Up, Up, With Education!

Human beings create laws at a certain time in history with a particular understanding of the world. As time passes we must re-evaluate our laws for OUR time with a new understanding. Laws are for the good of all people. So we must listen to the voices of the oppressed and they must motivate us to justice.

People should never be called illegal. Only our actions can be illegal according to the law. And sometimes laws are unjust.

Take for example Rosa Parks. She stood up against the law to say with her actions; No! I will no longer abide by an unjust law. I am valuable. I am worth seeing. You must recognize that I am present in your society. There is a better way. The law must change!

In our after-school program we see the effect education or lack of education has in our community.

Our children attend schools that are barely able to pass kids through the system. I would say 1 out of every 5 kids in our program have failed a grade level. Teenagers going into High-school are not confident enough to read out loud. Their schools are over crowded and underfunded. Many even have to stand up during their bus ride to school because there are not enough seats. Their journey of education begins at a disadvantage. In their homes, they may be the only fluent English speaker, navigating homework, projects and forms all alone.

This is where we hope to be a presence in the neighborhood that can help.

Many of their parents left Mexico for fear of their life. There was no food and no real way to live if they stayed and there was no legal way to come. So it was a choice between death or breaking the law. So they came illegally.

In the present system, many kids who where not born here and are undocumented see no future in education. So they simply give up. They drop out. They ask, "Why push myself in school if my only options are to be a construction worker, cleaner, landscaper, drug dealer or thief?"

As many of you know we visit Nico in jail every week. He just turned 17. He dropped out of school, got mixed up in the wrong crowd and now he is in the Dekalb County Jail.

Nico spent many days helping me sweep floors for the after school program. He enjoyed playing soccer on Ian's team. But all his life he has been labeled an "illegal". He has not been afforded the luxury of having dreams for a brighter future. He feels stuck.

Some kids, despite these odds, try hard anyway. Maybe they have a mom or dad who push them to be the best they can be. Maybe a teacher, mentor or church community encourages them in the right direction.

When society calls them "illegal" we hope to be that consistent voice calling them "valuable". We must show them that they have gifts and talents the world needs!

These kids make it through high school, often with honors. Yet they find themselves in the same situation. They aren't allowed to go to college. If they are accepted they are forced to pay out of state tuition, and are ineligible for financial aid. Basically, at this point, going farther is impossible.

So what can we do? We can stand up and speak out against unjust laws.

Our friend Tim Isaacson, who started Immigrant Hope ATL, invited us to a Rally at the Georgia State Capitol for the right to in-state tuition for those kids who graduate from high school in Georgia. It was inspiring to see the courage of these young men and women chanting "undocumented... unafraid!", and "no papers...no fear...students are marching here." and "Up up with education, down down with deportation!"

Through our leadership program at the the after-school program, we are able to offer the older kids a way to give back and invest in their community in a positive way, giving them a sense of purpose.

We can create jobs that give dignity and provide resources to help them do well in school. This week I was able to give the job of making beads out of recycled magazine paper to Evangelina. We will use them to make beautiful jewelry for Refugee Beads. She is 15 and going into her freshman year at Cross Keys High School. She hopes to get a school uniform and school supplies with what she earns.

Miguel, a high school graduate that took honors courses but is stuck in limbo as he waits for the opportunity to go the college helps run the after school program three days a week. He is trying to earn a car and an education.

We would love to give more kids opportunities like this, giving them tasks and valid roles to earn their own way!

It takes all kinds of people in all walks of life, working together, to make a difference our world. We live here in the neighborhood and can help in a unique way. You are also are in a unique position, where God has you to love people. We need good teachers. We need good lawyers. We need the church! We need those who have resources to give. We need the housebound to pray!

Elie Wiesel, a novelist, holocaust survivor and political activist said,

"The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference"

A Few Things about Pain and Love

I sat across the table from a friend I hadn't seen since I was 18. He and his girlfriend came into our neighborhood to reconnect, and we sat over a dinner of dal, pratha, and mixed grain rice, talking about how God had shaped our lives.

At one point, I mentioned that I wouldn't wish our life on anyone. This was true in its own way, but it bears some explaining.

I spend a lot of time talking and writing about the beauty of living a life defined by the love of Jesus. We have made a serious gamble on the idea that we were created for love, and that our lives are best invested in loving God and our neighbors.

I believe that this is true. But what I was thinking about when I said this, is that apart from God's activity, and His faithfulness in bringing fruit out of the chaos around us, our life is stupid.

We live as aliens in our own country. It is hard to know our neighbors, and knowing them, it is hard to trust them. Someone broke into our house when we were gone. Another kid we invited into our home keeps stealing from us. One kid writes on our door. We are always on call for the neighborhood, and we carry burdens much larger than our shoulders were made to bear.

But the fruit of a life like this has been good because God brought us here and wrote a rich story from our struggles. Apart from that, we're a sinking ship.

So while I can't go back to a comfortable life, and while, knowing what I know, I wouldn't want to, I wouldn't wish the circumstances that I face on anyone else. I'd hope that everyone I know can find fulfilling, moderately challenging jobs and make piles of money. Sincerely.

Of course, God calls us to where he wants us, and I wouldn't wish a life outside his will on anyone, either, so it's hard to know what I would wish upon anyone.

This whole post is getting rather confusing, even for me. Basically, readers, may God guide you to the life that he wants for you. But before you dive into ministry of any kind, count the cost. And the cost is high.

Expect to be molded into the kind of person who would put her/himself on the cross for her/his neighbor. And the kind of pain it takes to train us to love that much is great. I've only seen its fringes, and it's already almost too much to bear.

Rethinking Radicalism: A review of my previous post

For those who haven't yet read my friend Tim Isaacson's thoughtful response to my last post, here's what he said:

Have you had any conflicting thoughts about the experience? It doesn't sound like you do - which is totally fine. I'm trying to figure my inner-turmoil out and having a difficult time doing so. I mean, the up-side was huge. I'm trying to figure out what was off-putting for me. Or, rather, what was off-about-me that had me excited about some parts and wary of others. Any thoughts?

Actually, Tim, yes.

In fact, in the days following the post, I did a lot of re-thinking. I'm going to walk through my current thinking on this and see if it gets me anywhere. It's going to sound more like an argument against a current bill, but it's moving toward a response to your question.

The Georgia House's vote in support of HB 87, while invisible to most Georgians, was felt very clearly among the kids in our neighborhood. Many of them are aware of it, and it's quite possible that whoever wrote "Fuck you, white crackers" on our door today did so partly in response to that law.

When I think about the law, I realize something: It will probably never make it to the enforcement level. The federal government will probably sue Georgia, the state will get locked up in costly litigation, and even if they win, working down to enforcement will be a massive, expensive task.

Then there's the fact that the economic forecast for a state that passes and enforces such a law is pretty bleak. Labor costs go up, raising the prices on pretty much everything, businesses shut down, tourism wanes, and a huge chunk of the populace who don't pay income tax but still pay sales tax, rent, and grocery bills, will disappear quickly. The jobs that open up are difficult jobs that pay little money.

So, practically speaking, there will probably be no economic upside to this bill, although it will cost GA millions on almost every front.

If that is so (and it pretty clearly is), then why would the politicos vote for it?

The republicans voted for this to look courageous to their constituents. And this is where this law got me to re-think my interest in engaging immigration on a political level. Politics are a big, crooked machine, far detached from the individual lives they affect.

Being one who believes in the power of the kingdom, I have become wary of throwing my shoulder into the work of a system that is corrupt to begin with, that see-saws in its decisions, and that rarely, if ever, has any space for love in its workings. Government is the exact opposite of the kingdom I claim.

Then I thought about what we do. Introducing these immigrants to the host culture. Building good will. Showing love. Defying stereotypes. Feeding the hungry. Nurturing. Treating aliens with the dignity that the kingdom demands. These are all things that have a powerful impact in the lives they touch.

So it may be that one who loves in small ways will be inclined to care about the national stuff, but working with the government and its laws is murky and can be dreadfully distracting for ground-level guys like us.

Perhaps it is good to speak when issues arise, but I for one am prone to let the grand arena of politics and ideas distract me from the work I am specifically called and equipped to do: loving my neighbor.

So I still hope to be a radical, but my focus must remain squarely on the neighborhood work. On living and loving alongside immigrants. If I do speak to the political issues of the day (an aggravating, exhausting process), I must do so out of conscience and I must quickly turn back to my neighbor, lest I lose focus on love.

I have no idea if this is what bothered Tim, but it bothers me. My thinking is like a pendulum on this issue of faith, hope, love and politics.

Any of my readers want to question or add to this conversation? I could use your help here.

The Set-up (Hooking pt 2)

Your average Latino day laborer lives packed into a small apartment with several others like him. Early in the morning, he walks to the gas station on Buford Highway or Chamblee-Tucker Road and waits. The white men come by in pickup trucks, and he clamors with the others to be picked for work that day.


His family lives back in Mexico or Honduras or El Salvador, or maybe even Texas, where they settled before the work dried up. He's a hard worker when the work is available, which seems to happen less and less these days.


At some point, noon approaching, if he has not been picked, he heads home to spend the day alone or with his roommates.


He keeps his cash in a freezer or mattress or a hole in the wall, since the banks will not work with him.


He hears a knock on the door, and he opens it. A young woman or man smiles at him and offers to sell him jewelry or flowers or chocolates for his girlfriend or wife.


Our laborer, lonely, bored, and unemployed, tells the vendor that he has no girlfriend or wife, which is true in the moment, if not in a larger sense. This is the answer the vendor is looking for.


"We have something to take care of that," says the vendor, changing tone, confiding, offering a helping hand, suddenly playing the pimp or prostitute. And, for a small amount of his buried cash, our laborer can buy a little company to pass the time.


The women the laborer can afford are generally washed-up, often eastern European, missing teeth, dressed in secondhand clothes. They come into the neighborhood when ordered, and do their work day and night, according to the demand.


This is the set-up, anyway. The real story, the arc, the shame, the outside lives, remain obscure for those not in the trade. Ruthie and I are not in the trade, so we only know what we are told, and we have no strong feelings about it until our neighbor, lonely and a bit drunk, misunderstands our purpose in the neighborhood and invites us in.

Christmas Newsletter

Below is a copy of our Christmas Newsletter, in case anyone isn't on our mailing list:

Two months ago, we stood outside of our apartment looking at the broken glass on our porch, wondering if we should move. We hadn't been living in the apartment due to mold problems, and word had spread through the neighborhood, resulting in a break-in.

We were at the apartment to assess the damage, and as we stood outside waiting for management to change the locks, a group of kids from the afterschool program gathered to encourage us and see if they could help.

"I'ma figure out who did it," Junior told us.

"Should we try to raise money to fix it?" Betzabe asked.

"I can't believe they did this to you," Vanessa said.

As the kids reacted to the event, and as we discussed our next steps, we realized that living in this neighborhood sends a message. No one could blame us for moving out, with mold problems, safety concerns, and now a break-in that resulted in the loss of over $5,000 worth of personal property.

However, in the weeks after the break-in, we made the decision that sharing the hardships of the people we work with is central to following Jesus' example.

Now, a few weeks before Christmas, we are back in the neighborhood, and the Church has rallied around us, contributing financially, working alongside us, and praying for us.

We are busier than we have ever been. We have been able to run two yard sales where we got much-needed clothes and goods into the neighborhood, we enjoyed a huge Christmas party where over 40 kids received gifts, and we have the privilege of feeding, teaching, and mentoring over 30 kids several days a week.

In the middle of all the demands of the holiday, it is important to remember that Christmas is about a God who "became flesh and dwelt among us." We have had opportunities to discuss, reflect on, and live out this truth during this season. In all its pain and glory, this truth is changing our lives and the lives we connect with.

We at Refugee Arts are so thankful that we have been put in a place where we can follow Jesus' example of moving into the neighborhood and living out God's love. To all our financial supporters, volunteers, and prayer warriors, we extend our heartfelt thanks. You have helped to make Christmas come alive in this neighborhood.

Another What? (Hooking pt 1)

They are not our problem when we roll through in a car or see them through a window, but when we weave ourselves into the narrative fabric of the neighborhood, every subplot matters:

Jarret and I see her as we turn onto Plaster Road from Buford Highway. White, worn-looking. Her age is in question because her profession tends to exaggerate the years. A few absent teeth, streaks of white amid otherwise blonde hair.

- I don't know why they're here all of a sudden. I don't remember any hookers when we first moved here, I tell him.

- Or when I moved in, Jarrett replies.

She walks in the flash of our headlights, looks over her shoulder as if she knows she is being discussed, and keeps moving.

- I don't get the appeal, I say.

Jarret nods.

- Desperate times, I suppose.

We get to Jarrett's place, an apartment in our same complex, and he grabs a change of clothes before we head back out. Back in the parking lot, he says to me, There goes another one.

I look around to see what he's talking about and meet the eyes of a brown-haired, heavyset fortysomething white woman in loose-fitting jeans and a pullover rushing by.

- ANOTHER WHAT? she growls, and keeps walking.

It seems like there are more of them here every day, moving out across the neighborhood, looking cheap and tired, catering to probably the last market available to them in Atlanta.

They are not the ones we came here to reach, nor are they friendly to our purposes here, but here they are nonetheless, right in plain sight for management and the police and every lonely Latino laborer to see.

We have chosen for the story of the neighborhood to be our story as well. So when they move in and peddle their wares, they become players in a redemptive arc that has already been told somewhere, but remains obscure to us here, now. We are characters ourselves in this tale, and are neccessarily blind until the curtain closes.

Break In

While the mold that had us staying with Ruthie's mom in Lawrenceville continued to fester untended in our apartment, word must have spread that we weren't sleeping at home.

The apartment manager called this afternoon to tell us that our window had been broken from the inside, by a hammer thrown in a domestic dispute between us, and that we were going to be billed for the window.

Since we were sleeping in Lawrenceville, I had my doubts about her story. Ruthie and I drove back down to check on the damage, and we found that not only was there glass shattered all over the apartment from the outside, but that many of our valuables had been stolen.

We talked to the manager, and she worked really hard to hold on to that "broken from the inside" story, despite the fact that shattered glass was spread all over our living room:

Our initial inventory suggested that we lost a Macbook Pro, over 70 DVDs (a collection I built intentionally over several years), our DVD player, our comforter (more on that in a second), and some breaded frozen eggplant from our freezer. Other contents from our freezer were scattered on the kitchen floor:
Luckily, since our iguana was sitting on the side of the couch, the thief or thieves seemed to be avoiding the area where her tail would strike (this meant I got to keep all my Coen brothers, Robert Altman, Sam Fuller, and Terry Gilliam films, thank God). We knew that Rockette would serve some practical purpose some day:

When they saw us at the apartment, several of the kids came around to tell us what they knew. One good thing that came out of this was that we had a good chance to connect with the neighbors, and many of them expressed regret for the break-in and offered helpful bits of information. Here is the Huntington Creek detective squad posing for a picture:

So, the best we can figure, it was a sloppy smash-and-grab operation. It seems the burglars broke a window, unlatched the patio door, and entered the apartment, going to the freezer (a common hiding place for cash, I am told).

They then went into our bedroom and threw what they could grab without getting smacked by our iguana (hooray Rockette!) onto our comforter, wrapped it up, and exited through the front door, which they left open.

In the morning, a cleaning lady saw the open door, closed it, and called the police.

We are obviously shaken by what happened. From a long-term perspective, we can survive the losses. In fact, I'm surprised we didn't get burglarized sooner.

But still, it feels awful. Especially since the manager, a new hire, seems intent on blaming the whole thing on Ruthie and me, who are probably her greatest asset in terms of improving the property.

And to add another difficult element, the mold problem is still unresolved, so we can't even stay there very long to deal with the fallout.

I'm still hoping for this long story of mold, burglary, and management trouble to turn a good corner. Fear not, dear readers, I'll keep you posted as it develops.

Incarnation Station

13 miles into an 18-mile run/walk/jog on the Appalachian Trail, about four miles past total exhaustion, when we were tripping over small stones, running into trees, and laughing at dumb jokes, my brother Eric and I had a brief but rewarding conversation about theodicy.

Loosely translated and contexualized, theodicy is the ever-confusing and oft-asked question, "Where is God when the kids in our neighborhood get abused or neglected at home?" Variants of this include, "Where is God in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina?" "Where is God in Darfur," or "where is God when my BMW gets a flat on the way to my beach house?" - All asked with the same degree of desparation by those in the situations.

I spent an unsatisfying three years in Christian academia, where I banged my head against this question in all its different forms. Toward the end of my time at Moody Bible Institute, as my answers collapsed and my angst grew, I gave up on an intellectual solution.

As I traveled to New Orleans after Katrina and then later as I suffered under depression, I began to realize that, in the odd economy of the Kingdom, the answer seems to be "God is in us as we respond in love."

That was the beginning of my journey toward an incarnational ministry model, where we choose to live among the needy.

So much of God's character, so much of His perspective, so much of His logic seems beyond our reach. But when we move in love, His life seems to grow in us and connect with the world around us.

That's why I believe that so much of Jesus' teaching focused on Love. As small as we are, as limited as our understanding is, we must go about this confusing life focused on the central goal given to us- to live in love.

Then, within the context of that love, I believe that all other things find their place. Our intellect, gifts, interests, histories, weaknesses, and hungers all find their place in submission to the rule of divine love.

Nude Feet

Those of you who read my facebook or spend any kind of time with me know that I have a new obsession - barefoot running.

A couple of my mentors, when I told them about the injuries that keep me from running, mentioned that there are ways I can run to improve my health instead of damaging it. My research led me to a whole community of runners who are healing from injuries and running greater distances by unleashing and listening to their feet instead of insulating them.

While the data on this is still coming in (research generally happens wherever money will take it, and Nike ain't paying for any research on the benefits of running without shoes), I've seen so much improvement in my knee pain, form, endurance, speed, and just plain enjoyment of the run that I'm now a big believer in barefooting.

I've been running either in my bare feet or in a minimal pair of running shoes called Vibram FiveFingers (pictured above, right after their inaugural 4-mile trail run).

So Ian, why exactly are you telling us this on your ministry blog?

Because I have an idea, which I will post on this blog shortly, which ties my passion with barefooting and my desire to see refugees get educational opportunities.

To be continued...

Cycles

I just finished a phone conversation with my younger brother, wherein we discussed the possibility of starting a saltwater aquarium-themed hip hop posse called the "Blue Tang Clan." We decided in the end that we are both too busy to make this dream a reality.

Back to the grind.

Melvin, although he has his share of issues (explosive temper and a total lack of filtration between his brain and his mouth), is generally open-hearted with Ruthie and me.

David and Omar go through cycles. They open up to me and have a good time at the activities center and at Communicycle, then they tend to rebel for one or two weeks after getting in trouble for picking on other kids (the main offense that Ruthie and I don't tolerate), then, after stewing for a while, they come back with or without apologizing, and we start over.

These little cycles have been testing my faith in our purpose here in this neighborhood, where it's hard to track any impact the gospel is having in the lives and hearts of the kids we work with.

But when I listen to the stories of my close friends and think back on my own journey, there were several mentors who showed patient, steadfast love to me without any results until years later. In fact, many of them probably have no idea how their love impacted me.

The model that Jesus gave us of caring for our neighbor requires a great deal of faith, because it doesn't normally create immediate results. While we do hear incredible salvation stories, and while the market-driven-church would lead us to believe that these stories are normative, my experience and much of what I read in the New Testament seems to call for something more than immediate results: we are expected to show faithful, whole-life care, tending consistently to all needs, from the spiritual to the physical, without expecting any thanks.

In short, it takes a lot of love to lead a soul home.

A Few More Things about Preaching

Over lunch at Wan Lai, my favorite Chinese restaurant (side note: their slogan is "where gastronomy and good times come together." awesome), my friend David Park and I got to talking about preaching. He has passed a few opportunities my way, and while I was able to make a few of them work, I generally bowed out.

I recently asked David, somewhat aggressively, why anyone would want to preach. After my time in Florida, my opinion is softening somewhat, but I still have a few hangups with the whole system:

• It's impersonal - In what other setting would relative strangers sit down and listen to 20-45 minutes of another person's opinions without interrupting? When I hear the more "relevant" speakers like Rob Bell or Louie Giglio, they tend to create a good illusion of intimacy with their delivery, but who are we kidding here? This is mass media, a shotgun blast of Christian opinion.
• It's top-down stuff - preaching reinforces the trickle-down, leader-reliant mode of Church that allows some Christians to be mere spectators. If I go into a church and talk about working in a community, people can tell me "good message" and they've fulfilled their role. But if I sit down with someone and we start talking about each of our lives, then we've got something to work with.
• It's ironic - Ruthie and I are very focused on being good neighbors. We believe that's how the gospel works itself out. So dressing up and getting behind a podium to say that what's most important is not how we look or where we stand on Sunday seems a little silly.

However, there are some upsides to preaching as well, which are:

• It's a gateway - what you say from the front can open doors for further conversation.
• You can break rules once you're up there - I've seen preachers stop early to create opportunities for reconciliation and conversation among the congregants. Every time I see that happen, the results are stunning.
• The audience is diverse - If you write or make music or make movies, your message will only reach the type of person who probably already thinks the same as you on whatever topic. When you speak in a Church, you connect with people from different walks of life, different frameworks of belief, and across socioeconomic lines. It's a unique opportunity.

For now, my response to speaking opportunities will be to accept them if they don't interfere too much with my other, more important work, which is caring for the people in my neighborhood. I'd way rather show the gospel in deed than get behind a pulpit and discuss it.

Sing Silently

Ruthie and I spent the weekend up in the mountains with a group of friends. My friend Josh Feit played a new song that he had written. Knowing the subject of the piece, I had tears in my eyes at the end.

The song was called "Sing Silently." The lyrics went like this:

Sing silently
Sing silently
'Till the bluebird mama can make it home
'Till the bluebird mama can make it home

Tread tenderly
Tread tenderly
'Till the blackbird papa can make it home
'Till the blackbird papa can make it home

Sing la la la
To the shadows in the room
Keep singing la la la
To the shadows in the room

He wrote it about a girl at a local apartment complex, who witnessed violence in her home and can't sleep well anymore. I think that, as we dive into the pain of the lives around us, art like this becomes more and more essential, both in ministering to that pain and in keeping our sanity.

Songs like this do a beautiful job of telling stories, of releasing pain, and searching for hope. I believe that Josh's example is one that more of us should follow. He makes art that relates to the overwhelming mysteries he faces, and the resulting song is such a powerful call to compassion, to hope, to love.

There's much more that I could say on this, but I'd encourage my readers to hop over to Josh's site and check out the song for themselves. A recording of the song is available at The Redline Project.

Like a Record

First, the video, then some thoughts about why it's so embarrassing:



If you made it through the video, congratulations. I had to turn it off the first few times.

As someone who has to live with the brand of "Christian," this stuff is really embarrassing. As someone who works with kids, I see it as counterproductive, if not profane.

I don't have any problem with translating for a given audience, or for allowing the local culture to discuss and embody the gospel in a distinct way. In fact, I'd encourage those things. I think the problem with the above expressions (obvious plagiarism, sock spinning, praying about honor then telling Jesus he spins you right round like a record, etc.) is that they only engage superficially.

They scrape across the top of the culture, looking for the benign, fluffy elements that they can use without actual thoughtful engagement. This way, they can present an "interactive" gospel that has no danger of pollution. Basically, the gospel becomes "contemporary" without ever having to deal with human complexity.

Those of us who are into "incarnational" ministry often have a hard time with the way Christians use mass media. We're into the relational connections, the kind of relevance that springs out of living among and with the people who we are trying to reach. When bigger, more formulaic ministries use what we see as "cheap" tactics to seem cool, it looks like a joke.

So maybe some of it is preference. But really, spin your socks? A Holy Spirit Hoedown? Docey Do?

We Can't Seem to Get Ahead

So the sting of yesterday's car problems set in this morning. It turns out that the repairs needed are pretty costly. It will be about $650 just to get the thing running again so they can assess the other needed repairs.

The good news is, we had a recent financial provision which will help. The bad news is, when that provision happened, it seemed like we were finally going to get ahead on our finances. Now, we're pretty much back where we started. It seems like every time the Lord giveth, He taketh away soon after.

However, there are some good things happening. Some of our friends responded to our newsletter with financial support, which came right when we needed it and kept us fed for the first weeks of August. Ruthie also has some work opportunities brewing which we'll write about soon.

Our lives right now are so rich in every area except literal riches. Maybe that's the cost of choosing to do something we love. I think everyone in the nonprofit world is feeling the pinch right now.

If you're a praying person, please pray for us to keep at the work and for the money to come in so we can focus on more important things.

Sharp Instruments

I went to high school in the Philippines, and I joined the rugby team as soon as the sport was available. I still remember the feeling after the first pickup game we ever played. It was a revelation.

I grew up playing soccer, where you use your feet to manipulate the ball, but it felt nothing like rugby in terms of purity. The sport demanded that every muscle work together, that every sense moved into high gear, that speed meet agility meet power. And there were no gloves, bats, pads, bases, helmets, etc to slow you down or make your job easier.

In a far less adrenaline-fueled way, I feel like relational ministry offers a similar fulfillment. It strips away the mechanisms, the shortcuts, and the complex tracking methods, and puts a pure demand on the person engaging in the my inistry. It gets directly to the heart, and places its hope in what lies there.

That's why, when I looked at other missionaries doing this kind of work, I thought it looked like a pretty easy gig. Just spend time with people, right? I could do that.

Since arriving down here to do the work myself, I've realized the corruption of my own heart. There are areas where I am not willing to open myself to people, things I am not willing to give away, pains I am not willing to share.

For the most part, I love what we do. We help people and build loving relationships in the name of the kingdom of Christ. And for the most part, we see deep changes in the people we work with.

However, I have wrestled with small failures recently. A relationship with another missionary went cold, and he reached out to me before I opened up to him. A refugee I am close with expressed pain, and I did not go to him.

This is a 24-hour, inside-out gig. It's the most rewarding and demanding form of ministry, and I love it. When I finish with the immigrants and refugees, I come home and seek to open myself to my partners and supporters on this blog.

Thank God that when I hit the end of my resources, when I find those areas that are dark, and when I feel as if I have nothing to offer to the needy, his glory moves. Even now, I know that these failures are being used to turn my eyes to the Eternal for hope.

Running the Trinity

My brother Eric and I have been running regularly since late Spring, and we do what brothers do- spur one another on through competition and dares. One of our little challenges is a 5 mile run which climaxes in a knot of steep hill climbs that we call "Trinity." It's pretty tough for both of us.

I dubbed the run Trinity because it boasts three distinct steep climbs but only one steep hill. While I came up with the name as a joke (other potential names were "The Three Ugly Stepsisters," and "Hell"), I did some thinking as I approached the first climb today which continued through the rest of the jog.

The trinity is the weak point of the Christian faith, logically speaking. Pretty much anyone who wants to argue against Christianity goes for absurdity of the Trinity. It's an easy place to start, and it is one of the central concepts of our theology.

To me, the Trinity is a reminder of several important truths, all of which affect the way i minister and relate to the international community. Here, in bullet point form, are the few I meditated on as I ran:

• The fact that the Trinity is beyond the reach of our reason, and central to our faith, is beautiful. It's a reminder of how the heart and nature of God is so far beyond the reach of our minds. This got me thinking about working with the kids, and how we really can't explain everything they need to know about God. They can only grow in understanding by relating to Him.
• For the fact that our faith is built upon a mysterious, divine relationship, we Christians sure put a great deal of effort into quantifying everything. I want to steer clear of reporting numbers as if they show success, and I want to remain sensitive to the fact that God's work in human lives is profoundly diverse and totally unpredictable.
• The only two legit responses to mystery are rejection and worship. We must choose one. About three years ago, I found the Christian faith beyond the reach of my reason. I could either turn away because I didn't understand, or I could open my heart and engage the mystery. The latter was worship, and by the grace of God, I chose it. Thankfully, he has sustained this sense of worship through so many dramatic shifts in thinking.

Well, I finished the run, and upon arrival back at our apartment complex, saw Iver, Adelaine, and Anderson playing baseball. The outworking of my thinking on the Trinity was to choose, despite my exhausted feeling, to join the game. It was God's gift to me to experience the joy of relationship with these kids after working through such a complex web of thoughts.

I guess the point of all this is just that I am thankful. Despite the fact that I can't figure the mechanics of God's love, He still reaches me with his Truth in the middle of day-to-day challenges and relationships. "Ministry" is merely the context where I intentionally seek experiences of His magnificent, totally incomprehensible love at work in and through me.

I hope everyone is as baffled and awed about this experience as I am.

One Thing After Another

Yesterday morning, my friend Aaron called unexpectedly. He is a trucker, and his work brought him through Atlanta. He spent the night at our place last night, and asked me if I wanted to help with a job he had to do. We awoke this morning and set out to get the job done.

While I was out, Eric taught guitar lessons to Melvin, Jennifer, and Lesly. They had a great time. Ruthie kept hearing them erupt into laughter.



I got home from an intense day's work just in time to meet our friends Josh and Margaret. We watched The Triplets of Belleville, one of my favorite movies.

Josh is a stellar musician, as is my brother Eric. After the movie, we all started jamming, but I quickly realized that my continued participation could only hurt the musical outcome.

Right before Josh and Margaret left, we opened a great conversation about work in this community. We walked them out to their car, then had to tear ourselves from the conversation so they could get home.

Christian Cloning

Today I was thinking about this idea that we, as missionaries, should be working to reproduce ourselves in the people we disciple.

The classic picture is that "professional" ministers shoulder all the burdens of their people until a suitable replacement graduates from seminary. The idea that seems to have replaced that is that ministers reproduce themselves, and you have a trickle-down replication process. This is a step in the right direction, but I think we could do better.

Reproducing myself in others would rob them of the power of their own journey, and it would make for a pretty boring church (although, I admit, such a group of followers would have great taste in movies and music).

So when I work with immigrants and refugees, I'm not thinking about how to help them understand how to do what I do.

I want to help them do what they do best, which will minister back to me in turn.

Think of it this way: Aziz has the power to reach people with his visual art. So I'm not gonna try to turn him into a writer. Bayo is a well-dressed, high society kind of guy. I'm not out to convert him into some flip-flop wearing borderline beatnik like me. Junior is a stubborn and wild kid. I have no interest in turning him into a contemplative, easygoing person. That's my thing, not his.

Each of us has a role to play in the kingdom. Our own stories put us in a unique position to live unique lives. Now that others look to me as a mentor, I consider it my job to help them find their own places in the grand story of God's relationship with His world.

Lord knows this world couldn't handle many more guys like me anyway.

Communicycle Ride (Flashback to Sunday)

This Sunday after church, David, Melvin and I joined the rest of the Communicycle posse for a ride on the Silver Comet Trail.

David got to ride on the bike he built in the program. Melvin's bike is still in progress, so we borrowed one for him. They both struggled with the endurance aspect of the ride, but seemed to have a good time and feel proud after it was all over.

Art/Drama Camp

Today I took a Liberian refugee named Aziz to an art and drama camp that one of my partners, New Covenant Community Church, is hosting.

I stayed to watch the drama portion, and the leader involved the kids in a New Testament story about freedom. Aziz played the madman, a young latino guy played Jesus, and the rest of the kids were Legion, clinging to Aziz, whispering to and echoing him. The presentation gave me goosebumps.

So much of Christian teaching focuses on supplying the correct answers. It's beautiful to see a program where they draw kids into a story and an experience as well.

That idea is central to our work with Refugee Arts. We are into engaging and ministering to the whole person. The arts are some of the best tools to do that because they get into the creative, feeling-oriented places in the heart.