Tenebrae, the service of shadows, traditionally occurs on Wednesday in Holy week. We enter into the Lamentations of the prophet Jeremiah. Lamentations 2:19 reads
Arise, cry out in the night,
at the beginning of the watches! Pour out your heart like water
before the presence of the Lord! Lift your hands to him
for the lives of your children, who faint for hunger
at the head of every street.
(Miguel and Becca)
Reading this line from Lamentations, I can’t help but think of the two kids we met at Dorcas House this past weekend, Miguel and Jasmin. Miguel was 5, Jasmin 3. They both speak English much better than Spanish, and so having the English speaking group around this weekend was a great comfort. They were found on the streets of Tijuana being beaten by an unknown man and were brought by Mexican Social Services to Dorcas House. We discovered a couple of days ago that the children are US Citizens and are missing from a foster home in San Diego. A woman identified as their mother was arrested Friday as she tried to enter the United States (undocumented). Their older brother, who was with the mom at the time, has been returned to the foster home. As we are invited to repent this week, we must examine our indifference to a border system that last week left 5 year old caring for his 3 year old sister on the streets of Tijuana where they were abused. We must lift up our hands to God for the lives of these children, and children everywhere.
Holy week invites us into the Crucifixion and Resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth. For Christians, the three days ahead represent the central answer by God to the great question of suffering in our world: Where is God when we suffer? God suffers with us, because God suffers humanly on the cross. But suffering is not the end of the story. The ultimate vindication of God’s reign, the triumph of the good news of LIFE over the powers of death in this world, THE RESURRECTION is the last word.
Pray for resurrection in the lives of Miguel and Jasmine, in the lives of children throughout the world, and in our own lives.
Immigration continues to be present for me. My buddy Casey wrote a song for my other buddy Chris based around the ideas in his graduate thesis exploring immigration. I’ve been in continuing conversations about immigration lately, some of them framing immigration as the new civil rights question for our time. Could San Diego be the next Montgomery?
I don’t know, but I do know that my community continues to spiritually process immigration. As Christians we are called to cross our borders. We are called beyond the boundaries we set up by the Christ who breaks down all walls.
So I’m back in the blog-o-sphere. This past week really caused me to consider what I believe about the Church. In part this came because I encountered a bit of a hero of mine a week ago. I had the chance to buy Brian McLaren a beer and talk with him about the Church, being a “pastor,” and where Christianity might be headed in the next few years. Brian has been all over the world in the past couple of years, partly in researching his recent book, “Everything Must Change.” His insights into life in the developing world, and how people can positively participate in the upbuilding of our world were deep. He helped galvanize my desire to travel to South Africa this summer with my brother. (More on that on a future day).
My friend Laurel asked Brian what he thought were the biggest pitfalls or problems for young religious leaders and his response has played repeatedly in my head the past few days. He said young people fall down when they buy into the “ecclesiology,” that is the idea of what the church is, that is handed down to them. He said he believes we are coming to an important moment in the history of Christianity when we will redefine the Church, but in order to do that we can’t buy into the ecclesiology as it’s handed to us. Instead we need to begin with a new christology, which will lead us to a new missiology which will then produce a new ecclesiology. In other words we need to rediscover what Christ means to us, and based upon our understanding of Jesus to figure out how we believe God calls us to follow him in mission, the work of the disciples. Together then we will build a new Church, with a new understanding of what it means to be the beloved community..
Then later this week a liturgy I had written for the Camino Young Adult Gathering of the Episcopal Church which reinterprets the “Stations of the Cross” as an exercise in praying for the and learning about the Millennium Development Goals was published by ERD as part of their Lenten Resources. Almost immediately the conservative Anglican blogs began attacking the liturgy as “heresy,” “witchcraft,” and part of an overall liberal scheme to subvert the Gospel in the name of social action. I was glad to have had the conversation with Brian McLaren before becoming a celebrity in the conservative Anglican blog-o-sphere. It helped me see this posturing for what it was, attempts to defend an out-dated ecclesiology, attempts to protect a vision of what the Church was. Defending nostalgic images renders Christianity a museum piece. The Church must adapt, must engage in the great problems of our day, if the Good News of salvation is to shine in the dark corners of our globe. Liturgy can be an agent to engage people in deep ways in the Gospel work of liberation, or it can be an exercise in stuffy traditionalism.
Tuesday night The Venerable Thich Nhat Hanh spoke to 3,500 people at the University of San Diego, my alma mater. Listening as he spoke, my first impression was, “this guy sounds a lot like Desmond Tutu.” Apparently being a powerhouse for the Spirituality of Justice and Peace comes with a tone that is lilting, soft-spoken, full of a quiet cadence, and joy. I’ve been running a great deal lately as I listen to sermons and speeches on my iPod, and have found myself at pace with the rhythm of the speakers voice. The rhythm of “Thay” (as his followers affectionately call him), begs us to slow down, to listen. Through cultivating inner peace Thich Nhat Hanh has become an effective peacemaker.
Nhat Hanh was exiled during the Vietnam war for his attempts to bring the two sides together for talks. He was nominated by Martin Luther King Jr. for the Nobel Peace Prize, and took Communion with members of the Catholic Worker Movement. His words about the Kingdom of God were among some of the most profound I’ve heard. He said: “It is not that the Kingdom of God is not available to US, it is that we are not available to the Kingdom.”
Thay’s way of practice involves mindfulness, the Buddhist practice of awareness of the present moment. One breathes in and remembers that they are present in the Now, in the present moment, then breathes out and smiles knowing that it is a perfect moment. This Buddhist monk reminds us of Jesus’ teaching that the Kingdom of God is already at hand, we simply have to practice living into it. Rooting ourselves in prayer we can open ourselves, seeing the Kingdom of God around us. That sight allows us to see the places where God is working to make the kingdom more present, and to join in that work. Whether in our neighbor who lacks food or housing, or in a system which denies rights to human beings, we can be reminded that we dwell in the reign of God now, we are citizens of the Kingdom, by our practice of prayer.
As I listened to this great teacher, I was mindful of the tiredness I felt. I’ve been helping the Social Issues Committee at USD to prepare for this talk for over a year, and spent 14 hours helping out that day. I had just finished “Welcome Week” at UCSD and had worked several days from waking until just before bed. I had been very busy, but had not spent time to be prayerfully, mindfully, present. I had let my daily practice of reading scripture and spending a quiet moment in meditative prayer slip. More than the amount of activity I think this lack of a daily time of centering had contributed to my exhaustion.
When asked how he found time for a daily hour of prayer during the war in El Salvador, Archbishop Romero replied that on the more difficult and busy days, he needed two hours for prayer. Archbishop Desmond Tutu began his formation with a group of Anglican monks in South Africa and has stayed rooted in a practice of prayer which includes several hours a day. To practice peace, we must find the peace of God, the kingdom of God, available to us NOW, discoverable when our sight is rooted in mindful prayer.
Water rushes down hillsides, sometimes carrying with it whole villages. The refuse washing into the rivers contaminates them and the water tables they feed giving the people in Bajo Lempa an unimaginably high incidence of kidney disease. Often the rain falls so hard that it washes over damns and floods entire villages. The rain’s moisture brings with it mosquitoes and a current triple epidemic of dengue fever, malaria, and pneumonia. Swelling rivers, sweating faces, rain drops large enough to fill a coffee mug, this much moisture astounds and devastates. In El Salvador the rain can be as violent as the recent history of this smallest of Central American countries.
The rain would be more welcome but that this is the second most deforested country in the Western Hemisphere. The lack of trees to hold soil with their roots, to nourish the air with fresh oxygen means that the water carries away more than it hydrates. Rich soil is skimmed off the rocky surface of a volcanic country. A similar process happens with the countries wealth.
Reagan spoke about “trickle down” economics; Salvadorans talk about a circle of wealth. US companies and their Salvadoran agents employ people in maquilas (assembly factories with commonly horrendous working conditions) and pay them near poverty level salaries. Salvadorans then purchase US company produced goods or US farm produce. This circle continually benefits the rich of the U.S. and El Salvador and prevents the everyday worker from access to an improving way of life. The economic power washes over the everyday Salvadoran, eroding their spirit and bodies.
I am currently reading “God Bless You Mr. Rosewater” Vonnegut’s classic satire of American wealth. Written reflecting on the McCarthy era, one of the characters when asked if he is now or ever has been a Communist says that he supposes has “communistic thoughts” every once in awhile, but it is hard to work with the poor without “tripping over Karl Marx, or the Bible every once in awhile.”
I wrote the words at the top of this blog entry in El Salvador. I’m writing these words in a Cafe in Point Loma, CA…home of San Diego’s fleet of private yachts. I listed to the most sane words about immigration I’ve heard in a long time come out of Dennis Kucinich’s mouth the other day (I do not intend to endorse him by saying this, I just think his ideas about immigration are insightful.) He talked about the first step needing to occur being repealing NAFTA…allowing people to have dignified work with a living wage within their own country. I think that is true. Until we pay attention to the level of abuse that we participate in economically around the world, El Salvador will continue to be deforested. Until we work to repare the damage we have done, people in Latin America will suffer so that executives can ride their yachts in San Diego.
A week ago now, “Comprehensive Immigration Reform” failed in the Senate. 12 million people live and work in the United States without documents. We have a broken immigration system that cannot manage or deal with our labor needs, the people already here, and those on their way. People blamed the failure on the massive gap between those who called, wrote, emailed, or yelled at senators calling the bill “amnesty” over those of us who want desperately to see the system overhauled. I called, wrote, and lobbied, but I understand why the support was unbalanced. While it was easy to use the buzzword “amnesty” to shoot down this bill which was “too liberal for conservatives,” the bill represented such a weak reform that many of us had a hard time fully supporting it.
The Episcopal Church identified five priorities as the Church Policy on Immigration Reform at General Convention last summer. They are:
Undocumented aliens should have reasonable opportunity to pursue permanent residency.
Legal workers should be allowed to enter the United States to respond to recognized labor force needs.
Close family members should be allowed to reunite without undue delay with individuals lawfully present in the United States.
Fundamental U.S. principles of legal due process should be granted all persons.
Enforcement of national borders and immigration policies should be proportional and humane.
The immigration reform bill before the Senate arguably addressed none of these concerns, so it was hard to support. The difficulty has become that the situation is so bad currently, that ANY change seems like a good one. Any attempt to deal with the brokenness of the system is received with open arms. The proposed bill would have required a “touchback,” (the worker would have to return to their home country and wait in line as part of the application for residency), and a $5000 fee. The point system was a complicated mess which did not ensure that workers would respond to labor needs in a way that ensured their dignity. There were no measures dealing with family reunification. The bill did not address the current mistreatment of immigrants rights by U.S. agents, and the enforcement of the border was militaristic. We can do better. We have to do better.
Friday last week, the same day I read that the version of C.I.R. failed, I received an email from Honduras. One of my boys from the year I spent as a chaplain in Tegucigalpa (not pictured above because I don’t want him identified) wrote to say he wouldn’t see me when I visit later this summer because he’s heading north. In his words, “You can’t imagine where I am. I know that the journey ahead is arduous, but I believe it could change my life and the life of my family if I find work in the U.S.” These words come from a young man I came to consider a close friend, from someone I finish writing saying “love you brother.” Why can our country not see that the people arriving here each day are human beings, persons capable of love and being loved? I am scared for my friend who has a tough journey past criminals in Chiapas, border agents in Mexico and then the U.S. ICE.
The Bible calls us to “welcome the stranger among us.” (See Exodus 21:22 and Leviticus 19:34) When I arrived in Honduras I didn’t speak the language well, had no friends, and was isolated from all I knew. The welcome I received from a group of boys astounded me. They taught me that I am worthwhile not because of who I know, or what I can do, but because I am a person created by God. They taught me this by loving me and including me though I had little or nothing to offer them. Most of the boys dream of taking the skills they are learning to make a new life for their family by working in the U.S. I can do no less than seek to welcome them, and dream for a world where all are welcome.
One of the funny things about working in the Church is that sometimes God actually catches up to you. May came as a bit of a whirlwind month with travel every other weekend, the wrapping up of the school year at UCSD, a lot of planning for summer adventures, and the like. A year passed since I had returned from Honduras, and I realize now how quickly I had re-assimilated into the rushed American professional lifestyle. I can tell by the huge backlog of emails , bills, and the to do list I just mounted on my bulletin board with 20+ items on it. I have spent my life this year “running to catch up again.” (as one of my great prophets, Mr. Jason Mraz, sings) Yesterday though, I had one of those moments where God caught up.
In the midst of all of the craziness of everyday life yesterday I had an afternoon to re-read some of “Practicing Resurrection” by Nora Gallagher. In this book she narrates the internal and external journey of discovering a sense of call towards priestly ministry and the insanity of the institutional discernment process in the Episcopal Diocese of Los Angeles. Having finished the San Diego process in the past few months, I resonated even more with her story. The process has a top-heavy forward momentum to it. The person seems propelled toward the finish line of ordination. I have a number of friends in the Church going through the discernment process in one way or another, and at my age many friends discerning their sense of call in general. It seems that American life can have that same top heavy motion to it. We rush forward toward some goal, careening on the edge of sanity as we pursue money, status, property, the picture of family life, the right career. The “American Dream” seems always around the next bend, after the next purchase, the next pay increase, the next decision about our future. It can leave you dizzy.
That’s why I said it was funny when God caught up. Yesterday, reading, procrastinating from getting a lot done I had that sneaking suspicion that God was around. It came as a surprise. I have been busy this month and my “inner life” has suffered for it. When I was goofing around reflecting, God showed up to say, “remember me?” I struggle to explain what this is like, so as not to sound too insane. God doesn’t come to me in visions of bright light or as a booming voice, it’s more of a hunch like the sense you might get on a beautiful summer day that it might rain later. Often for me when God does “show up,” when that fleeting sense of the divine comes in it causes me to laugh, drop my shoulders, and let go of the tension of whatever I was worrying over or running through.
Remembering God helps us to let go of the drivenness of my daily life, the relentless “pursuit of happiness,” and to relax into the already present reality of our salvation, God’s love. Even those of us who like to think of ourselves as working to change the world need to let go sometimes (actually a lot of us probably need to be reminded let go more often than those who work in more conventional professions), and remember that God has greater things in mind for us and the world than we could possibly dream up, and that we are already loved by one who loves us better than we can love ourselves.
“A walking running dancing 10 km long party” is how my Uncle Chris describes the Bolder Boulder. You see, the people of Boulder are about the strangest group of human beings that could possibly conglomerate in a metropolitical unit. Lining the streets on race day are burned out hippies, recyclers, tree-huggers, fraternity guys with a slip and slide, women in hula skirts, belly dancers, and more jam bands than at Lulapalooza. Chris and I flew to Colorado this Memorial Day weekend to run the 10k road race with my dad. Last year at this time they were both with me in Honduras. They had come to pick me up at the end of my year living in Tegucigalpa. We spent a week traveling, having deep conversations over deeper glasses of beer, and generally solving the world’s problems. On one stop we climbed into the tropical forest, and my Dad scared both of us. He climbed with such difficulty and had to stop so frequently that it was obvious he was not in the physical condition this sort of activity required. My dad has always had problems with his knees or his back, but when I was growing up he was the one charging ahead down the path when we backpacked, or encouraging me to make it up one more switchback as I cried out “I HAVE ASTHMA” (I was prone to drama at 12). Watching my dad struggle to make it up an easy path really made me worry…it made him worry to.
That night we talked about how we all needed to be in better shape. Dad particularly mentioned that he wanted to start working out. He said he wanted to be in shape for the Bolder Boulder…a 10k road race familiar to every Coloradan that happens every memorial day. Chris and I said that we’d love to run it with him the next year. Dad really started working on this goal in the fall, walking with friends, working his way up to running. This weekend we got together in Colorado and made good on the promise. AND DAD RAN!!!! Technically he ran half of the race and walked the other half, but he was walking so fast that Chris and I kept having to run to catch up with him. We finished in one and a half hours, faster than my dad had done 10k all year. “The walking running dancing 10km long party” seemed like a celebration of my dad and the work he had done to get himself back in shape. I am proud of my dad.
I met with one of the Brothers today…San Diego hosts the last two monks of the order of St. Paul in the Episcopal Church. Br. Andrew and I have been meeting for awhile now to discuss my spiritual journey. I always walk away from these meetings with a sense of peace and direction, but lately there has also been a bit of dread attached. You see sometimes the brother likes to wax prophetic, and he tends to see a future with some major cataclysmic event in store that will challenge our generation. I wonder if this is the product of his advancing years, if he can’t imagine what the world will be like after he’s left it. I don’t know, but I can say this weekend gave me two sources of great hope.
I’ll talk about them reverse chronologically. On Saturday I took a group from UCSD down to Dorcas House, a new ministry of St. Paul’s Cathedral. The Children of Dorcas House’s parents are generally inmates in the La Mesa Prison in Tijuana. In Mexico, unlike in the U.S., when the head of the household goes to prison, the entire family moves in with them. The La Mesa prison living conditions are totally unsuitable for children, so several years ago a group started a home for the children whose parents are incarcerated. The kids of Dorcas House are housed, fed, and sent to school through the support of Churches in San Diego and Los Angeles. Our group goes once per quarter to visit the kids, to play soccer, do some art, dance, and to remember that our family extends beyond the borders that people try to place between us. This is a truly radical act in a country that would have us build a wall between us and our neighbor. The enthusiasm, energy, and raw love coming from the students and the kids of Dorcas house as they spent time together on Saturday gave me hope that we can learn to live in ways that are closer to the community God desires for us. I was particularly excited because a couple of the students decided to take on the planning of the next trip, and want to extend the reach of our present trips to include more immersion and engagement of border issues.
Friday night my buddy Rob and I had dinner and then were about to head to Ocean Beach to get a beer with some other friends. As we were getting in my car we heard whistles and bike bells coming down the street. We looked up to see several hundred cyclists with flashing lights cheering as they pedaled their way down 5th Ave. We jumped in the car to follow behind them and got to watch the “Critical Mass” unfold. Critical Mass is a play on words: Cyclists come together spontaneously to take over a city street and celebrate. This very action can be interpreted as a critique of a culture addicted to fuel burning vehicles. Bicycles ARE classified as vehicles and thus they are required by law to travel on roads while in the city, but road design often neglects bikes. The cyclists riding through the streets by their very presence critique a culture that depends so heavily on fossil fuels, and doesn’t think outside that addiction. As we followed along in my car (no, the irony is not lost on me that I am ranting about gas-guzzling while I was following a bunch of cyclists in MY car), I was overcome by the sheer number of people lining the streets to celebrate the bikes coming by. Maybe it’s that gas prices in California are approaching $4.00 a gallon, maybe it’s because we were passing through the liberal gay neighborhood, but it was inspiring to see so many people celebrating this “Critical Mass.” I know that on the last Friday of next month, if at all possible, I will be on my bike with a whistle.
I really have to believe that a group of cyclists and a handful of students visiting their neighbors in need can change the world. I know this is idealistic, but I follow a savior who surrounded himself with a group of crazies and proclaimed that power wasn’t to be found in military might, but in unimaginably big love. If enough of a critical mass believes in this and comes together, maybe we can avoid Br. Andrew’s scary visions of the future world. Maybe we can build the Community of God together.
So I’m back in the blog-o-sphere. This past week really caused me to consider what I believe about the Church. In part this came because I encountered a bit of a hero of mine a week ago. I had the chance to buy Brian McLaren a beer and talk with him about the Church, being a “pastor,” and where Christianity might be headed in the next few years. Brian has been all over the world in the past couple of years, partly in researching his recent book, “Everything Must Change.” His insights into life in the developing world, and how people can positively participate in the upbuilding of our world were deep. He helped galvanize my desire to travel to South Africa this summer with my brother. (More on that on a future day).
Tuesday night The Venerable Thich Nhat Hanh spoke to 3,500 people at the University of San Diego, my alma mater. Listening as he spoke, my first impression was, “this guy sounds a lot like Desmond Tutu.” Apparently being a powerhouse for the Spirituality of Justice and Peace comes with a tone that is lilting, soft-spoken, full of a quiet cadence, and joy. I’ve been running a great deal lately as I listen to sermons and speeches on my iPod, and have found myself at pace with the rhythm of the speakers voice. The rhythm of “Thay” (as his followers affectionately call him), begs us to slow down, to listen. Through cultivating inner peace Thich Nhat Hanh has become an effective peacemaker.
conversations over deeper glasses of beer, and generally solving the world’s problems. On one stop we climbed into the tropical forest, and my Dad scared both of us. He climbed with such difficulty and had to stop so frequently that it was obvious he was not in the physical condition this sort of activity required. My dad has always had problems with his knees or his back, but when I was growing up he was the one charging ahead down the path when we backpacked, or encouraging me to make it up one more switchback as I cried out “I HAVE ASTHMA” (I was prone to drama at 12). Watching my dad struggle to make it up an easy path really made me worry…it made him worry to.
ministry of St. Paul’s Cathedral. The Children of Dorcas House’s parents are generally inmates in the La Mesa Prison in Tijuana. In Mexico, unlike in the U.S., when the head of the household goes to prison, the entire family moves in with them. The La Mesa prison living conditions are totally unsuitable for children, so several years ago a group started a home for the children whose parents are incarcerated. The kids of Dorcas House are housed, fed, and sent to school through the support of Churches in San Diego and Los Angeles. Our group goes once per quarter to visit the kids, to play soccer, do some art, dance, and to remember that our family extends beyond the borders that people try to place between us. This is a truly radical act in a country that would have us build a wall between us and our neighbor. The enthusiasm, energy, and raw love coming from the students and the kids of Dorcas house as they spent time together on Saturday gave me hope that we can learn to live in ways that are closer to the community God desires for us. I was particularly excited because a couple of the students decided to take on the planning of the next trip, and want to extend the reach of our present trips to include more immersion and engagement of border issues.
hundred cyclists with flashing lights cheering as they pedaled their way down 5th Ave. We jumped in the car to follow behind them and got to watch the “Critical Mass” unfold. Critical Mass is a play on words: Cyclists come together spontaneously to take over a city street and celebrate. This very action can be interpreted as a critique of a culture addicted to fuel burning vehicles. Bicycles ARE classified as vehicles and thus they are required by law to travel on roads while in the city, but road design often neglects bikes. The cyclists riding through the streets by their very presence critique a culture that depends so heavily on fossil fuels, and doesn’t think outside that addiction. As we followed along in my car (no, the irony is not lost on me that I am ranting about gas-guzzling while I was following a bunch of cyclists in MY car), I was overcome by the sheer number of people lining the streets to celebrate the bikes coming by. Maybe it’s that gas prices in California are approaching $4.00 a gallon, maybe it’s because we were passing through the liberal gay neighborhood, but it was inspiring to see so many people celebrating this “Critical Mass.” I know that on the last Friday of next month, if at all possible, I will be on my bike with a whistle.
