interpretation to be "true to the text" it had to be within the original intention of the text. I don't think that's what I believe anymore. It was the Feast of the Nativity of John the Baptist, which is why the reading is from Luke 1, which is about John the Baptist, but my sermon is about Jesus - who is never mentioned by name in the entire text. But preaching about Jesus from a text about John the Baptist is "true to the text" because the Gospel of Luke as a whole (or the biblical witness as a whole) is about Jesus. Hence, John the Baptist only finds meaning because of the Christ event, and it is therefore appropriate to talk about Jesus from a text about John the Baptist.

Anyway - those are some brief reflections on sermon writing. I'd love to hear your reflections on my reflection, or reflections on your own experience for those of you who have gotten the chance to write sermons as well. I'll post the full text of my sermon in the "comments" section, so as to save blog-o-space.

hope all is well with you all, would love to hear how things are going. Florida is getting old quickly.

And I'm still sweating.

The Myth of Religious Violence?

http://soccernet.espn.go.com/world-cup/story/_/id/5297052/ce/us/south-african-man-killed-wife-kids-changing-tv-germany-australia-game?cc=5901&ver=us

"Death, thou shalt die."

Fr. Bill is a retired priest from the church I am interning at this summer.  He is in hospice and has Alzheimer's.  This afternoon, I went with a deacon to visit him and bring him Communion.  His wife greeted us, and we asked if Fr. Bill would like to receive Communion.  He was agitated when we got there, but she thought that he would appreciate it.  So we read the short service for "Communion in Special Circumstances," and the deacon put the Host in Fr. Bill's mouth.  He did not want it, and spit it out on the floor.  His wife gathered the chewed pieces up, saving them to try again later, and failing that, to bury them outside.  We finished the prayers with some difficulty, as he was becoming more agitated and mumbling incoherently. As we were saying goodbye, Fr. Bill opened his clear, blue eyes and looked straight at me, and so I introduced myself to him and he seemed to understand.  Then right before we left, he got very upset and his face contorted in an expression of anger and fear I will never forget.  "Damn, damn, damn," he kept murmuring. He quieted as his wife stroked his face and patted his chest.  She thanked us as we left the room.

Visiting Fr. Bill drove home to me the reality that death is an enemy.  The ravages of Alzheimer's--and sickness and suffering generally--are signs of death savaging the goodness of human life.  While in one sense, death is natural because humans are mortal creatures, the ways in which it arrays itself against human flourishing makes it an enemy.  St. Paul named death "the last enemy" (1 Cor 15:26).

But Christian hope is that, through Jesus' resurrection from the dead, death has been defeated, and on the last day, when the dead are raised to new life, it will be no more.  Death is an enemy, yes, but a vanquished enemy that will be destroyed (see 1 Cor 15:26, 54-55; Rev 21:3-4). As John Donne put it, "Death, thou shalt die." Death will be no more, precisely because of bodily resurrection; if only "the soul" survived death, then death would still be victorious over the body.  But resurrection hope insists that the body will be raised to a new, transformed life.  Christian hope insists on God's commitment to the whole person.

Resurrection hope is a sure and certain hope, proved by God raising Jesus from the dead.  Contrast this with the vain attempt to engineer a permanent life exemplified by "the Singularity Movement" so popular these days in Silicon Valley (see here).  Resurrection hope is certain because God is trustworthy.

Resurrection hope is good news.  Good news for people suffering from death's onslaught, people like Fr. Bill.  Alzheimer's remains devastating and horrifying, but it is not victorious.  Rather, because the living God has conquered death in and through Christ, Fr. Bill will live with Christ forever (Rom 6:3-11).

In the meantime, I mourn for Fr. Bill and his fear and pain and brokenness.

cwy

eating

Eating in Uganda....well, I could give you the list and description of the foods I eat here. I’ve already done that elsewhere, so I’ll spare you at the moment. But I instead pause to share with you a couple of vignettes that have stuck in my memory centered around eating and the Eucharist. Maybe this is the beginnings of a sermon....read as you’d like – these are long.


Beans and kwon

Each evening before dinner with the sisters, I wander over to the compound where the child mothers live. Sunset is my favorite time of day here. The heat subsides but the light still glows. The day’s work is finished, and all that is left to do is eat and rest. So, I go and sit beside them. I don’t know quite how to describe their embodied-ness without giving the impression of filth. They are very clean, but have simply accepted the messes that come with small children. The kids often don’t wear diapers and pee wherever. There is always at least one mother breastfeeding. There are plenty of runny noses and plenty of African dirt. But don’t have in your mind images of some septic, biohazardous place. It is far from that. They are constantly washing hands, clothes, the bodies of their children.

“You will eat with us,” Evelyn told me one of the first nights. Her daughter Mirriam is terrified of me (we’re making small steps toward friendship), but Evelyn has become a fast friend. My first reaction was a polite decline. I explained that the sisters would be waiting to eat dinner with us. I watched as they set down a bucket of kwon (cornmeal stuff) and a bucket of beans. They laid the plastic bowls down on the concrete porch and prepared to serve the food. People washed, the kids found their mothers.

Jesus ate with the unclean. That’s all I could think about. I knew that breaking bread with these women was the most important thing I’d do that day. Despite my enduring questions of how many hands had touched the bowls since they’d been washed, whether some kid had peed on the concrete where we sat an hour prior, and whether the nuns would mind if I had already eaten, I ate. Evelyn brought me a spoon (which no one else was using), and we ate. And it humbled me.

They have since extended similar gestures and invitations. It doesn’t necessarily get any easier to share their food – I still wonder about germs, and I think rightly so. But each time they thus invite me into their lives, I cannot help but think of the humanity of Jesus. He humiliated himself to share in our messy flesh. Thanks be to God.

I am certainly no saint for eating with them. There is nothing particularly special or holy about my willingness to break bread...if anything, my being compelled to share this story indicates how far I have to come in getting over myself and being truly for others. But, I’m taking small steps at least...

The eucharist

And a word about the Eucharist. I had a long conversation with a friend named Charles. He shared many stories of war, death, rape, pain, healing as he narrated the history of Northern Uganda over the past 20ish years. At one point, he was describing the rehabilitation programs that foreign and domestic NGOs have started in the area for former child soldiers and child brides...he said that the Eucharist is often seen as spiritual healing. The troubled and broken come and do Eucharistic adoration. (That is a Catholic practice in which part of the bread and wine – understood to be the true body and blood of Christ – are set apart and put in a special ornate container. People then sit and adore the Eucharist, understanding themselves to be worshipping the physically-present Christ). Though I am decisively Protestant and likely won’t be incorporating Eucharistic adoration into my life in the near future, there is something quite beautiful to the idea that sitting in the presence of Christ heals and restores those who are most battered in this world.

Well, that’s it for now. So much more to say and process, but hopefully we can do some of that in poolside conversations on late summer nights...

2010 World Cup Starts in 21 Minutes!!!!!

Woohooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The World Cup raises such interesting questions about culture, religion, economics, and politics. ESPN is throwing theological narrations of global society around like a Frisbee on a hot summer day.

England vs. USA kickoff at 2:30pm @ the Jantzen's tomorrow (Saturday).

If you come across interesting articles etc. about the World Cup and politics/theology, post them here or just leave your comments. I just thought this event is too important for the rest of the world for us not to have a forum to discuss it.

With Radically Willing Hearts

St. Peter’s Anglican Church – Tallahassee, FL
June 9, 2010 – Pentecost Year C
Feast of St. Barnabas
Audio: http://www.saint-peters.net/sermons
(will be there in the next day or so)

Acts 11:19-30; 13:1-3
Matt 10:7-16

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Amen.

For the last 3 weeks here at St. Peter’s, we’ve been doing a series about evangelism. I know that Fr. John told you last Sunday that his sermon would conclude this evangelism mini-series – but I’m here today to add just one more thing. An epilogue if you will.

Now, we’ve learned a lot in the last 3 weeks. Fr. Eric first told us on Pentecost Sunday that the true mission of the Church is to witness to the truth of Jesus Christ in the world. Then, Fr. Michael taught us how the entire Gospel was summed up in the Trinity. God as Father is the giver of our salvation. God as Son is the gift of our salvation. And God as Holy Spirit is the means by which we receive that salvation. And finally, last week, in a glorious crescendo of rhetorical power, Fr. John reminded us that this Gospel we’re called to share is one that invites others into relationship with their loving God.

Now, if you understand and believe everything that you’ve heard from our clergy in the last 3 weeks, there’s only one thing left for you to do. To go and do it. But this is precisely the point at which I often struggle: The going and the doing. In fact, I think this is just the point where most of us struggle. We get scared. We make excuses. We say, “Evangelism just isn’t my spiritual gift.”

But today I’m here to tell you that no matter how scared or ill-equipped you may feel for the evangelistic task, you can do it. I’m here to remind you that you are not alone in your evangelism.

In our Gospel reading from today, Jesus is sending his disciples out on just such an evangelistic mission. They are to proclaim the Gospel message: “The kingdom of heaven has come near!” They are also to cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, and cast out demons. And to add to this already-impressive to-do list, Jesus tells them that they are not to bring any money, clothes, shoes or even a walking stick for the kingdom-of-heaven’s sake.

At first glance, Jesus’ commands are convicting and discomforting for us to read. He’s asking a lot of the disciples. And we’re afraid that he may ask a similar amount of us. Jesus is asking them to deny themselves everyday necessitates, like food and shelter, and to live daily in the expectation that God will provide those things for them. The disciples’ radical faith surely confronts our feeble attempts at such a thing, as well it should.

However, I think underneath the surface of this appropriately convicting and discomforting text, lays a profoundly encouraging message for those of us who struggle in the evangelistic task. Because, you see, implicit in Jesus’ commands for the disciples to “travel light,” lies a deeply profound truth about evangelism: By prohibiting the disciples from bringing anything with them, he’s ensuring that they will have nothing else to offer their audience but Jesus himself. Jesus is telling them that to share the Gospel, all they need is the Gospel. They don’t need to dress up the Gospel as something that it’s not, in hopes that they can trick the world into believing. “Just give them the Gospel,” Jesus is telling them, “and I’ll take care of the rest.”

You see, the disciples only had to be one thing in Matthew 10: they had to be willing to go. Jesus tells them the what, where, and how. They just have to say yes. Evangelism according to this Matthew 10 rubric has very little to do with you and me, and everything to do with God.

You see, brothers and sisters, the disciples were not particularly impressive people. Most of them were just fishermen. But they weren’t people who were concerned with drawing attention to themselves, which was the only characteristic that mattered. As faithful followers of Christ, they only sought instead to use their lives to point towards the life of another – that is, Jesus Christ.

Which means, brothers and sisters, that we don’t need to be impressive people to share the Gospel either! We don’t need to be the most intelligent or educated. Charismatic or confident. We, quite simply, just need to be willing. God can do amazing things with a willing heart. With a willing heart God can use the disciples to cure the sick, to raise the dead, to cleanse the lepers, and to cast out demons. And I believe God can use our willing hearts to do just those same things, and more.

It’s not our responsibility to apologize for the Gospel, dressing up Jesus in pretty bows and perfect packaging. Nor is it our responsibility to have all the answers. Why? Because Jesus, by His Spirit, is involved and interacting with the world as you share your faith with the world. You are not the only active party in evangelism. God’s Spirit is at work always and everywhere. Remember that.

We, brothers and sisters, just have to be willing.

Which is not to say that being willing won’t get you into trouble. Or take you to some dangerous places. It took the disciples wandering throughout Israel, waking up each morning not knowing how they were going to eat, or where they were going to sleep that night. Being willing brought Jesus to the cross. But it is that radical willingness to place our own pride aside, and use our lives to point to the life of another, that is the best kind of evangelism.

Today, we’re celebrating the Feast of St. Barnabas – which I think is kind of a funny thing. Because in our readings from today, as well as in the New Testament more generally, we learn very little about the person Barnabus. We don’t know much about his personality. His family. His accomplishments.

But, I think that’s precisely the point. Barnabas was willing. Barnabus so placed aside his own plans and ambitions that when Luke sat down to write the book of Acts, almost all he could say about Barnabus was that “He was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and of faith,” and because of his willing heart, Luke tells us “a great many people were brought to the Lord.”

May we all, like Barnabas, go forth today with radically willing hearts. Hearts that are willing to lay aside pride and personal ambition. Hearts that are emboldened to share Jesus with the world. And hearts that rest in the confidence that the Holy Spirit is at work in our evangelism - at work both in our hearts, to give us the words to say, and at work in the hearts of those who hear us, to draw them ever closer to their God.


Amen.

From D.C.

Hey all,

Here are some “thoughts seeking integration.” Please bear with the convolution and length…

Short version: still getting the hang of life here in D.C.

Church of the Saviour is quirky, one-of-a-kind, and is trying some really awesome things. I’ve got my questions about how this church (or, to quote Pippin in Fellowship of the Ring: “mission…quest…thing?”) fits into the Church, but more on that later. For now, I appreciate the boldness with which these people go after Christian discipleship.

For example, the other night I heard a group of Christian former prisoners (self-named “Strength to Love” for MLK Jr’s famous collection of sermons) share their Christian vision for confronting the injustices of the prison system: buying stock in America’s largest privatized prison contractor (there are business incentives for holding people in prison!), and thus gaining a Christian, ex-offender voice at the company’s annual shareholder’s meeting. They attended this meeting last month – singing spirituals the whole busride there – and were able to share their voice, a major victory in and of itself. They asked the lawyer for the prison corporation what the corporation’s long-term plan was to reduce the occurrence of prison rape. He was quite honest in replying that there was no such plan. That’s because it behooves billionaire shareholders nothing to take such measures. Lose profit to keep poor (mostly black; cf. M. Alexander, The New Jim Crow) inmates from getting raped? Sounds like a power and principality to me.

The former inmates currently own a “mere” 20 of the company’s 111 million publically traded stocks. So there is a long way to go. But they look at it from the perspective of an upside-down kingdom: they aren’t hopelessly standing against this monstrosity of a prison industry; rather, a little prison industry is foolishly trying to stand against the cosmic reign of God. (I am reminded of the time MLK stopped a baseball-bat wielding, would-be assailant in his tracks by asking him directly, “do you realize that you’re standing against the metaphysical forces of the universe?”)

(Prison ministry in general is a major topic of discussion within CoS. Blake and Touger, Campbell’s prison epistles class is going to rock!)

So yes, Church of the Saviour is up to great things like Strength to Love. Most of my time every week, however, is spent at Joseph’s House, a hospice home for HIV+ men and women. A common refrain heard during my short time here has been, “before I came here, I’d never been anywhere like this.” That’s been my impression as well.

Just a block down the street from the guesthouse where I’m staying, JH is a three-story, turn-of-the century house surrounded by gardens on the corner of a tree-lined street. The big old house is sometimes still and quiet, as if holding in a deep breath. But most of the time it is a loving parade of people in and out. The old Irish bar slogan holds true: there are no strangers here, just friends that have yet to meet. Past residents (some do get better and move out!), off-duty volunteers (it’s hard to stay away), family members of residents, neighbors, friends, all are welcomed at all times of the day. There is lots of love to be found here.

Many of the residents are teachers and, in time, friends. The other day Elijah and I sat on the front porch in the late afternoon mugginess, watching passers-by and shooting the breeze. Elijah is dying, knows it, and is coming to terms with it, so shooting the breeze with him looks a bit different than with others. Like most everyone, I immediately liked Elijah. He’s just a sweet man. He told me about his love for the people here, his zest for life, and about how he wants to wash the volunteers’ feet after Jesus’ example. He already has washed a few pairs, including the paws of Ajax the dog. (Which reminds me of a certain passage in Gilead where Ames talks about performing a sacrament on small animals – read it yet, Zac?)

After a few all-house brainstorm sessions, we have finally named the newest kitten “Rambo,” short for “rambunctious.” The other day, I folded mailings with Patty, the director, and asked her questions about what it was like to be at L’Arche Daybreak at the same time as Henri Nouwen. Last week, we held the annual memorial service in which we prayed over and buried decorated namecards with each deceased resident’s name from the past year. So you never quite know what a day might bring around here.

My daily tasks are many; part nurse, part cook, part custodian, part waiter, all friend. Sam Wells talks about learning to handle all material things eucharistically, in a way that communicates their gift-ness. For Zac, this means elements of worship; for me, so far it’s been diapers, washcloths, and (lots of) bowls of Butter Pecan ice cream.

But I can’t romanticize this place. Most days include difficult interactions, or at least uncertainty about what the heck to do or say in a given situation. It is a place thrust right in the center of ultimate questions, but also people – both volunteers and residents – facing their deepest fears and exposing the ugliness that comes with those fears. Recognizing our brokenness in one another, in our own reactions, causes us to want to push them away in repulsion, but deep down, we also very much want to sympathize with them. Situations present themselves every day to which my first inclination is escape, is flight. On the lighter side, I think that life at Joseph’s House could at times singlehandedly support the website mylifeisawk.com. [Then again, as someone recently pointed out: life is full of awkward moments in general, but some of us are more susceptible than others!]

So far, I have been so impressed by the people with whom I work. They have learned so much about seeing and responding to others’ needs in gentle and dignifying ways. They aren’t doing anything super-human; in fact, what they are doing is at its most basic, human. All who come through the JH doors are about the same business: residents and volunteers alike, we are doing nothing more and nothing less than becoming truly human in our living and dying. As Stringfellow writes, “I believed then, as I do now, that I am called in the Word of God … to the vocation of being human, nothing more and nothing less.” [1] At its most basic, life at Joseph’s House is learning to be all of a creature under God's care and provision.

So, in a way, nothing in my life has prepared me for this place. But in another sense, everything in my life has (or should have) prepared me for this. That may or may not make sense, but it’s the tension within which I’m awkwardly trying to live.

_______

Beyond Joseph’s House, D.C. is quite the happenin’ place. The Adams Morgan neighborhood is diverse, busy, party and ethnic food central (there are multiple Ethiopian places within walking distance, as well as a pho place, Thaos!). There are a lot of free public concerts, museums, galleries, etc. The World Cup is coming! And there is many a good bar for watching it. Lots to do, and beginning to form relationships with other interns in the area.

In all this, pray that I would learn contentment in finding my place here; that I would be fully present; that relationships would continue to develop with honesty.

Thanks, and I appreciate each of you. Reading your posts has been a joy.

Love,

Nate


[1] “I believed then, as I do now, that I am called in the Word of God … to the vocation of being human, nothing more and nothing less …. Within the scope of the calling to be merely but truly human, any work, including that of any profession, can be rendered a sacrament of that vocation. On the other hand, no profession, discipline or employment, as such, is a vocation.”

—William Stringfellow, A Keeper of the Word: Selected Writings of William Stringfellow (Eerdmans, 1994), pp. 30-31.

Good quote

From the Duke CFR Summer Institute:

“John the Baptist is so powerful. He reduced his lifestyle to the point that he didn’t need the system.”

a la John Perkins

All Anglican-ed Up.

Hellooo from Taall-Hassee! (Yes, here, it only has two syllables)...

I've been sweating for about 364 hours straight now. Other than that, things here are going well. I've been thrown into the Anglican deep-end, but I'm really thankful for that. I've pretty immediately been thrown into roles that I've never been in before, and I'm really learning a lot in the process. I'm involved in the liturgy (which here is quite an extravagant production) in one way, shape, or form every Sunday. I'm either reading one of the Lessons, processing with a huge, heavy crucifix, bearing a chalice, or assisting at the altar. I'm fully vested every Sunday. Like I said - quite a production.

They do this weird thing at Communion. A lot of our parishioners will leave the wafter on their hands, and as the chalice bearer you have to take the wafer out of their hands, dip it in the wine for them, and then PUT IT IN THEIR MOUTHS FOR THEM! It's a tricky business - you know, to confer the grace of God without putting your fingers in someone's mouth.

Other than that, I've been sitting in on all kinds of meetings - staff, clergy, liturgy planning, etc. All of which are interesting to me now, but it's also pretty obvious that a lifetime of such activities in hardly something to look forward to. I'm also teaching an adult education class on the Gospel of John on wednesday nights. That's probably been the funnest thing I've done so far. I was really nervous about it, and as a result I waaaaay over-prepared for my first lesson, and I ended up straight lecturing for an hour and fifteen minutes straight. haha. It was a total blast. I had two different marker boards going with greek words on one and "Themes from the Gospel of John" on the other. I knew I would enjoy teaching, but I really, really enjoyed it. I felt remarkably comfortable.

Last Saturday, I went with 4 or 5 other guys from the church to a Medium to High Security Prison, to help run this program that's basically the result of the 12 steps from AA and the beattitudes thrown into a blender. We each were assigned a small group of inmates. Mingo, Feneque, James, Ron and Don were in mine. Mingo and Don have been in prison for 30 years. Really interesting. And a little bit scary. Upon entering the prison, we were each issued a "danger pager." They said, If you feel like you're in danger, press the pager and we'll be there within two minutes. At which point I thought to myself, "TWO MINUTES?! IF I'M IN DANGER, I COULD BE DEAD IN TWO MINUTES!" but alas, I survived.

So that's a little preview. It's a really great church. A really healthy church. I'm definitely back amongst the conservatives though. Which has been an adjustment. But it's been good to be forced to articulate myself in this kind of environment, which has an intellectual climate very different than Duke. At the end of the day though - As long as I continue to love Jesus, I'm glad I'm with the blue devils.

Lastly, I'm preaching from the pulpit for the first time this wednesday (in two days), and I'm pretty nervous about it. It's just a five minute homily, but I'm just pretty intimidated. So pray it up :) thanks. I'll post my sermon in a separate post, for the sake of blog-organization.

see you in another life...


brother :) (in the Greek, inclusive sense of the term, of course)

Resurrecting Hope in a Small Town

A Sermon Preached at Mt. Bethel UMC on June 6

Luke 7:11-17
Soon afterwards he went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd went with him. As he approached the gate of the town, a man who had died was being carried out. He was his mother's only son, and she was a widow; and with her was a large crowd from the town. When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, "Do not weep." Then he came forward and touched the bier, and the bearers stood still. And he said, "Young man, I say to you rise!" The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother. Fear seized all of them; and they glorified God, saying, "A great prophet has risen among us!" and "God has looked favorably on his people!" This word about him spread throughout Judea and all the surrounding country.

So let’s just get it out there. I know you are thinking it, so I’m just going to say it. It’s the question that’s on everyone’s minds: “How’d it come to be that there’s a full-blooded YANKEE preaching in Bahama, NC?” Now I want to put everyone’s fears at ease. I’m not going to try to infect you with any of my “Yankee-ness.” I’ll try to be mindful and use “y’all” so that you can understand me despite my accent. More importantly, today I’m going to preach only what Y’ALL have taught me in my few weeks at Mt. Bethel. No foreign imports today, this is 100% certified Bahama, NC.

Now, if there is one thing I’ve learned from life here in Bahama, it’s the importance of a good story. It seems that around here there is a story for everything. You can’t show someone the sanctuary without mentioning the pastor who ran out late one Saturday night because he thought the church was haunted. You can’t drive by a house in the whole town without hearing who lives there, who used to live there, how long the family has lived there, and the 3 best stories about them. Every piece of this church has a story and every spot in this town brings to our minds certain people and events that will be forever tied together. If you want to know what Mt. Bethel UMC is about, you can’t find out through a list of ideas, values, or abstract principles, you have to know its story.

So why is it that when it comes to Christianity, we don’t always know quite what to do with stories? Perhaps it’s because of the way that stories sometime seem to be dissociated from “facts” or “truth.” Last week when I was getting my oil changed I saw a bumper sticker on another car in the parking lot. It said, “Never Let the Truth Get in the Way of a Good Story.” Perhaps this points to our hesitancy to ground our Christian convictions in stories. Story seems flexible, it seems unreliable—we want FACTS. We want LISTS.

To illustrate: When someone asks us what “The Gospel” is, what do we say? “Jesus Christ, the son of God, fully divine, fully human, died on the cross and rose again to atone for our sins so that we can have peace with God.” Yet, when the earliest Christians had to answer that question, they didn’t respond with a list of the facts like that one. Instead, they told a story. After all, our passage today comes from The Gospel according to Luke. It is not The Gospel according to Luke (plus a 22 chapter prequel about Jesus’ life.) To Luke, the story of Jesus’ life could not be separated from his death and resurrection. To be saved is not just to come under the saving power of the cross—though it certainly entails that. To be saved is to become a part of the people who tell the story of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection in a way that makes it our own story. In the Gospel stories, we have our own bumper sticker. Rather than “Don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story,” our bumper sticker reads, “Want to hear the truth? Let me tell you a story.”

Christianity is so much more than a set of facts, beliefs, rules, or principles that you can comfortably insert as a part of your daily life. Christianity is about making the story itself your life. We are reading the Gospel stories correctly when we understand that to believe in Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection means to recast our understanding of the world in the light of a new world. We open the Bible thinking we will consume a story about Jesus, but instead we find that it is this story that consumes and transforms us.

So how should we approach Luke 7:11-17, if we believe that the story should transform our own views of the world? All of this sounds good enough, but where does this hit home when we pick up our Bibles and read? What does it look like to see in Jesus’ story a new world that is instructive for how we view our own realities?

First, when this story becomes our story, we realize that pain, suffering, grief, and death are real. Make no mistake about it, when Jesus shows up with his disciples and a large crowd, he encounters a very unhappy scene: Luke says, “A man who had died was being carried out. He was his mother’s only son, and she was a widow.” Jesus encounters a scene of grief and mourning, a funeral procession going out to bury the recently deceased son of a now childless widow. This scene is a bit far removed from how we tend to speak of death in the modern world. Oftentimes we seem to expect that a life “well lived” results in a conflict free, pain free existence. Yet, if that’s true, I can’t think of anyone, including Jesus, who would have “lived well.” Perhaps we need to adjust those expectations and acknowledge that we live in a society that wants to escape suffering and death. The popularity of health foods, workout programs, and plastic surgery points to a story in which we can get younger, faster, stronger, and smarter—a story in which we can beat death. Yet, if we are going to allow this story to consume and transform our understanding of the world, we must be a people who tell a different story. My friends, one of the few things that every single person here today has in common with one another is that, barring the early return of Jesus, we are all going to die. We cannot escape it. Try as we might to live in denial, death will have the last laugh—or perhaps I should say the second-to-last laugh, because the story of Luke 7 is not over yet.

The second way this story transforms us is by teaching us that death and suffering do not get the last word. Jesus sees death and the pain it brings. He does not ignore it; he does not run away from it. Jesus knows death is real—just look at the cross. But Jesus does not leave it at that. Luke writes, “He came forward and touched the bier, and the bearers stood still. And he said, ‘Young man, I say to you rise!’ The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother.” I want us to notice something: If the widow’s son hadn’t died, Jesus’ raising him from the dead wouldn’t have been that much of an accomplishment. The death had to be real for the healing to be real. If we ignore death, pain, and suffering in our talk of salvation, what are we even being saved from? The truth is that death is real, but Resurrection is more real. When we allow this story to consume and transform our own views of the world, we become a people committed to the hope of a new world, a new life, that is more than just the world of frustration, pain, and death that we are continually forced to deal with as we watch the news, talk to our friends and neighbors, and live our lives. As Christians, we need to be a people capable of sustaining hope for our community and world. We do this, not by ignoring death, but by believing in the one who came face to face with the full brunt of death, and rose victorious, shattering death’s power to control our lives. Our life together at Mt. Bethel is not something we do to pass the time until we can escape to heaven. Our life together at Mt. Bethel is what we do to show each other and the world a preview of the victory over death that is still yet to fully come. This isn’t just any victory though. The third way this story transforms our lives is by showing the particular way in which this victory is accomplished.

The creation of new life by Jesus in Luke 7 happens for a most peculiar audience. Luke tells us that this episode takes place in a town called Nain. Now I’m not sure its even fair to call Nain a town. At best, Nain is an unincorporated township. We know that Nain was located six miles outside of Nazareth, and Nazareth was no bustling metropolis itself. Nazareth was a small town—people criticized Jesus’ birth in Nazareth as a town so small it was unfit for a Messiah. Now, you know you live in the country when your town is only locatable in relation to a place that is already known as being rather insignificant. This place makes Nazareth look like New York City. And yet, Jesus chooses to go here. Jesus’ defeat of death does not happen in the Coliseum at Rome or in the Temple at Jerusalem.

Furthermore, Jesus does not go and find the Caesar in Rome and raise his child, or even the chief priest of the temple in Jerusalem and raise his child. Jesus raises a poor widow’s son. In the male-dominated world of 1st century Palestine, women had very little power apart from their husbands. If you had no husband, then you relied on your male sons to represent your family. This woman has lost both. Given the culture of the time, she is a model for being socially on the outside and in a position of total weakness. Jesus shows up in this small, small, small town and brings new life to a person who is not “important” in the grand scheme of kingdoms and empires. Yet that is exactly the point. When we learn to make this story our own story, we see that what is “significant” or “important” gets turned upside down. This story transforms us by teaching that this new life in Jesus comes to small towns and “unimportant” people. It is not enough to be people who can talk honestly about death, or who can hope honestly in the life of resurrection. We must do these things in ways and places that the world might otherwise deem “insignificant.” This is a very unusual story to tell to our world, which is dominated by power, fame, wealth, and celebrity culture. This story teaches us that new life comes through weakness in the places where we would least expect it. Let’s learn to be people who can tell this story: (1) death is real, (2) resurrection is more real, and (3) resurrection comes to unexpected groups of people at unexpected times.

I have two closing messages for us from this story.

The first is for those who we have honored for graduation today. Many of you may have heard or are about to hear grandiose graduation speeches, encouraging you as you take the next step in life. Perhaps they sound a little bit like this: “You are the future! Through you we can beat death and change the world, your progress cannot be stopped. Go out with a bang! Do something important with your life: Move to New York City, change the world, start a multi-national corporation.” These speeches are telling a story about what really matters in life. But I’m not so sure it’s the true story. I would give you an alternate message about what really matters in life, taken from Luke 7: “Death and weakness and pain are real, and as you go out into the world, you will most certainly encounter them. But there is also real hope for new life in Christ. Your success as a graduate is not so much determined by what you can do for yourself with your education, though that is important. Your success as a graduate is measured by how well your education enables you to live peacefully and patiently as members of the ongoing adventure called the church of Jesus Christ. Doing this may lead you to New York City; it may lead you to a Nobel Peace Prize. But it may also take the shape of living faithfully to the story of Jesus in a way that will not win you any awards or bring you fame and fortune.” My encouragement for the graduates, and in a way for all of us, is that you evaluate the success of your lives, not by the story that society tells you about wealth, fame, or power, but by your steadfast commitment to live faithfully in the hope of new life in Jesus Christ that shows up to the most unexpected people at the most unexpected times.

My second closing message is for all of us here at Mt. Bethel.

We at Mt. Bethel are not a Mega-Church, we do not have a Starbucks built into our sanctuary, we can’t “change the world” in the way that many people think of this category—we cannot cure cancer here, we aren’t going to be able to send millions of dollars to impoverished countries in Africa, we will not be building a church that seats 10,000 members—anytime in the next few weeks at least. Yet, if we let this story teach us what it means to be a people capable of receiving Jesus’ miracles, we find out that we don’t need those things in order to be a place where Jesus shows up and gives people new life. Regardless of who our pastor is, regardless of how weak we worry we may become, regardless of our fear of change and the unknown, this congregation can be a place where Jesus’ surprising salvation shows up and brings new life. God can use us to be people who carry on the work of Jesus by naming death and suffering for the realities that they are and being present with those experiencing real pain, suffering, and death without running away. God can use us to be a people who tell the story of Jesus’ resurrecting power that brings a new life which is more than just fire insurance for our souls—we can testify to a life that overcomes death and resurrects us into a community of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. And, perhaps most importantly at a time like this, we can do these things by being a church family committed to God and each other. I think we see a great example of this in the ministry of Bryan. Bryan is a great pastor, not because he is an all-star preacher or a master-church-growth specialist. Bryan is a good pastor because through his life and ministry we catch sight of this new life in Christ that overcomes our weakness and brings REAL world-changing life to small towns like Bahama. We would dishonor Bryan if we make his ministry into an idol or a lucky charm and fail to see that everything he has taught us has been preparing us to be a people who can take up his ministry ourselves.

If we decide to take the risk of letting the story of Jesus consume our lives and transform the very way we think about all of life, then we should expect adversity, frustration, pain, even death to confront us as a church. But when this happens we should not act as people who have no hope. We should expect that Jesus’ resurrection will defeat this frustration, weakness or death and bring new life. This new life may not come with fanfare, it may not shake the foundations of society, but if we have learned anything today it’s that the new life that Jesus brings does not need to happen in the biggest city or be noticed by the rulers of the world. Indeed Jesus’ new life is most real when it shows up at the most unexpected times in small towns like Bahama, NC. May we be a people capable of telling this story to each other and to our community in the coming weeks, months, and years. Amen.

Thanks to everyone who was praying for me! It went really well!
There is also video of me preaching it:
Part 1:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGd0KHE8PdI
Part 2:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8f_Pa7Jde6Y
Part 3:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZrnPKoorxvI

Books on the shelves

hey -
could whoever puts books on the shelf also write a quick post when they put the books up there, just so we know who's reading what? I'm so impressed with our collective library, by the way :)

Icons

The National Farm Worker Ministry office is wallpapered with posters and memorabilia from ten years of outreach and activism on behalf of farm workers. It's visually stunning. Here is a snapshot of some of the icons of la causa...

ramblings

Uganda is finding a fast road into my heart. Or rather, the people are finding a fast way into my heart...
The nursery school here is right near my room. Yesterday after lunch, I returned to my room and said hi to the children on the way. Instantly about 12 of them were surrounding me, touching my fingernails to see if this muzungu skin was real. I finally mustered up what felt like the heartless strength to say goodbye and shut my door....they knocked and continued peeking into the window...It feels a bit uncomfortable to be such an instant celebrity here. I'm still getting used to that and figuring out how to draw the attention away from myself...

The nuns are wonderful. Their work is centered on prayer and love. Many of them (and the girls, too) are a bit quiet. My tendency to quickly delve into conversation is tempered by the realization that friendship might mean sitting quietly with people each day, and each day sitting a bit closer.
The school's property is beautiful. Everything is spotlessly clean. Today we spent a bunch of time weeding ground-nut plants...I hope that the garden in NC is growing.

The path to my room passes by the basement kitchen and garden where Sophie and Lawena and Amito prepare most of my meals. They often hand me a stool and say "sit!" So I do, talking and sitting and watching how they cook. Last night they escorted me to my room, all giggles. It reminded me of many late night summer walks with Deer Run (my camp) girls.

The highlight of my day today was spending time with the child mothers. There are 9 of them. Tonight while I was sitting with them, they discovered my blonde hair. I had it wet and tied up on top of my head, and we took it down. They combed and braided it, fascinated with it. The law here that school girls cut their hair to basically shaven.

The child mothers let me strap a baby onto my back (African style, with a piece of fabric). The feeling of a child sleeping in the small of my back brings out every maternal bone in my body. Lest I romanticize motherhood, I quickly am halted in reminding myself how they came to be mothers. Luc and Darriel tell me that sometimes the girls have flashbacks in the middle of the night. I am thankful to be spared the inevitable sleeplessness from hearing those screams. They invited me to eat with them, and we ate. They are joyful and beautiful mothers. Life is celebrated. Laughter is abundant. (Maybe I should warn Caleb R-G that I might try to carry him around with a piece of cloth on my back?)

Darriel, Luc, and I are getting along well. It's nice to be three. It's also interesting (and healthy, I think) to be processing all of these things with a college sophomore who is a self proclaimed agnostic. I find a bit of dry humor when we're sitting with these nuns who are wonderful women and pillars of faith, and Luc smiles quietly and replies, to their questions, "I'm an agnostic." God is working on his heart.

We've sat in the clinic for the past two mornings, where one of the sisters (who is a midwife) sees patients and then Katherine (the nurse) dispenses drugs. We help count and dispense the drugs. Mostly, the people who come into the clinic are women with babies. Often, the children have malaria. Their visit to the clinic (and their drugs) costs about $1.50.
We learned how to play net-ball, a version of basketball minus the court, the net on the basket, and the dribbling. I would gladly trade my skirts and chacos for shorts and sneakers, but it's nice to be movin around. We've sung with the girls, walked into Gulu, attended an Anglican church, taken lots of tea, and talked. Right now we're watching local news with the nuns. Everyone over here is excited for the world cup.

Well, I'm running out of steam. I could literally write for hours (and could give extensive theological commentary, but I'll let your theologial minds fill in those details)....my mind and senses are saturated with the beauty of a new place and a new people. But, I'll spare you (at least for now). Somehow I'll figure out how to upload photos and post them on the blog. (My computer charger died -- finally. It was a slow death. Darriel, and electrical engineer, tried to disect and patch the wire, but with no success.) Bye, 12-inch powerbook. It's been real. You've gotten me through 1 1/2 degrees.

love. keep those posts (and sermons) coming.

and Emily, relax and enjoy this time. We are all SO stinkin excited to celebrate your marriage together.

On Getting Married

Yep that's what I'm doing this summer. It's such a normal thing. People do it all the time. Why the heck would I need so many months to plan for it?

Well, apparently I do. Many of my waking hours are spent thinking about, talking about, emailing about wedding details. And when I sleep at night I often have horrible dreams about my veil not matching the dress, or Kyle not being the one at the end of the aisle.

Sometimes a lot of it feels really meaningless and yet compelling. Picking out flowers, table linens, hors d'oeuvres, what to wrap my bouquet in, how to fix my hair, what nail polish to buy, what music to dance to, how to wrap the favors. Gracious.

As I've read many of your blogs this week, I've realized the anxiety of wedding planning often flows from luxury. Then when you talk about "luxury" it gets into issues of my family. . . which then gets complicated. I want to celebrate at our wedding, even lavishly because it is a beautiful occasion, but how can I use "luxurious" resources well here without worshipping them? I'm not quite sure St. Francis' model is what I want to be, but how do I be like Christ when I'm an upper-middle class white woman planning a wedding?

Just a tension I feel... :)