Reading Steve Chapman's Op-Ed article in the Chicago Tribune this morning, I am struck by the moral inconsistency of the current administration. For a President that often wraps himself in the flag and the cross (which is paradoxical in and of itself), his policy on the treatment of detainees seems not only unamerican, but antithetical to Christianity. Such inconsistencies lead my to one of two conclusions; either the current administration is so wrapped up in its own righteous indignation that it is willing to sacrifice moral character in order to establish its power and authority, or they are simply using religious rhetoric to persuade the American public into believing that their agenda has any measure of a moral foundation. Either conclusion is downright frightening. At the intersection of the cross and the flag is almost always bloodshed. We are horrified when Islamic fundamentalists blow themselves up in a crowded public square, should we not also be horrified at the fact that over 100 detainees have died in US custody in Guantanamo, Abu Ghraib and the likes?
The Bush administration has yet to learn from a rich tradition of Christians who have thoughtfully and faithfully engaged political and international crises while maintaining a moral high ground that would not compromise the most basic Christian teachings. Listen to the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., "Nonviolence is the answer to the crucial political and moral questions of our time; the need for mankind to overcome oppression and violence without resorting to oppression and violence. Mankind must evolve for all human conflict a method which rejects revenge, aggression, and retaliation. The foundation of such a method is love" (December 11, 1964). The policies set forth by the Bush administration leave me with the words of a U2 song, "I wonder where is the love, where is the love?"
9.23.2006
6.30.2006
the verge of a miracle
The late Rich Mullins has a song called Verge of a Miracle. The song speaks of our tendency to live life blind to the great mysery that surrounds us in the presence of God. But if we would just look up, we would see, and our lives would be caught up in the Divine Mystery. Seldom do I see the mystery, but in the past few days I saw a glimpse into that life that is calling me forth, a life where the unknown is more desirable than that which is certain or safe. I have been using a book of scripture readings this year that guides me in daily reading and reflection along with the liturgical calendar, and the scripture for today spoke of miracles. Now, miracles and wonders are nice things to read about in the bible, but I don't often find myself looking for the miraculous to occur in my own life. I am one of those guys who gets a bit suspicious of anyone or anything that attempts to conjur up hyper-spiritualized explanations for what I often veiw as common occurances. I try to see the world as truly interconnected and not categorize different aspects of life into the physical, spiritual, emotional, etc... Yet they say that the longest distance on earth is the 18 inches between the head and the heart, and so I must admit that while I try to think holistically, I often still live my life with tunnel vision, unable to see the beauty and the mystery before me. But for some reason, today as I read of the miracles that Paul and the apostles experienced as they moved about in service and ministry, I was graciously made aware of a few miracles in my own life. These are not extravegant stories of supernatural events, but rather glimpses of the grace and goodness of the One who calls us forth on the journey. For instance, I was reminded of my drive to Savannah, Georgia yesterday where creation came to life before my eyes, the blue of the sky and the green of the trees breaking forth with praise. I was reminded of my conversation last night with my beloved Jenni and the joy and hope in her voice as she told me of the possible opportunities that lie ahead at her workplace, all of which are evidence of answered prayers and hope restored. I was reminded of the my own journey to Youthworks, the dissapointment of the loss of one dream and the faithfulness of God to guide me into a place of new dreams. Even tonight I called my sister and she shared with me how my nephew Cody has encountered Christ this past week while out in California away from his family. And these are just a few glimpses from the past two days! Oh if I would just look up and open my eyes to the mystery of God! Surely I would see that every day I am on the verge of a miracle.
4.13.2006
maundy thursday
I've always wondered what Maundy Thursday means. Well, I checked it out in the dictionary and the word maundy essentially mean "holy". So this is "holy" Thursday... holy in the sense that we celebrate the last supper where Jesus spent one last intimate evening with his disciples before he was put on trial and handed over to be crucified. But think for a moment of the picture of holiness that is created when you look back at this day... a rabbi washes his disciples feet, they can't believe what he is talking about, so Judas agrees to turn him over, betrayal, but Judas is not the only one, the disciples fall asleep when they are supposed to be keeping watch, Jesus knows of what is about to take place so he pleads with the Father to let it pass, the son of God subject to human anguish, fear, loneliness, an angry Peter draws his sword, violence, healing, arrest, denial... Is that what "holy" looks like? I had a different picture in mind, a nice picture where things aren't painful or messy, a more sterile picture, Jesus in a nice white robe, with light emanating from all around him, maybe some sheep, you know, softer images. But the gospel is messy. It's terribly messy and beautifully messy all at the same time. And for those of us who don't like a mess, well then holiness is not for us. But the "passion" of Christ that we refer to during holy week has nothing to do with us cleaning up our act, it's actually about entering into the mess of life and choosing love, even when it is lonely or painful and may costs us our very life.
11.02.2005
crossing the border
The light turned green and we pulled up to the gate. The border patrol guard looked in and before he had asked a single question, Emily quickly said, "U.S." I on the other hand looked at the guard, smiled and simply said, "hello." I thought it a polite thing to at least offer a greeting. He immediately smiled and with what sounded like more of a statement than a question said, "You've never crossed the border." I proceeded to explain that I had indeed crossed the border many times, but that it had been a few years. The guard responded, "Oh, she just didn't train you." He checked my ID, asked a few questions and sent us on our way. It was one of those moments where I realized just how naive I really am.
Maybe you're like me, a bit naive to what happens on the border. For instance, did you know that the city of Juarez Mexico, just across the border from El Paso, TX, "draws tens of thousands of young women from small, poor towns to take $55-a-week jobs in assembly plants, known as maquiladoras, operated by some of the wealthiest corporations in the world -- companies like General Electric, Alcoa, and DuPont," or that "more than 60 percent of maquiladora workers are women and girls, many as young as 13 or 14" (Mother Jones, June 2002). Well, I didn't know either until just this week.
On Tuesday we drove down the strip on the east side of Ciudad Juarez where many of the maquiladoras are located. As I looked out the window there were entire villages of row houses that have been built by these same corporations as housing for factory workers. There was something so sterile looking about these neighborhoods that I felt a bit uneasy as we drove by. I was trying to make sense of what they looked like and how they made me feel when I said, "They kind of look like..." and Alex finished my sentence with, "concentration camps?" He was right, there were no other words sufficient to describe what I saw. But since much of the housing in Juarez begins as squatter settlements (makeshift structures, no utilities, etc...), the newer colonias for factory workers seem to be a pretty nice option. In fact they'll even take your rent right out of your paycheck. That way, if you are a family who finds their work at the maquiladoras, you can live close to the factory (which alleviates the corporations from having to provide transportation for factory workers), live in a relatively safe and stable structure (which you will never own, but will provide your already wealthy employer with yet another revenue stream) and have your rent automatically deducted from your paycheck (which leaves your family with about $8 a week to live on)! How convenient!
I met a family this morning who recently worked in the maquiladoras but have since left to be the host family at an orphanage that one of the churches we partner with in Juarez is trying to open. We were all there to help Lupe (the maintenance worker and worship leader at the church) and his family move from the orphanage where they had been temporarily staying to their new home (which is a small addition attached to the church that Lupe is actually still working on). Even though I do not speak any Spanish and was therefore unable to communicate but through Emily and Alex, I was still humbled by the generous and joyful hospitality shown by this family. As soon as we arrived, they immediately sat us down for huevos and frijoles with fresh made tortillas and probably the hottest little peppers that I have ever eaten! They laughed with us gringos and we cautiously ate peppers that would be considered a staple at most of their meals.
After breakfast, we packed up the back of Alex's pickup truck with their belongings and made our way down the street. As I helped unload the contents of the truck into Lupe's new home, a single semi-divided room made of cement block and stucco, probably 250 square feet and still without any utilities, I wondered how on earth a family of five was going to live in this little room that barely fit the length of the bed we were carrying in. As I tried to wrap my head around the idea, I looked over and saw Lupe sweeping and moving construction materials to make room for us to unload. Immediately I knew that I had allowed my heart to rob dignity from this gentle, humble man who was making a new home for his family.
It is a strange thing to feel pity and then realize that even your pity is comprised of arrogance. But maybe that is a step toward compassion. Maybe it is a simple grace to have my naivete exposed and my arrogance revealed. Maybe all of the questions that have flooded my mind these past few days is yet another step in the journey toward knowing God's heart for the poor and oppressed. Maybe I am the one that's poor... who knows. One thing I do know is that each time I cross the border, something happens in my heart that will not allow me to return the same.
Maybe you're like me, a bit naive to what happens on the border. For instance, did you know that the city of Juarez Mexico, just across the border from El Paso, TX, "draws tens of thousands of young women from small, poor towns to take $55-a-week jobs in assembly plants, known as maquiladoras, operated by some of the wealthiest corporations in the world -- companies like General Electric, Alcoa, and DuPont," or that "more than 60 percent of maquiladora workers are women and girls, many as young as 13 or 14" (Mother Jones, June 2002). Well, I didn't know either until just this week.
On Tuesday we drove down the strip on the east side of Ciudad Juarez where many of the maquiladoras are located. As I looked out the window there were entire villages of row houses that have been built by these same corporations as housing for factory workers. There was something so sterile looking about these neighborhoods that I felt a bit uneasy as we drove by. I was trying to make sense of what they looked like and how they made me feel when I said, "They kind of look like..." and Alex finished my sentence with, "concentration camps?" He was right, there were no other words sufficient to describe what I saw. But since much of the housing in Juarez begins as squatter settlements (makeshift structures, no utilities, etc...), the newer colonias for factory workers seem to be a pretty nice option. In fact they'll even take your rent right out of your paycheck. That way, if you are a family who finds their work at the maquiladoras, you can live close to the factory (which alleviates the corporations from having to provide transportation for factory workers), live in a relatively safe and stable structure (which you will never own, but will provide your already wealthy employer with yet another revenue stream) and have your rent automatically deducted from your paycheck (which leaves your family with about $8 a week to live on)! How convenient!
I met a family this morning who recently worked in the maquiladoras but have since left to be the host family at an orphanage that one of the churches we partner with in Juarez is trying to open. We were all there to help Lupe (the maintenance worker and worship leader at the church) and his family move from the orphanage where they had been temporarily staying to their new home (which is a small addition attached to the church that Lupe is actually still working on). Even though I do not speak any Spanish and was therefore unable to communicate but through Emily and Alex, I was still humbled by the generous and joyful hospitality shown by this family. As soon as we arrived, they immediately sat us down for huevos and frijoles with fresh made tortillas and probably the hottest little peppers that I have ever eaten! They laughed with us gringos and we cautiously ate peppers that would be considered a staple at most of their meals.
After breakfast, we packed up the back of Alex's pickup truck with their belongings and made our way down the street. As I helped unload the contents of the truck into Lupe's new home, a single semi-divided room made of cement block and stucco, probably 250 square feet and still without any utilities, I wondered how on earth a family of five was going to live in this little room that barely fit the length of the bed we were carrying in. As I tried to wrap my head around the idea, I looked over and saw Lupe sweeping and moving construction materials to make room for us to unload. Immediately I knew that I had allowed my heart to rob dignity from this gentle, humble man who was making a new home for his family.
It is a strange thing to feel pity and then realize that even your pity is comprised of arrogance. But maybe that is a step toward compassion. Maybe it is a simple grace to have my naivete exposed and my arrogance revealed. Maybe all of the questions that have flooded my mind these past few days is yet another step in the journey toward knowing God's heart for the poor and oppressed. Maybe I am the one that's poor... who knows. One thing I do know is that each time I cross the border, something happens in my heart that will not allow me to return the same.
8.09.2005
peace
I have done this so infrequently that every time I sit down to enter a post, I have no idea what to write about. So I think to myself, should I write about the insanity of this fast paced society that keeps me from wrtiting? Or should I stop pointing the finger at society to expain away my own inability to develop disciplines such as posting on my blog? What is worth writing about anyways? It would be easier if I always just wrote about politics or international affairs or social justice issues, etc... Then I could at least rant about my opinions and be yet another person out there complaining about the status quo and doing little or nothing to change it. All the while the most meaningful elements of my life are the things that I often think no one would really care to read about on a blog, especially if they don't know the people involved. But who the heck reads my blog anyways?! So if today's words are not filled with deep insights and earth shattering revelations, well then... too bad. This is much closer to home, much more meaningful and to me, much more worth writing than all the articles I agree or disagree with in the editorials section of the Pioneer Press (wow... now I know I'm a St. Paul guy). Nonetheless, today, the most exciting part of my day was having an argument with my wife over sushi. O.k. to clarify, we didn't exactly argue about sushi, we just ate sushi while we argued. And it wasn't so much of an argument as it was a revealing of ourselves to one another, which, if you've done much revealing of yourself, does not always give you that peaceful, easy feeling. It's much easier to swallow my ideas, opinions and feelings in an effort to appease my wife and keep the proverbial peace. But I'm finally starting to learn that that kind of peace, is not really peace at all. That kind of peace is isolation, a let's keep everyone happy on the surface kind of peace, a peace that Jesus questioned when he said, "Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword." Don't get me wrong, I'm not against peace, but peace is not really peace when it forces you to hide. And among the plethora of things that these last 9 months of marriage have been teaching me, one is my own tendency to hide. It is such a dillusional temptation! I can be so fearful of disturbing the peace and being rejected by my beloved Jenni, the one who has promised her whole self to me, who knows me more than any other, who not only loves me so much, but so well, that I would hide my self from her in order to protect myself from her. What a selfish, not to mention foolish response! Why would I not rather bare myself before my beloved and risk the hurt of rejection but at the same time hope in the beauty of being known and loved even though I may not be agreed with! I can only conclude that fear has stopped me in the past and may stop me in the future. But as for today, I take joy in arguments over sushi, in the revealing of myself and my beloved, in yet another risk that did not end up in rejection, but rather intimacy.
6.21.2005
true religion
I visited with Alice on her front patio in International Falls, MN yesterday and she told me that she dosn't want a computer because every internet relationship she has ever seen has been nothing but bad news. She then proceeded to share 3 specific examples with me of disasterous internet romances. I don't blame you Alice, who needs all that trouble! Alice is 90 yrs old and thrilled that there is a group of teenagers helping her paint her house this week. She made sandwiches and lemonade spent all day talking with those students and telling them stories. As I left her house a phrase from the book of James, chapter 1 verse 27 entered my head and challenged my heart, "true religion is this, to care for orphans and widows in their need..."
Then I thought about my Grandma who passed away a few years ago. She was in a nursing home with ahlzeimers for a couple years and I think I visited her about 4 times. When I used to feel guilty about it I would remind myself that I wasn't able to get down there much because I was usually busy doing church stuff. Now as I look back, I think a lot of the church stuff we do is a waste of time.
So here's my question... Why do we spend so much time doing church? Is there anything in doing church that is actually helping us be the church?
Then I thought about my Grandma who passed away a few years ago. She was in a nursing home with ahlzeimers for a couple years and I think I visited her about 4 times. When I used to feel guilty about it I would remind myself that I wasn't able to get down there much because I was usually busy doing church stuff. Now as I look back, I think a lot of the church stuff we do is a waste of time.
So here's my question... Why do we spend so much time doing church? Is there anything in doing church that is actually helping us be the church?
10.11.2004
intro
extrospective? the observation of things external, the expression of things internal, the intersection of ideas and action, of faith and reason, of the public and the private, the integration of self, society, spirituality, humanity...
For some time now I've dreamt of an environment where a genuine dialogue of questions, thoughts and ideas could take place. A place where I could offer the thoughts of my everyday existence that so often remain hidden away to the table to be discussed, expanded, contrasted, critiqued, and even occasionally embraced. A place where there is freedom to express opinions and ideas and be challenged by the ideas or opinions of another. A place for well informed dialogue about things that matter both on the micro and macro levels. A place to dream, to debate, to explore and expand our worldview together. The boundary lines are intentionally broad, just about any idea is fair game so long as it is not destructive or hateful. So I invite you to post and I have great hope that as you do, you will further open my mind and soften my heart. I only pray that my every post does the same for you.
For some time now I've dreamt of an environment where a genuine dialogue of questions, thoughts and ideas could take place. A place where I could offer the thoughts of my everyday existence that so often remain hidden away to the table to be discussed, expanded, contrasted, critiqued, and even occasionally embraced. A place where there is freedom to express opinions and ideas and be challenged by the ideas or opinions of another. A place for well informed dialogue about things that matter both on the micro and macro levels. A place to dream, to debate, to explore and expand our worldview together. The boundary lines are intentionally broad, just about any idea is fair game so long as it is not destructive or hateful. So I invite you to post and I have great hope that as you do, you will further open my mind and soften my heart. I only pray that my every post does the same for you.
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