About a month ago, we went to the Abbey of Gethsemani, a Trappist monastery close to Bardstown, KY. We took the hour and a half drive down, stayed about an hour, and then drove back home. We went as part of a relaxing Sabbath, but I think I needed to go there to learn a lesson in prayer. As we sat in the first pew of the balcony of their chapel, I felt God asking me to kneel on the padded kneeler in front of me. I hesitated, feeling a little silly, and wondering if by kneeling my prayers would be any more powerful. God continued speaking to me, saying that He had poured Himself out for me, and I needed to kneel, pouring myself out for Him. I reluctantly did so, and realized that kneeling gave me a different vantage point. The only thing that separated me and the two story drop to the pebble-paved floor below was a glass half-wall and a railing. I was surprisingly calm, which is amazing since I’m scared of heights. I asked God if He was trying to show me that I wasn’t afraid of the unknown of ministry. He responded that I would be naïve or lying to think I wasn’t afraid. No, He was showing me that He is not afraid. I recognized the calm security I felt, and asked God if He was like this glass wall, giving me the sense of security I needed as we continue forth into the unknown of ministry. He said that it wasn’t about the wall, and asked me where I felt my grounding was at that moment. Was it the wall that gave me security from falling? No. It was my knees. I left Gethsemani convicted that whatever is to come, I needed to be praying more.
Gethsemani
October 19th, 2008 · No Comments
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A two year old tax-payer-to-be.
October 3rd, 2008 · No Comments
John and I had lunch with my sister and her kids at GattiTown today. The tv on the wall was tuned to “the show that mommy likes to watch” — the news. Of course the big topics of the day were election campaign updates and the big bailout. When they talked about the bailout, we grownups started talking about that and the economy, and all of a sudden, my little niece, wearing the biggest grin you ever saw, flung her arms up and wide, and announced in her tiny little voice to the whole room, “I don’t want to pay any money!”
We all laughed, not sure if we were laughing at how cute she was, how timely her prophetic voice was in saying the very thing that none of us expected her to say, or if we were stunned by the irony that it very well could be exactly her and the rest of her generation who will be paying this off as they become adults.
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Your line is flat.
October 3rd, 2008 · No Comments
My nephew is four. He’s so smart. His mom/my sister (an RN) was studying some rhythm strips (EKG kind of things), and was explaining to him what the up and down squiggly lines meant. When she showed him an example of a flat line, she explained that wasn’t good, b/c it meant that the heart had stopped pumping blood to the rest of the body. My nephew wanted to hear her heart, so using her stethoscope, he strained to hear the familiar “thump thump.”
“Mommy. Your line is flat.” “No it’s not.” “yes it is. Your heart isn’t beating.” “Yes, it is.” “How do you know?” “Because I can talk to you.”
John and I were preparing to teach a missions class that night, and my sister’s call to tell me the story was great timing. John was going to talk about the global Christian movement, and this was the perfect illustration. You see, there have been many times when it was thought that the Christian church was “flat lined” somewhere in the world, but it was discovered later that indeed the life blood of Christ was pumping throughout that area. We just had the stethoscope in the wrong place.
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to blog or not to blog?
October 3rd, 2008 · No Comments
This is the question that comes up so often for me. I wrestle with sharing dear things to the open world, thinking that somehow I’ve betrayed the moment by tossing it out into the wind of the web. I wrestle with feeling like somehow everything important must be documented. Honestly, I prefer to be blog-free. But, every time I decide not to write anymore, someone tells me that they’ve been reading it and it meant something to them, so I guess I’ll continue a bit more. In fact, I’ve just given in to the whole webworld and am on Facebook and Skype now. Oh, the things that I’ve resisted for years. I have to admit, it’s really fun to connect with long lost friends and to talk face to face with people across the miles. Maybe I’ll be a less reluctant convert. We’ll see.
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branding vs labeling
August 5th, 2008 · 1 Comment
We have often spoken of labels and how they are often very unhelpful in ministry. We should not be in ministry with people because they are poor or sick or outcast, but because they are loved (and our love should especially include those who are marginalized by society). So we spend a lot of our time trying to figure out how to remove labels. This is not only important, but necessary. Urban ministry has often been done out of pity instead of love.
It always feels good to be on the giving end of ministry. How must it feel to be on the receiving end of it, especially when you didn’t think you needed it to begin with?
What does it mean about me and your thoughts about me, if you come to me and say, “I am here to serve you through ‘xyz ministry?’” I would start thinking, “do you think I’m poor? I’m not poor.” “Do you think I’m a heathen to burn in hell? I am Christian.” “Do you think I’m uneducated? Do you think I’m…what? What is it that you think I’m lacking that I don’t think I lack? Why do you think you need to do ministry to me or for me?”
That’s why we’ve always said that we’re not “targeting a population” (even that phrase sounds horrid, doesn’t it?!). We are reaching the city. No one can deny that there is brokenness in the city. A perspective like that allows people to come together for a solution, to find the Kingdom together in the midst of the city. It allows a relationship of love instead of an unbalanced,” I’m going to give you what I think you lack” kind of ministry.
The more we become integrated into the city, the fewer poor people I know. I don’t really think I know any poor people, and we know people who are homeless, nearly homeless, struggling to get by. However, we don’t know anyone who thinks they’re poor, so how can we think of them as poor. The poor don’t get to define themselves. The rest of the world says, “you’re poor.” So, if the church is going to bring good news to this city, we must find out what that good news is. Good news isn’t telling someone they’re poor, if they don’t think they’re poor.
However, it’s always good news to be told you’re loved. To be seen for your worth instead of what you’re lacking. I was “adopted” by a sweet woman last week. John and I were sitting in her living room (a bench in Phoenix park). Her loving face looked at me, and I could see how the hardness of life had chiseled wrinkles of age and wisdom all over her face, but her eyes held love. She told me that I was her adopted daughter, and then delighted with the realization that John must be her adopted son-in-law, and Watson was her adopted grandson (or “grand-dog”). I distinctly remember looking into her face and wondering how anyone could think she was poor. She was like me, and I’m not poor.
Last night, our “culture guide” of the neighborhood kept talking about branding, and how he doesn’t like how the church brands people. I’ve always used the term labels, but maybe he is closer to the truth in how our society categorizes people. Labels can come off. Branding is a cow herder who takes a hot branding iron and permanently labels his/her herd. Brands don’t come off. They are identities forged into a living being that says “you belong to me and in this way.” If we brand people as poor, addicts, mentally-ill, are we branding them into nice neat herds, so we can corral them the way we like, so that they really can’t ever be anything else, so that becomes their identity, and we use these herds for our profit?
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The first 30 days…
August 5th, 2008 · 1 Comment
People have asked how our first month of “full time ministry” has been. In some ways, the month has flown by. In other ways, it’s hard to imagine life before. Perhaps the biggest difference is becoming re-acclimated to a structured life with stability. This is the first time in our 3-year marriage that we have some stability in our jobs and schedule. The transitional and very hectic time and the unknown of everything had taken quite a toll on us. So, part of the first 30 days was to design and develop a healthy “normal.” I for one have realized that I have had adrenaline going through me for so long, I get depressed when I slow down, so I’m learning how to rest. Even today (Tuesday is our Sabbath), I am having a hard time resting, so I’m “blogging.” We clean our home every week. We get caught up on laundry. We are starting to realize we can cook meals for ourselves. This must sound strange, but for the longest time, those things were not “normal” in our lives. So, we’re learning how to incorporate regular life things and rest into our schedule.
I’ve also had to wrestle with expectations. The pressure to “produce” is great. I don’t think people even know what it is that we should produce, but we need to produce, and now that we’re full time, where’s the produce? The great problem with this paradigm is that most ministries that come into the urban area start with producing and skip the learning part (or learn a method outside the community, not realizing that learning a specific context is everything in shaping content and method). This is our time for learning. One of the things we’ve learned is that some people in the community perceive white churches involved in urban ministry (no matter how well intentioned) as being condescending, out of touch, and “bullyish.” They come in, “produce” something they think is needed (often times is not), damage something good that was already there, bring in something that is perceived as bad, and then the people that suffered the consequences hear the white churches brag to each other and the city, “look at all the good we have done.” ouch. we do not want to be that. So, we are learning.
Last night, we sat on the front porch of a man who grew up in this neighborhood. He is working on his 3rd masters degree. He already has a doctorate. He has accepted our request that he be a “culture guide” for us. He will be one of our teachers. Last week, John took an Asbury student around to several places to learn about the needs of the homeless and how the church is meeting those needs. Instead of volunteering, they went in the doors alongside the homeless, and sat in Phoenix park. The homeless were their teachers that day.
So, in our office several times a week, we sit with our laptop and brainstorm all the things we’ve learned, who taught us, the context of the teaching, etc. We learn everything from ways respect is given and received, to how/where/by whom children are taught in the neighborhood, and culture differences among ethnic groups/socio-economic groups/streets/neighborhoods, etc. We write down things about who listens to whom, and where the social network centers are. We write down things people perceive about Christianity and the church. We are learning.
We just got 30 day bus passes, and we’re going to try to live 30 days with minimal driving. City life is different when your transportation is different. We are learning.
We are also designing a 9 month intensive course of urban missions training for the local church we are working with. We are not alone in this learning process.
In some ways, I feel like the Israelites just freed from Egypt, finding myself free but in the wilderness.
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A day of days
July 6th, 2008 · No Comments
Today is a day of days. It marks the end of three years of prayer and perseverance. It marks the beginning of full time ministry. As we knelt at the alter, we felt hands upon our shoulders. We knew we were surrounded by loved ones who have joined us in this journey. This journey is as much theirs as it is ours, and today would not have happened without them. This I know. Many couldn’t be there in person, but expressed their love through emails, saying they were with us in spirit. As people prayed, we couldn’t see who was praying, but their voices were distinctly familiar. Our ears knew those faces as well as our eyes. They were voices that had prayed with us thus far, and they will be voices praying with us from here forward. If ever I felt surrounded by a cloud of witnesses, saints of faith, it was today. Thank you my friends.
John and I used to say that if today ever happened, it would only be by the grace and working of God. I still believe that. Thanks be to God.
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an unexpected sharing
July 6th, 2008 · No Comments
A week or so ago, some neighbor kids were hanging out at our house. Some friends of ours came down the street pushing their grocery cart with their belongings as they do everyday. We talked a bit, and then it occurred to our friends with the grocery cart that they wanted to share with the boys. They asked the boys if they wanted some milk, which they affirmed that they did. So, our sweet friend lovingly put straws in boxes of milk, made sure that the lunch bags had the choicest of food (the best pears), and the boys were happy drinking their milk, fighting with each other over who was going to have the next turn with our old-fashioned reel mower. I thanked my friend for her great care and kindness towards the boys, knowing that she just gave away their dinner. She said, “someone just gave us a really good meal for lunch. God will provide us dinner.” The boys were excited about the gift, not really understanding the extent of the cost or the depth of the care that gave it.
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Voices of Voting
May 23rd, 2008 · No Comments
Last Sunday, John and I went door to door to encourage people to vote in our state’s primary on Tuesday, and to encourage support for our favorite candidate. I went, because I knew getting involved in the voting process is an important part and a real privilege of being an American. I had volunteered numerous hours for our city council representative in our last local election, but I’ve never been involved with a campaign of a national candidate. Honestly, going door to door felt a little intrusive, but John was excited about it, so I thought it would be a good experience, too.
Wow. What a gift yesterday was. We just happened to be assigned to our neighborhood for canvassing (a welcomed coincidence). We were invited into a home of an older African American couple, and as we sat on their couch, the gentleman said that he never thought he would live to see the day when an African American would be running for president. You see, this man did not get his voting rights at age 18, like I did. He was amazed and excited at how history had changed so much in so little time.
A young woman told us she wasn’t going to vote, because it didn’t matter. Then she told us that her brother in law had served several tours in the Iraq war. He has tried to retire, but the military won’t let him. They keep sending him back. He said that he used to know why he was there, but now that he has seen the accomplishment of every goal that had been given to them, he has no idea why he is still there. This woman decided then that she needed to vote, for the sake of her brother in law and others like him. She said she was going to vote on Tuesday.
Surprisingly, we came across many young teenagers who said they really wished they could vote, “but they had to wait another year” or so. I don’t remember that many teenagers in my high school who wanted so badly to be able to vote.
A young man sitting on a front porch told us that he couldn’t vote on Tuesday, because he had lost his voting rights. He said that his voice should count, too, and that it is easy to stop caring when your voice isn’t heard. We started to walk down the street, but something came to my mind, and I walked back to that house. I told him that we couldn’t vote Tuesday either, since we’re both registered Independent, but we’re doing what we can with the voice we have. This young man realized that he still had the ability to do something productive with his voice as an American. He filled out a volunteer form.
John came upon a group of young men, and asked if they were going to vote. Every single one of them had lost their voting rights.
It was a strange mix of those so proud of the right to vote, those who felt so much despair that they only felt apathy towards voting, those who wanted to vote but had to wait, and others who wanted to vote but may never have another chance.
Kentucky is in the process of possibly changing this last one. We are one of the last three states in our country that has not reinstated voting rights to felons who have served their sentence. Really, I don’t see how this could be constitutional. We as a country pride ourselves in no taxation without representation, but that is what happens to former felons. The public desire is for former felons to become productive citizens in society, yet one of the primary characteristics of a responsible citizen in a democracy is voting. There is the argument that they don’t have the moral integrity to know how to vote, but as a democracy, we don’t choose who has moral integrity and who doesn’t (a slippery slope for sure). I know a lot of people who vote whom I disagree with morally, but they can still vote. It’s also a real problem when people with money can get out of felony charges more easily than those without money (and that’s not even stepping into the issue of racial disparity). There is also a misconception of what felonies are. Some are the big bad crimes we assume when we hear “felony.” Did you know that if a landlord does not disclose the presence and hazards of lead paint in rental properties to his/her tenants, it is a felony?
Some statistics for the state of Kentucky:
1) Kentucky is one of only three states that permanently disenfranchise all persons with felony convictions even after they have completed their full sentence.
2) Kentucky has the sixth highest rate of disenfranchisement in the country. One out of every 17 Kentucky residents is disenfranchised, a rate more than twice the national average.
3) Kentucky has the highest African American disenfranchisement rate in the country with nearly one of every 4 African Americans ineligible to vote. This rate is nearly triple the national African American disenfranchisement rate.
4) More than two-thirds (69.1%) of people ineligible to vote because of felony convictions have completed their sentence.
5) Since 2004, a declining number of people have had their voting rights restored because of additional requirements added to the application process.
6) In 2001, a simplification of the restoration process increased applications for restoration, and the number of people granted their voting rights grew.
Click here for the full report from the League of Women Voters.
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How does your garden grow?
May 19th, 2008 · No Comments
Again he began to teach by the lake. Such a large crowd gathered around him that he got into a boat on the lake and sat there while the whole crowd was on the shore by the lake. He taught them many things in parables, and in his teaching said to them: “Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seed fell along the path, and the birds came and devoured it. Other seed fell on rocky ground where it did not have much soil. It sprang up at once because the soil was not deep. When the sun came up it was scorched, and because it did not have sufficient root, it withered. Other seed fell among the thorns, and they grew up and choked it, and it did not produce grain. But other seed fell on good soil and produced grain, sprouting and growing; some yielded thirty times as much, some sixty, and some a hundred times.” And he said, “Whoever has ears to hear had better listen!” … He also said, “The kingdom of God is like someone who spreads seed on the ground. He goes to sleep and gets up, night and day, and the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how. By itself the soil produces a crop, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head. And when the grain is ripe, he sends in the sickle because the harvest has come.” - Mark 4:1-9, 26-29
The parable of the sower (Matthew 13, Mark 4, Luke 8) rings oh so true.
We planted our garden a little over a week ago. We had started seeds indoors a couple months ago. It was fun to see the little seeds sprout, pushing little stems through the dirt, stretching leaves out, and finally throwing the hull of the seed off. Freedom! I actually witnessed the wonder of that final toss of a hull. I was staring at these little leaves curled up, tips still bound by the hull, and I thought, “Someday, this little plant will shed this hull. There will be that definitive moment, when its leaves are free. Wouldn’t that be neat to see? But those events are always done in the absence of my watching.” and then, suddenly, as if this plant heard my thoughts, it stretched its leaves out wide. Freedom! It made my day.
John tilled 1/4 of our yard, set limestone rocks on the border. We researched what plants survive best next to what plants. John built little tepees for peas to grow onto. I planted marigolds. We drew a little diagram of our vegetables. We sent soil to be tested for nutrients and lead - twice for good measure. John drove in two truckloads of compost. We’ve been faithfully composting for next year’s garden. We patiently waited until after Derby weekend to plant (as Kentuckians do). We woke up on Sunday, so sore from the day before, but feeling good about the garden.
The morning held soft showers, letting our new plantings drink from the heavens. And then the hail came. Everything was pummeled. On Monday, I got a call from our ag. extension office saying that our soil levels were borderline too high with lead for a garden. Monday afternoon, we had discovered birds that plucked the heads of the marigolds off, apparently for no good reason. By the end of the week, most of our pepper plants (one of the few seedlings left after the hail) were eaten by these birds. John says that he went out at one point, and he is certain he heard them laughing at him. Aphids have found the few tomato plants still strong enough to possibly make it through.
We had to realize that despite all our planning and efforts, we had very little control over the growth of this garden. We have a few seedlings we hadn’t planted, so we’ll add some more peppers. We’re hoping some of the peas, cucumbers, squash, and tomatoes will revive. We think the two truckloads of compost should make the lead situation ok, and we’ve done research about veggies grown in that kind of soil - what absorbs the lead and what doesn’t. A friend has loaned us a ground covering/net that should keep the birds out for a little while. Our lettuce and spinach seeds have started to sprout, giving hope to our garden’s future.
Sometimes we feel that ministry is the same way. We invested so many hours in relationships with folks across the street in the boarding houses. We realize that almost all of these people have moved. This is typical with boarding house residents, just as birds and bugs and weather issues are typical with gardens. It is such a reminder that all we can do is plant the seed of Truth in the world around us. We have to realize that any product or growth is so much out of our hands. As caretakers/servants in God’s garden we are responsible to care for any growth that comes forth, but we can’t force things to grow, nor can we force the fruit.
It can feel so difficult, especially when we see apparent devastation of our efforts, while our muscles are still so sore from our efforts. But, how exciting it is when new growth does come. It is a reminder of the miracles of God. Sometimes we even get to see arms outstretch, throwing the hull of the former life off, and a deep breath in of new freedom.