Its a process

Some have asked about the conversation I had with Franklin that he quoted in Gathering last night. Here is what I said:

Need leads to Hope

Hope leads to Faith

Faith leads to Love

Love leads to Grace

Grace leads to Peace

We are all in process. Sometimes we are stuck between two points, leaving us feeling confused, out of sorts and without direction. While we fear we are stagnating, we are actually in a very necessary place of growth. We must have those times of discontent before we can move to the solid footing of a new perspective with new insights into ourselves, our experiences, and to see others in a new light. It's a process.

Wow....just when I thought I had done enough....

Who would have thought that God would use Bono to speak to me? Ok, you're right; anyone who knows me well!

 

Last fall several students and I crafted a series of worship services around the theme of Justice. Our goal was to bring attention to issues of justice by using the words of scripture to irritate everyone (yes, everyone) so that all would re-examine their own long held perspectives and actions in light of God's word. It was fun. Until it hit home for me.

 

The sign in front of our building simply says, "Baptist Center". It does not announce that we are solely a ministry to and for college students. Every so often we have folks who have just gotten off of the bus at the station a few blocks away wander in seeking help from a church. At times homeless or the down and out call or drop by as well. I'm not sure when I first met Ken (not his real name). I'm not sure what brought him in. But sometime near the end of our series last fall he came by again.

 

Whenever folks come by we listen and try to help as we can. We have no funds in our budget for indigent care - all of our monies were donated for and are designated to collegiate ministry. We could get into big trouble using those funds for other things. I believe it's called "misappropriation of funds," or some other legal term. In the past if the story is really convincing I will toss a few bucks to the person, say a prayer with them and walk them out of the building. We have had people notice when our crew comes and goes, and realize that these students are caring and giving. We have had people take advantage of our folks by waiting in the parking lot after each of our events, asking for handouts, rides, or food. Our students usually comply. After calls from local pastors or parents we have had to put a stop such tactics for safety reasons. We have had folks come in asking students for money or using our building as a place to sleep. Again, for safety reasons we have had to quell such behavior.

 

For some reason Ken seemed different. Or maybe I was at a point where I needed Ken to help me to realize that these justice issues we were raising were for me too. When Ken came by he asked for money for a specific thing. I pulled the few dollars out of my pocket and passed them on. I also gave him a jacket that had been in our lost and found for over a year. I passed along a t-shirt. After we had said goodbye he came back. Leaving he had seen a birthday cake downstairs on a table where we had day old bread an elderly gentleman had brought by from local grocery stores (his ministry was to collect bread and take it to local ministries that could use it to help hungry folks). That morning a decorated birthday cake had come in with the bread. Ken was excited. He told me his daughter's birthday was that day, and he didn't have a gift for her. The cake would make her day. I chuckled. In the past we usually tossed the cakes because our students never took them. They loved the bread, but didn't quite know what to do with a cake! Of course Ken took the cake.

 

A few weeks later I saw Ken again. He had another need - $8 or so to complete what he had saved for his mom's rent. A week or so later he needed $3.50 for bus fare. I began to get skeptical. I began to feel I had my own special project, or he had found his patsy that would always give.

 

Some days later Ken was back, a hacking cough that doubled him over when he tried to stand - pneumonia, the doctor said. He had a prescription in hand. He needed antibiotics. I drove him to CVS, paid for the drugs and took him home. A week or so later he was back.

 

God and I had a talk that day after I had helped with the need du jour. God and I talked that night..and the next morning driving to work. I had a revelation. I don't carry much cash. Like many in our society, I use cards to pay for just about everything. But what I heard God say to me that day was only give him what you have in your pocket. So that's what I do. And the next time he was in I told him that I would help out if I could, but that I wasn't going to the bank for him. If I had the cash in hand I would help out.

 

Late this spring Ken stopped coming by. He had talked about moving to Atlanta to get a job. I forgot about him...

...Until he walked back in a month or so ago. His mom got sick, was in the hospital, couldn't work, Ken had to help, quit his job in Atlanta, moved in with her to one of the many subsidized housing complexes in town, and came to see me. The weekly or biweekly visits continued. Rent was due, he was a few dollars short. Child support was due in an hour, he had collected what he could, but needed $23.25.

 

One day he came by and I wasn't there. He saw the picture of my daughter posted on my door. The pic was two and a half years old - the first shot we took in the hospital that I proudly posted on my door for all to see. I had even forgotten it was there. But as a dad of a little girl that he hardly ever gets to see, Ken saw it. He pulled it down, asked our administration assistant for some paper and a pencil, and began to draw. When I arrived a bit later he hid what he was doing, thought better of it and asked if he could take the photo and finish the drawing he had started; "I'll bring it back," he explained. A few days later I arrived to find an expertly drawn picture of my baby girl hanging on my door where the photo had been. The photo was there too, as if for comparison of the skill he had brought to the task.

 

"Where'd you learn to draw so well?" I asked the next time he came by, not for money, but to make sure I got the picture.

 

"School," he muttered, shrugging. "I've always been good with art stuff."

 

A month or so later I took the drawing home. Everyone was in bed so I left it on the counter. A few days later my wife found it as she was culling through one of my many piles of papers around the house. Ken had signed the drawing, so she knew no one in our family had done it. So I told her the story. She had an idea.

 

"Hey, why don't you find some pictures of all of our kids and see if he will put them into a collage that we can get framed and put on the wall somewhere in the house? And you can pay him to do it..." she explained. I took him some school pictures of all three children yesterday. He called back to see if I could buy some really nice paper or a canvas to do them on. "I want this to be really nice," he urged.

 

I'll pick the finish product up soon. I can't wait to see it.

 

But the nagging skepticism is back. It was whispering, but yesterday afternoon was yelling, "quit giving him money! maybe now you can find ways he can work for what you give!" He has been calling weekly, sometimes daily asking for this or that. It's always only a few dollars; "I need to wash my clothes so I can go to my new job tomorrow," "My daughter's birthday is coming on the 20th. I can't afford a gift," etc.

Then last night at worship Franklin talked about the results of worship: "worship that is real results in life change." Very true, I thought; Great sermon!

 

Then this morning I was trying to clean off the table in the family room, it's covered with books and papers for my research, and I picked up a book I had been glancing through last week. I opened it to read a passage to my son. I've been trying to find away to get him to read some devotional material. Nothing has worked so far, so I thought maybe a rock star would grab his attention. The book is on the move, Bono's message at the National Prayer Breakfast in Washington, DC in 2006. There are some great lines in the message. My son is a radical little cuss and he prides himself for talking about Democratic social issues at school. I thought this book would give him some fodder for the day.

 

I quit cleaning and took the book to the sofa, muted the morning news that had been holding my son in a catatonic state as he tried to wake up this morning.

 

"Hey Nick, listen to what Bono said to Bush at the National Prayer Breakfast a few years ago," I urged as I began reading passages aloud. He shifted but didn't say anything. I think he may have glanced my way a few times. Then I read,

"God is in the slums, in the cardboard boxes where the poor play house. God is in the silence of a mother who has infected her child with a virus that will end both their lives. God is in the cries heard under the rubble of war. God is in the debris of wasted opportunity and lives, and God is with us if we are with them. 'If you remove the yoke from your midst, the pointing of the finger and speaking wickedness, and if you give yourself to the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then your light will rise in darkness and your gloom will become like midday and the Lord will continually guide you and satisfy your desire in scorched places' [Isaiah 58:9-11)".

He would have to include scripture! Ouch. My rising skepticism fell bruised to the floor of my mind, stunned by the very words that had shocked me last fall.

 

I flipped a few pages. My eyes caught Bono's words, "It's not a coincidence that in the Scriptures, poverty is mentioned more than 2,100 times. It's not an accident. That's a lot of airtime, 2,100 mentions."

 

I flipped a few more pages, realizing that my intent of inspiring my son had backfired. I had inspired myself.

"Thus see the the Lord: 'Bring the homeless poor into the house, when you see the naked, cover him, then your light will break out like the dawn and your recovery will speedily spring forth, then your lord will be your rear guard.' The Jewish Scripture says that. Isaiah 58 again."

So I got up, grabbed my Bible, and read all of Isaiah 58. Ouch. I began to think about Ken. What type of life must one live to be forced to beg for money? the other day when he called he told me that work at the car wash had been slow, one maybe two cars a day. He explained, "me and the other guy, we only get $3.50 each when we wash a car. I, I, a man just can't live on that!"

 

So I will give. If I have money in my pocket I will help when Ken calls. And I will do more. I'm going to get to know Ken. I'm going to see if I can help him find a way he can use his talents to make some money. I'm going to find out what he needs. I'm going to find out if I can help him finish his education. I'm going to offer to teach him some things myself. He has sought me out. I'm going to return the favor. I don't know why Ken found me. I don't know if God brought him my way or if Ken just found a sappy old guy who would empty his pockets for a good story. Who knows. But Ken is before me. And sometimes he is hungry. Sometimes he needs to wash his clothes. Sometimes he needs help paying for housing. Sometimes he is cold. Sometimes he needs to be a better dad. And I can help with those things. And I will. Any way I can. It's the least I can do....

 

 

God & The Machine

Have you noticed that God has been reduced to a marketing tool and many of us ignorantly clamor behind the erroneous rhetoric presented to us as if Jesus himself was producing the advertisements? This past election cycle served as an uncomfortable wake up call for me. I heard many politicians and even more presumed followers of Christ speaking as if there was a clear and obvious slate of candidates that God had chosen, called, and ordained to lead America and the world into the next century! Some even topped off their proclamations by quoting verses from the Biblical letter to the church in Roman (chapter 13). That states that authority is given by God. Ironically, these same prophets now declare that our future as a nation is dire because God's candidates were not elected. How can it be both ways? Perhaps these self-proclaimed prophets were wrong. Its obvious that on at least one of these points they were mistaken: either they supported the wrong candidates or God does not give authority to governmental leaders.
Perhaps the conundrum lies in a loss of perspective as followers of God. Maybe we failed to get to know the candidates sufficiently and allowed The Machine to tell us about them. Perhaps God is concerned about more than one or two issues? Perhaps there could be more than one valid Christian answer or approach to the ills of society?
In the aftermath of the election the pundits have not paused to re-examine there diatribes, but continue with even more rancor and determination. A line from Billy Joel's song, "Only the Good Die Young" keeps playing in my mind: "Your mother never cared for me, but did she ever say a prayer for me?" I wonder if a better, more Christian response could be for ALL Christians to begin to pray for OUR new governmental leaders-elect who are currently making plans and decisions that will affect the future of our country and the future of the world. Many of those elected profess to follow Jesus too. Instead of questioning their allegiances why don't we pray that the decisions they make will be guided by God? Why don't we encourage and support them as they seek to lead from their consciences and out of their convictions? Why can't we show a bit of humility and admit that we may have seen things wrong, that we may not have had the whole picture, that we may have been duped by The Machine?
I know I am going to be proactive. I am praying for unity in our country - among those who follow Jesus and those who don't. I am also praying for our current and future leaders, that their decisions and actions will be guided by wisdom informed by their Christian faith and the Holy Spirit more than by their political advisors or indebtedness to supporters or financiers.
May God bless the USA and the world, and may the USA bless God!
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

What's grace got to do with it?

I guess I have always examined grace from God’s perspective, kind of intellectually and theologically, and haven’t spent too much time thinking about how I should be a mirror of God’s grace. When making decisions with groups or individuals I have often said, “If I err I always want to err on the side of grace”. Though that is true, I’m not sure I have really thought through what such a sentiment really means in everyday living. Student’s joke with me that I love asking questions, that I don’t give straight answers to anything. I don’t just practice the art of asking annoying questions to students – I also ask them of myself. The current question that nags my consciousness in most situations is, “What does grace have to do with this?” Related, but more personal for me is, “How can I be grace” in a given situation, for a given person, or relationship? I find that asking these questions causes me to be less judgmental, putting other’s needs above my own concerns.

 

A full life

Before yesterday I could not have imagined a time when I would attend a student's funeral or memorial service and not shed a tear. Yesterday I did exactly that. No, I don't think my dry eyes were due to me growing old and callous. Nor was it that I was numb from the shock of her death. The reason was simple - Miley Elizabeth Duvall lived all 23 years of her short life "full throttle". Her parents and friends wanted the service to represent Miley, not sappy, tearful thoughts of regret. Almost 40 people participated in the "Celebration of Life" (yes, all from the platform. Yes, the service was long). There was lots of laughter during our time gathered in the new Rabun County High School gymnasium. It was unlike any other service of remembrance of which I have been a part or attended. Actually, it was rather fun - which was just as miley would have wanted it!

Miley lived her life for Jesus. She tried any and everything. She took risks. She traveled. She has friends all over the world. She laughed loud and often. She played hard, both on the court (or track or field), and off. She was goofy, but didn't care. She was gorgeous, but hated prissy. She was laid back, but vivacious. She wrote notes of encouragement to everyone, and got people to try and do things they would have never done otherwise. You knew Smiley Miley liked you if you were hug-tackled in public or grabbed from behind, picked up and spun around until you were dizzy. Miley prayed to "Big Daddy" and lived a life to serve God in so many ways it would be impossible to list them all.

Miley showed all of us who claim to follow Jesus what living a life of joy should look like.

Yesterday I heard so many people, young and old, describe this vivacious 23 year old as their "hero". Until yesterday I only knew part of who Miley Duvall was. Now that I have the full picture I add my name to that list - Miley is my hero too!

Check out the facebook group for some stories about Miley (facebook group)

Summer Missionaries in Peru need prayers

Lydia Shivar, a UGA BCM student, is in Peru this summer serving on a mission team. This past Saturday she was in an auto accident with her team members and one did not survive the crash. Prayerfully read her account of the accident and request for prayer

surreal moment

Last week I found myself tossing and turning in bed, wracked with crazy dreams. Perhaps it was the strange place I was staying, the unfamiliar bed, or the fact that I was on alert as one of the chaperones responsible for 7 10 and 11 year old boys. It could have been any or all of those things. Or perhaps it was something a bit stranger, a bit more surreal. The dorm where we were lodged happened to be the same one in which my father lived over 60 years ago when he was a student at Mercer University in Macon. In fact, the room I was in was just next to my father’s old dorm room! In fact, the wall against which my bed rested was also the wall to his old room. I wonder if the walls have memories they were trying to pass along. I wonder if my breath felt oddly familiar to those old corridors, or if my name, being the same as my father’s, invoked smiles from the walls as it echoed through the corridors. My father was famous for his pranks, often invoking the ire of his dorm mates. Was it dad who was disturbing my slumber as he haunted the halls of his alma mater, or was only that were awakened by the irony of a chance housing assignment for a week of children’s camp that kept me tossing all night?

Oh My....

Most folks know of my admiration for Bono, the frontman for U2, and the way that his Christian faith affects his life. Each time I get the icebreaker question, "Name the person with whom you would like to eat dinner", my answer is immediate - Bono. I ran across the above video and was floored by Bono's direct appeal to justice. I have added this to the front of my, "you gotta see this" list. Take a few minutes and be challenged and inspired to change the world! Click on the title above (Oh My....) to watch my hero.... let me know what you think and, moreover, what you will do about it!

The heart of the matter...

Home. That word has new meaning for me after our experience on "The Justice Tour" this past weekend. Last night I was back at home with my family. As we were finishing our supper of Gordon's fish fillets and fresh veggies, I noticed our two year olds' top lip was swollen to three times it's normal size. Fearing a life threatening, allergic reaction, I scooped her up, rushed to the van, and drove (our minivan) like a Nascar driver (I can dream, can't I?) to the nearest hospital. Since we were already in the hospital's computer system, we were processed quickly. Our valid insurance meant that I didn't have to worry about the treatment options or diagnosis; we were covered. Throughout the ordeal I was treated with the respect a white, middle class, well-spoken, middle aged, adult male is given. I didn't have to worry about understanding the medical personnel or them understanding me. I didn't have to worry about blatant or implied racism. As i wandered the halls of the emergency area to keep my daughter entertained, no one told me to go back to the exam room. It was all rather pleasant. I didn't even have to cover my co-pay, "we'll just bill you if anything is due," I was told with a smile. We were back home within four hours of leaving for the hospital, returning to our 5 bedroom, 5.5 bath home without having to worry about having light or heat inside, as all of our utility bills are paid.

Home has a new meaning for me. As I drifted off to sleep in my bed, the green light on our home alarm system let me know that we were safe from intruders and fire. Home - my children and wife were all tucked into bed, nightlights keeping the boogie man away (as well as those who buy and sell children the age of my three to be used as sex objects). Home - where we thank God for our food and a good night's sleep and our wonderful family that includes a mom and a dad. As I drifted into a restful slumber I didn't venture a thought for those who were sleeping in shelters, or in the cold, dark night, or in the terrifying homes of their "owners" (who use their tiny bodies as toys or sell them to other men, hungry with perverted desire).

As I woke up this morning I knew I could call into work and tell them I'd be taking the day off to spend with my daughter without fear of losing that job. I take so much for granted in my comfortable life! As the day has gone on I have tried to process my experiences in Atlanta and Athens this past weekend in the attempt to make them "learning experiences" instead of just experiences devoid of any changes in my life. Driving to church tonight I was talking with my son about how most of the world does not have the same concept of "normal" that we have. I told him that for most people in the world our home would be viewed as a mansion and our possessions as luxuries. We talked a bit about how unfair it was that US Americans consume so much of the world's goods and resources, leaving many people in the world without enough to survive. I then asked him what he thought we should do about it as a family. He said,

"What do you mean, Dad? I don't want to do anything if it would mean that I'd have to change what I have. I like my life just like it is!"

And that is the heart of the matter, isn't it? That statement sums up what most of us in the United States think and feel. "from the mouths of babes" - he nailed it - maybe we should print that on our mission trip t-shirts or those we wear down to our volunteer one day a month at the homeless shelter. Oh, we'll give a dollar here and there. We'll buy gifts for an "angel child" at Christmas or stuff a shoe box with trinkets that we drop off at a church to be loaded onto a ship and taken half way around the world. We'll marvel at the pictures when we see them on publicity flyers the following year. But then we are done; we are satisfied. We then return to our homes, to our comfortable lives without a second thought for those who are home-less, comfort-less. And as I write this tonight I'm tempted to return to ignorance. It sure is easier. But now I not only have disturbing pictures in my head, I have names that go with those images. Not only do I have names to go with the images, I have the stories of the some of those I have met. Images, names, and stories that represent people whose "normal" is very different than my own.

But most of all what changes everything for me is that I've been hearing slight echoes coming from the recesses of my mind. The sounds are growing stronger all the time. I can make out words, distant calls in a language I used to know. My soul seems drawn to the words, though my consciousness tries to ignore them. In my waking hours I try to push the words down, attempting to quiet the building cacophony that is flooding the back of my mind. It’s getting harder to ignore, harder to mute, harder to silence. The words join with the images, with the names, with the stories, making a living, breathing, screaming, crying, photo gallery that disturbs my conscience, invades my habits, and irritates my normal, comfortable life.

As I turn my attention toward the sounds, the squelch dims. Beneath the din, I hear clearly a voice that is at once disturbing, yet comforting. I hear a voice crying beneath, around, through, and on behalf of the images, names, and stories. I hear a call I cannot deny; I cannot ignore it any longer:

It calls for justice.

It pleads for mercy.

It cries for me to help those who cannot help themselves.

It begs for me to do what I can do.

But that’s not all – the voice demands that I join the chorus, that I too join the din, that I lend my weak meager utterances to the choir. And maybe then one more person will not be able to push aside the noise, the images, that names, the stories. Can you hear the voice? It's growing louder, its screaming now:

The LORD works righteousness and justice for all the oppressed (Ps 103:6).

The righteous care about justice for the poor, but the wicked have no such concern (Pr 29:7).

Surely the arm of the LORD is not too short to save, nor his ear too dull to hear. But your iniquities have separated you from your God; your sins have hidden his face from you, so that he will not hear. For your hands are stained with blood, your fingers with guilt. Your lips have spoken lies, and your tongue mutters wicked things. No one calls for justice; no one pleads his case with integrity. They rely on empty arguments and speak lies; they conceive trouble and give birth to evil. The way of peace they do not know; there is no justice in their paths. They have turned them into crooked roads; no one who walks in them will know peace. So justice is far from us, and righteousness does not reach us. We look for light, but all is darkness; for brightness, but we walk in deep shadows (Is 59:1-4; 8-9).

O house of David, this is what the LORD says: "Administer justice every morning; rescue from the hand of his oppressor the one who has been robbed, or my wrath will break out and burn like fire because of the evil you have done— burn with no one to quench it” (Jer 21:12).

The people of the land practice extortion and commit robbery; they oppress the poor and needy and mistreat the alien, denying them justice (Ez 22:29).

They trample on the heads of the poor as upon the dust of the ground and deny justice to the oppressed. Father and son use the same girl and so profane my holy name (Amos 2:7).

“So I will come near to you for judgment. I will be quick to testify against sorcerers, adulterers and perjurers, against those who defraud laborers of their wages, who oppress the widows and the fatherless, and deprive aliens of justice, but do not fear me,” says the LORD Almighty (Mal 3:5)!

Woe to you Pharisees, because you give God a tenth of your mint, rue and all other kinds of garden herbs, but you neglect justice and the love of God. You should have practiced the latter without leaving the former undone (Luke 11:42).

Oh God, keep the images-names-stories and Your words ever before me, locked in my vision, to remind me of those “others” who have needs. God, help me to see the “stuff” I don't need, so I can make life-changes in order to alleviate some suffering, pain, and injustice in my world. Let me join the chorus; let me shout with you:

But let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream! (Amos 5:24)

Yes, Lord, Home has new meaning for me - I can't plead ignorance anymore; I now understand that MY inaction, MY inattention, and MY normal-American greed, results in others (all who have images, names, and stories) not having what they need to survive. Yes, Lord, I am depriving men, women and children - some of whom I have met - of homes, of food, of clothing, of...life. My actions and inactions are also keeping some of these same men, women and children, from knowing and loving you. If it is possible, forgive me Lord. If it is possible, forgive US Lord. Annoy us with your words, with your cries, with your pleads to care for those who cannot care for themselves because of our action and inaction!

Face to face with shocking reality

"Do you know any homeless people?, Jonathan asked, taking a break from holding my hands and running up my legs, stomach, and chest before kicking his feet over his head, flipping backwards, landing solidly back on his feet. "Why, yes I do! I just talked to them yesterday!"

This week I have been reminded of the simple, yet profound truth that when we meet someone and share our life with theirs, we change: our perspectives change, our stereotypes change, and our ideas about truth and reality change! People want to be known. People want to be needed. The combination of those two ideas creates a perfect relationship - we can give of ourselves in time and resources to help those who need to be loved and touched.

Before this week I could not have said that I know a homeless person, yet I have stepped over or around so many of them. No, I'm not perfect. Yesterday, I still felt those same feelings of fear when I had the opportunity to meet someone in at Olympic Park whom I assumed was homeless. However, when we turned the corner I saw two guys we had met the day before. We had spent time with these guys, heard their stories, and connected on some mystical level. It was really a joy to see then and to hear the progress they had made that day in their quests towards getting "out of the system," out of the shelters, and back on their feet. Several in our group went to see these two guys this morning after we learned where they were going to be. Lives touching lives through the love of Jesus - that is the best answer I have found to most of the justice problems we saw this weekend.

"Everyone has a name: everyone has a story", remarked one of our students after a day of getting to know guests at one of the social agencies with which we worked. That says it all. For our group they are not "homeless" anymore - they are Samuel, John, Horis, Carlos, and many others - men, women and children - all who have names and stories!

For what do I pray?

Our last study of the day, part 4 in "Get Uncomfortable", a Threads study by Todd Phillips, raises an interesting question about the focus and purpose of our faith as evidenced in our prayers. Phillips writes that we should pray specific, larger-than-life prayers that call on God to be God and do the impossible. "You hate injustice and oppression and the abuse of power. So these are my prayers: I ask You-because I believe in who You are and what You can do-save everyone. Stop the suffering. Lead us out to do the things that You have prepared for us to do. God, here I am, send me. Change the world through me and others like me" (p. 67). He goes on to ask, "Are we praying God-sized prayers, or are we just asking God to fix the things in our lives that make us uncomfortable? Have we lost that sense of wonder and certainty about God that a 4-year-old might have? Are we praying for big things that only God can do" (p. 67)?

We are learning to recapture this sense of wonder in what God can do - even through our small efforts God can use our tiny offerings to do amazing things FOR others and IN us! It is so fun to watch these students learn the ways God wants to work and will work through and in us if we but take a tiny, prayerful step towards justice and social action.

Spring Break '08

• I knew almost nothing about the problems of human trafficking - until I watched the movie,"Trade" with a rag tag group of students and interested community folk; now I'm horrified, angered, and want justice
• I was numbed by the horrors of children forced or coerced into prostitution in Atlanta - until I learned many were the age of my pre-teen daughter, now my emotions are raw with anger and deep sadness
• I was overwhelmed by the problems of the "homeless" in Atlanta and Athens - until I met John, David, and so many others, who I discovered are very much like me, save they have to fight to live each day
• I knew Atlanta was undergoing economic expansion by rejuvenating many downtown areas - now I know that many of the changes are systematically drive out those who suffer under conditions of poverty, creating many more people who must now live on the streets
• I was angered by the many inner city children who commit crimes - now I understand they are "created" by the cycle of poverty into which they were born
• I thought poverty was created by "others" - now I know that I too am to blame by my actions and inactions
• I thought that all efforts to alleviate poverty and injustice were the same - now I know that some ministries put a band aid on symptoms while hurting the spirits of those that need to be treated humanely
• I was taught that the Bible was primarily "God's love letter to me - now I know that the Bible cries out for justice for the "least of these" more than 2200 times, yet this is the subject taught, written about and spoken of the least in most circles of Christians
• I came to Atlanta with a small band of students who love God - I'm leaving Atlanta with a small group of students who love God and are passionate about justice

Where is the justice....

I am in Atlanta for a few days with a group of students. UGA is out next week for Spring Break. Many students headed to the beach, to New York, home, or some other spot to relax, work, or chill from school. We came to Atlanta seeking to see and understand some of the injustice in the world. Tonight we joined a group of fellow seekers to view the movie "Trade." I don't even know how to describe the movie. As we were told by an off duty police officer who was guarding the parking lot while we watched the movie: "that's a serious movie - not a popcorn movie - it's really heavy!" Here's the synopsis from Rotten Tomatoes (http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/trade/#synopsis):

At once soft-hearted and hard-edged, TRADE provides a compassionate look at an ugly world. In Mexico City, men kidnap13-year-old Adriana (Paulina Gaitan) with the intent of selling her virginity to the highest bidder. Young Polish beauty Veronica (Alicja Bachleda) is held captive by the same men, and they threaten her young son across the ocean. As the criminals mistreat their victims, Veronica is Adriana's only solace as she is taken farther and farther away from home. Meanwhile, Adriana's older brother, Jorge (Cesar Ramos), begins to track his sister across the Mexican border into Texas and through the United States. On his mission, he runs into a Texas cop named Ray (Kevin Kline) who agrees to help him without ever really saying why. TRADE isn't escapist fare: it's a socially conscious film that doesn't flinch from the most painful of details about the sex trade. There's rape, pedophilia, and suicide, and the film doesn't look away or glance over the horrors. This is German director Marco Kreuzpainter's first film on these shores, but he works like an assured veteran. After working for decades in the film industry, Kline is often most highly praised for his work in comedies such as DAVE and A FISH CALLED WANDA, but he's quite adept in this serious drama. Young actors Ramos and Gaitan are making their major feature debut with TRADE, but they both communicate the fear and frustration of their characters with remarkable skill.

The movie was truly disturbing. At times I could not even watch.... Our goal and prayer this weekend is that we will be disturbed - disturbed out of our middle class, Christian-bubble of comfort to actually see the issues and people facing injustice all around us. As one of our students said tonight as we talked after the film, "it's much too easy for us to put in our ear buds, turn on our iPod to the latest worship music, and walk to our next class without ever noticing the people on the way." I'd add to that; often we, as Christians, become so busy with "good" activities in our churches and small groups that we don't have time to notice those around us that are facing issues of injustice - some in our very neighborhoods and schools. Child abuse is rampant - among "good Christian people" too. The sex trade is supported by people just like our neighbors. And we don't see any of it. We are blinded by our own needs, our own lives, our own Churches, out own children, our own worries.

"God, disturb me this week. Show me the injustice in my small piece of the world. Help me to see with your eyes.... I pray you will be disturbed this week too. It's only when our feathers are ruffled that we will notice there are millions who spend their lives in discomfort as they live with the injustices we ignore through our busyness".

Do nothing but nothing

Maybe I’m a heretic, maybe I stray too far from home, maybe my actions and inactions betray a deep lack of faith – or maybe not….

I’m learning – slowly – to read between the lines, to understand and appreciate the empty spaces. I’m learning to allow my faith to be organic; listening to my inner voice, my breath, my heartbeat and hearing God through, beyond, beneath, and in my very core. Often I demand too much of myself. Forcing habits and disciplines that are not my own, that only serve to stymie my growth, make my steps stumble and pause from the path that I am walking. Sure, there are times when I need to try new disciplines, to force myself to read, pray, meditate, to practice the “habits of the heart.” But as I look back, it is in the times of no discipline, the moments of “laziness”, the times when I just can’t open the Bible and read, the times when prayers seem so far from my lips, that I find I have grown the most. I’m just coming out of such a time. I feel closer to God – and self – than I ever have. I also feel more alive, more attune to everything and everyone around me. I feel that I breathe the very breath of God and that all of my activity and inactivity is exactly what I should be doing.

I wonder if maybe this is really Sabbath? The forced Sunday moments of doing nothing usually only make me bored (unless I really need a nap). However, when I do need Sabbath I am starting to recognize it and welcome it. I am beginning to allow myself moments, days, weeks, months to take it.

Heretical? I don’t think so. I need these periods of inactivity so that what I “know” can become a part of me, soak into my every fiber, merging with my DNA, living in me.

Wandering too far away from home? Perhaps. But growth for me usually only happens when I am willing to be stretched, pushed, pulled, dragged, or when I get hopelessly lost from where I think I need to be. It is only then that I discover I am exactly where I am supposed to be! Maybe I was lost when I thought I knew exactly where I was and where I was going?

I wonder if most of Christendom is not suffering from a similar lost-ness. I wonder if sometimes our confidence and busyness keep us from going where God wants to take us. I wonder of our disciplines have become bad habits that keep us trapped in an unhealthy spiritual place, rooting us in who we are, not letting us become who God wants us to be?

Lack of faith? Absolutely not. Perhaps my lack of confidence in myself only serves to force me to trust God in the moments when I have no clue. Yes, it is uncomfortable not knowing what is going on in my “spiritual life”, my “walk with God”. It may be cliché, but, I am slowly coming to realize that I don’t need to know where I am going as long as I know who is taking me there. As Americans we want to know the answers, we want to know the time, we want to know the destination, we want to know the facts; we just want to know! I fear that is the same for Americans who are Christians. However, often we don’t know, can’t know, and shouldn’t know – and that should be OK. Why do we have to have – or make up – answers for things that only God can know? Why can’t we be comfortable in mystery? Why can’t we allow ourselves and others to marinate in what God is doing in our lives without filling it with more, more, more, more? Sometimes I think we know too much to be able to use what we have learned.

My son was diagnosed with Mono last week. This week he is reluctantly resting. The problem is, he doesn’t feel bad. After a nap, or an extended stay on the sofa he is ready to get up and do something. But he can’t. We make him rest. He asked the doctor what he could do to get well. He wanted to know what pill he could take that would make him better. She told him he could do nothing to get well. She said, “Just rest. Rest when you feel you need it. Rest when you feel like you could play. For a whole month do nothing but nothing.”

Wow.

There are times that my busyness, my work for God, my involvement in “good things”, makes me spiritually sick. There are times when I need to “do nothing but nothing” and allow God to “do” in me – to heal me, to teach me, to work in me, to “become” in my very soul, to take me where God knows I should be going, to change my direction, to move me in quantum leaps beyond where my busyness has kept me.

So don’t be surprised if I tell you to “quit” sometime soon. It’s good advice. Quit! Stop! Do “nothing but nothing”! Allow God to do the work in you while you wait as long as it takes. Through the “nothing”, you may find what you were really looking for all along!

OMG, that's me!

Today was one of the toughest I've had as a father. Our baby daughter, almost 2, underwent some minor dental surgery this morning. I gladly accepted the parental role of taking her to the dentist and caring for her afterwards. It was wonderful holding her before and after the procedure. However, I didn't quite understand what the doctor meant by "she will be a bit emotional for a little while this afternoon as the medicines work out of her system". At one point my precious little baby was thrashing around as I calmly, but firmly tried to restrain her. Despite my best efforts she managed to break open the cauterized site under her lip, filling her mouth with blood. She was so violent that I couldn't even blot her lips, cheeks, hands, shirt, or the spots on my clothing or the couch. karlie is the calmest, most good natured kid I've ever been around! And she was acting like an out of control demon!
Karlie is her daddies little girl. There has been a special attachment between us since I carried her from the delivery room to the nursery when she was born. Between the measurements and procedures that followed Karlie would begin to get unsettled. But I was able to calm her down by holding one of her tiny hands in mine and whispering sweet words in her dainty ear. She responded almost immediately, quieting her cries and relaxing her body. The same practice has worked, without fail, ever since. But not today. Today nothing worked. Gentleness? Didn't work. Holding her tight so she couldn't thrash about? Nope, she became livid, actually shaking with fury! Letting her go, so she had freedom and independence to calm herself? That was the worse choice of all! As I scooped her up to try again I had to admit that I could not do this. I prayed for her (and myself) again, this time out of desperation. And as I regained control of myself, I had a humbling thought. Nate, this is you and God right now. You are fighting God as God tries to hold you and guide you, keeping you from hurting yourself. But karlie is on drugs, but what's my excuse? My answer is humbling, I'm pretty rebellious. No, I'm not running around living a sketchy double life behind everyone's back. But I do push against the boundaries just a bit. I do find myself putting my foot down with God, saying, "No, I am doing it my way!"
So I snuggled my baby girl a bit more gently, and sang soft, sweet tunes in her ear for as long as it took for the meds to wear off, hoping God is doing the same with me - holding me close while I attempt to push away, until my strength is exhausted and I fall gently, safely back into God's arms, into God's will.
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