Reflecting on Current Events

What a week you've had, my fellow Americans.  And how very far away I feel from it all.  Yet, you are near to my heart. I am one of you.

It's moments like this when wordsmiths like me are out like mad on the web trying to make pithy statements or dazzling observations. Facebook lights up with soundbites and hashtags. All of us, trying to make sense of a world that seems senseless.

Knowing my words won't add anything new to the conversation, I can easily retreat to silence. But there is danger there, too. Because silence can communicate contentedness with the status quo, complicity with all that is wrong. So while I do not expect to add anything new, I must say something.

The first thing that I will say is that I am ignorant, which means that the best thing I can do is shut up and listen to those who are less ignorant than myself. As a white American, I have privileges and opportunities that I don't even realize I have. I cannot understand what it is like to be a minority. It's not that I don't want to understand. It's that I can't. So when I am tempted to spout off solutions or to claim that my experience is representative of another person's experience, I do not reveal my wisdom, I reveal my ignorance. This is not to say that I should not try to understand, but I must realize that I am only going to be able to achieve an intellectual level of understanding and not an experiential level.

At the intellectual level we can study statistics and trends, we can talk about "equality" and "opportunity." We can make laws and sign petitions and have debates. Even better, I can lean into my friendships with minority people in an effort to hear and learn from their experiences. I can stop listening only to the voices of those who sound like me and listen to the voices that challenge my paradigm. These voices may not change my mind, but they will expand my heart and help me to have compassion. And I need to really listen. Listen to understand, and not just to refute. I need to imagine the possibility that there are things I don't yet know, haven't yet encountered, or have wrongly dismissed. Such listening might open me up to a new perspective. It could help me to think more deeply and sincerely about the complexity of the problems. It could lead to better solutions.

Oh but that IS such hard work. And we live in a world that prefers quips and tweets. We're all looking for that one meme that is going to bottom-line it for us. Deep thinking is no longer valued. And, sadly, we evangelical Christians can be more about categorizing issues into black and white, right and wrong, than wrestling with complexities. Why do we do that?

Remember how angry Jesus would get at the Pharisees, who were tithing down to the tiniest cent while failing miserably at loving others? They were working so hard at being right that they failed to seek true righteousness. Mercy can't be measured, so it fell off their radar.

The second thing I will say is that  from a distance, at least, the United States appears to be a nation gripped by fear. Given the challenges and difficulties of life, fear is a natural human response. But fear is not a God-honoring response. Fear begets hate. I'm pretty sure that's why "Fear not" is the most repeated command in the Bible. But the inverse is also true--perfect love casts out fear. So if you really need a black and white barometer, why not use this one: "Am I being motivated by love or by fear?"

Fear, unchecked, will be the death of us. It is becoming the guiding force of political and social issues, and it is not healthy! Fear is at the heart of the gun debate. Fear is at the heart of the immigrant debate. Fear is at the heart of racism. Fear is at the heart of the bathroom debates, for heaven's sake! And fear is at the heart of the all the election rhetoric.

Look at the fear-mongering that goes on, particularly from Evangelical Christian leaders. On his own website, James Dobson defends his support of Trump by saying, "Hillary scares me to death." This is not good leadership, it isn't even Biblical, for he is rooting his decision in fear. Ben Carson, a man many of us respected, has said things like "Hillary is of the devil." And fear of Trump is worn like a badge of honor by, well, just about everyone. Both sides are trying to garner support for their candidate by painting the scariest picture of the other person. Fear. On all sides.

Let's not take our fear to the voting booth or the pulpit. Let's take our fear to Christ, confess it as sin, and ask for His wisdom and discernment to be our guides. Let's step back from the hysteria. Listen to the words of James chapter 3:

For where jealousy and selfish ambition exist, there is disorder and every evil thing. But the wisdom from above is first pure then peaceable, gentle, reasonable, full of mercy and good fruits, unwavering, without hypocrisy. And the seed whose fruit is righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace.

Here we have a filter to determine if what we are doing or thinking is aligned with God's wisdom or not. Don't ask "Is it scary?" Ask "Is it pure (or is it impure)? Is it peaceable (or is it hostile)? Is is gentle (or is it harsh)? Is it reasonable (or is it rediculous)? Is it full of mercy (or is it cruel)? Is it unwavering (or is it faltering)? Is it without hypocrisy (or is it hypocritical)?" And then consider how you share your views. Are you sowing in peace (or are you sowing  in dissention)? And just an aside--there is not a single news station in the US that is NOT sowing dissention. So maybe turn off the TV and the radio and read more newspapers. Most are available online these days, and this access to the written word allows you to search out all sides of an issue while refusing to support the inflammatory, baiting, fear-mongering rubbish that permeates the airwaves. Try to find facts, and take time to think constructively about the facts that you find.

Let me end where I began. I am ignorant. But I also have the advantage of viewing things from outside the American arena--which offers a unique perspective. I have so much to learn, and the more I learn the more I realize how much I don't know. So I'm simply sharing what I think to be my best contribution to the important conversations that are swirling all around us. Two things I am committing to do: Listen more and fear less.

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The following are links to articles or books that I have found helpful. None of them are perfect, and I do not agree with everything that is found in them. But I do find that reading these things is helping me to understand the complexity of these issues, to think more deeply about solutions, and to consider what my best contribution might be. Believe it or not, there are a lot of very smart people of integrity on all sides of these issues.

Here is a link to a short article that explains why #AllLivesMatter may be an uninformed and unhelpful respose to #BlackLivesMatter.

Colleen Mitchell, a Catholic missionary in Costa Rica, speaks truth in her article, "10 Reasons Why I Don't Want to be You White Ally."

This is the best article I've read on why Trump is so popular with evangelicals.

I really appreciate this insightful article from a woman with a black son and a husband who is a white police officer.

If you haven't yet read The Same Kind of Different as Me, I highly recommend it. It's an easy but poignant book.

I was challenged by bell hooks' book Where We Stand: Class Matters. Some of her writing is inflammatory and she does not provide sufficient research to support her harsh judgements; however, I must admit that some of her claims ring with truth and have made me think twice about the ramifications of our consumerist culture and how consumerism is linked to racism and sexism. This book is hard for a white middle/upper class audience to read because it is highly critical. But if you read it, seek to leave room for conviction and try not to dismiss all of it just because some of it is over the top.

Another good book on consumerism is William T. Cavanaugh's book Being Consumed: Economics and Christian Desire. 

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About that...

There is this great story in the Gospel of Luke when the disciples are traveling with Jesus to Jerusalem. It is getting dark, and Jesus sends a few of them ahead to a Samaritan village where they plan to spend the night. But it turns out the Samaritans didn't want to play host to Jesus. The Bible tells us, "the people there did not welcome him."

The disciples are angry, indignant, and self-righteous at this turn of events. They even offer to "call down fire from heaven to destroy them." The disciples feel threatened by the Samaritan's rejection, but Jesus? Not so much. In fact, Jesus is more bothered by his disciples' response to the rejection. The disciples want to rebuke the Samaritans, but Jesus rebukes his disciples.

You see, Jesus never expected the world to love and accept him. Rejection doesn't surprise him. It doesn't even offend him. It's us who take offense. And in our offense, we often sin. We miss the mark. We miss the point.

Do you get where I'm going with this? Yes, I'm talking about the stupid cups. And all of the other things over which American Christians will agonize in the coming months. In trying to make Jesus the point of the season, how very often we miss the point ourselves. 

We have got to stop acting offended or surprised when earthly powers, businesses, and governments don't welcome Jesus. Heck, he was born in a barn to show us that he was going to be an outsider from the get-go! It's not our job to make the world love him. It's our job to love a world that hates him. It's not our job to call down fire from heaven every time we think that Jesus has been forced out of the picture. It's our job to offer grace and mercy to bring Jesus back into the picture.

Think before you post, people. Ask yourself, "Am I calling down fire from heaven?" And if you are, remember how Jesus responded to his disciples when they did the exact same thing. 

 When the disciples James and John saw this, they asked, “Lord, do you want us to call fire down from heaven to destroy them?” But Jesus turned and rebuked them.

Luke 9: 54-55

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Another Au Revoir

Tears in my eyes.

I spent the past hour with my friend--the woman you know as Marie. You prayed for her. You shared her journey as she came to a living faith in Jesus. Over the past three years she has continued to grow in the Lord. She witnesses to her friends and family, she prays, she studies her Bible. She lives a life that has been transformed by the power of the risen Lord, free from fear and marked by joy and love. She and I have become very close, I consider her to be my French mother. She has helped me with language and culture and (like a mother) she always seems to notice (and comment!) if I put on any extra weight. I love her dearly, this sister in Christ.

And today I told her goodbye

Oh this missionary life we lead, a life that seems to be smearing my heart all across the globe. We invest deeply in friendships, find community, join together in God's work, and then we leave.

I know this is the life to which I have been called.

And I love it.

And I hate it.

Some days it is exciting, even glamourous. Some days it is blissfully ordinary. And some days it just plain stinks.

But I wouldn't have it any other way.

I showed up at Marie's house empty-handed. Over the past several weeks she has been showering me with gifts in anticipation of my upcoming departure. She has given me flowers from her garden, a wonderful bottle of sparking wine, and a gorgeous rug that she bought years ago in southeast Asia. And so I wanted to give her a momento--something tangible to tell her how much she means to me. But everytime I tried to think of an appropriate gift, I drew a blank.

As we wept and hugged, I told her that I had wanted to bring her a gift, but that I couldn't figure out what to give her.

With tears in her eyes, she looked into my soul and said, "What to give me? You have already given me the most important thing! Because of you I know Jesus. Because of you I have eternal life. There is no greater gift."

This is the reason we are in France.

And so as I leave yet another part of my heart here in this town and move on to the next, I lean on the One who bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. The One who is Love. The One who never fails. I remember that he left the comforts of his heavenly home to make salvation known to the world. I remember that the Son of Man had no place to lay his head. I remember that he goes before me. And I trust him to meet me there.

And I begin to pray for the "Maries" of Lyon....

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Say it in French

It was time for my thirty-minute one-on-one with Leighton Ford. Only I didn't know what I wanted to discuss. Isn't that just the way it goes? I get thirty minutes of uninterrupted time with a spiritual giant and I find myself at a loss of words.

He welcomed me warmly, made small talk, and then gently asked, "Was there anything in particular you wanted to talk about, or would you just like to visit?"

"Well," I stammered sheepishly, "if there's one thing I'm really struggling with in my ministry it's the French language. Perhaps you can speak into that."

I went on to share an experience about a time when I completely flubbed three simple sentences in front of a room full of French leaders.

"What were the sentences?" he asked.

So I spoke them in English.

"Say it in French," he said. 

So I spoke them in French.

"I do have a story that you might relate to," he said.

And then he told me about a time when he was working on a Billy Graham Crusade in Australia. He had been fighting a cold, and between the travel and all of his speaking engagements he had almost entirely lost his voice. In the midst of that time, he was assigned to preach at the Air Force Base. He found himself in a giant hangar (at which point in the story he said, "you know what that's like, since your husband is a pilot." I don't ever remember telling him that my husband was a pilot, but that eighty-three year old man doesn't seem to forget anything.). Hangars have the worst acoustics imaginable, so he was grateful to see a microphone, through which he would proclaim the Gospel to about 500 airmen. When he took the stage, the microphone was positioned too low, and as he tried to adjust it, he broke it. With no voice, no amplification, and poor acoustics, he croaked out the high-speed version of the Good News, and left. He was horribly discouraged by the whole ordeal.

But then, a few days later, he received a phone call from the chaplain of the base. Since Leighton had preached, over 25 men had come to see the chaplain and decided to follow Jesus.

"Thus," he concluded, "it seems that God can do his work whether or not he uses our words."

I nodded appreciatively. Our time was drawing to a close. I took a token photo of us, thanked him for his time and wisdom, and went on my way.

The next morning, our last day together, Leighton was leading us in a time of sharing and gratitude. He asked us to reflect on the things that we saw, heard, tasted, smelled, and felt during our time together at Apple Hill. As there were participants from at least eight different countries in the group of 24 people, I said that I was blessed by hearing English spoken with lovely accents by those who were speaking English as a second (or third!) language.

Another person was about to jump in to share, when Leighton gently raised his hand to hush the group. He looked directly at me, deeply into me, and he said, "Say it in French."

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I began to tremble, conscious of the many French speakers in the room who would surely hear my mistakes. He waited patiently. They all waited.

"J'aime entendre l'accent des gens qui parlent anglais comme une langue étrangère."

Just then a young man from Angola asked (in heavily accented English), "Does she have an accent in French?"

I bowed my head, defeated. I know the answer. I have a horrible accent.

"It's poetry," came the reply from the only French person in the room. "It's poetry."

How easy it is to hear the beauty of another's accent. How difficult it is to acknowledge that the same could be said of mine. I'm sure people are just being kind, extending grace while cringing from within. And yet, the Spirit can speak, does speak, in spite of it all. 

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Special Offer!

I try to shop the deals--I like to buy what's on sale. And usually, I can build a nice menu around the grocery store's weekly specials. Usually. Sometimes I run into some snags. 

Like last week, when there was bargain on pig's feet. Nope, haven't pinned anything on Pinterest that could help me with that one. Moving on...

Oh look! Pig kidney! I could make...um...is this what the Brit's use for Kidney Pie. I wonder. Maybe next time...

Here's a delicacy. Veal head. Boneless! Oh goodie, that makes it so much easier to prepare. Yeah, veal head, it's what's for dinner. Not!

Now word on the street is that this makes a great stew. It's cow's tongue. I plan to try it someday, when my stomach stops churning at the thought.

Well, there's always pig's heart. Look, a four pack--perfect for my family. Only I'm not sure if I should grill them or roast them. Maybe recipes.com could give me some help.

Mostly I feel totally at home in France, and truly the food here is great. But every now and then I have a "Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore" moment. Which is exactly how I felt when eyeing last week's specials.

 

 

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Are you buying it?

As we waited in various airports over the past few weeks, I spent a lot of time perusing book tables. Despite my seeming addiction to literature, I was feeling rather illiterate. Years ago, I would have been familiar with just about any title available at the airport. Surprisingly, I was hard pressed to find anything I recognized, save the names of a few select authors.

I particularly noted the number of memoirs that were displayed. Over the past two years I have been reading a great number of memoirs, but I thought this was a personal preference thing; I did not realize that it was a new trend. The memoirs that I read are (most often) written by Christians, and they are steeped with the redemptive power of Jesus. The memoirs that I picked up in the airport bookstores were starkly different.

While the endorsements proclaimed certain works to be "bravely self-revealing," I found the parts that I skimmed to be tragically disturbing. What good is authenticity if it fails to point us to our desperate need for a Savior? How can people come to terms with their own depravity and be satisfied? Or worse, pleased? And why would any reader wish to read disgusting self-disclosures when redemption never comes?

I suppose this is reality-television for the avid reader, but I am as turned-off by it as I am by shows like The Bachelor. The sad thing is, these works would not be so prevalent if they were not popular. People are buying this stuff. Reading it. Watching it. Giving it room in their lives and access to their souls. I am shocked, not so much by the sin that is exposed; but rather, by the fascination that we, as a culture, have with it. At the glorification that we give to it. At the prominence that we accord it.

Oh Jesus, I thank you for dying on the cross for all that is wretched and unholy! I thank you because your grace makes salvation possible. I thank you because you can redeem anything. Won't you free us from a morbid obsession with our own depravity and make us hungry for your holiness?

p.s. If you are looking for a good memoir, may I suggest Surprised by Oxford, by Carolyn Weber; Digging Ditches, by Helen Roseveare; or The Holocaust Diaries, by Nonna Bannister? In these rich stories, fallen people are called out of darkness and discover what it means to live in the light.

Have you read a good memoir? Tell me about it!

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