One But Not the Same

I’ve been slow to write this week because I’m pulling double duty at the office, filling in for the administrative assistant, Jean, while she is away on vacation. Jean is phenomenal at what she does—she is the world’s most prepared worker and can coordinate more details than are contained in the average human genome. So naturally, there’s a good possibility that while I’m stepping in for her two things could happen: (1) I will get fired (2) the church operation will come to a screeching halt.

The past several weeks I’ve been in contact with a number of seminary professors, one of which comes to teach adult Church School each Sunday morning. My job is simply to coordinate their visits and lectures.

I spent the week advertising the lecture for this Sunday’s guest professor, who has a senior position at a seminary nearby and has studied around the world. By the end of the week I had gotten the word out in the bulletin, newsletter, website, and Facebook. Moreover, I contacted the professor one last time to confirm all details. Job well done, I thought.

But alas on Friday morning I receive a subtle reply: “I’m sorry, there must be an misunderstanding. Based on our previous correspondence I took the speaking engagement to be cancelled. Have a nice day.”

I frantically looked back at our “previous correspondence.” A couple weeks before I had asked the scholar to switch Sunday mornings with another professor (at the request of the latter), and he replied with a polite “no thanks.” Although I thought I was clear that he did NOT have to switch—that he would be welcome to teach on whichever Sunday he chose—apparently I was not.

He read the email differently, cancelled, and made other plans.

I am constantly struck by the importance of perspective, of interpretation. We interpret every one of our encounters, conversations, and readings, and these interpretations are sculpted by our own stories and experiences. Our backgrounds, upbringings, roles, interests, families, and goals have a profound impact on how we absorb and understand the world around us.

The essential step toward empathy—toward the Golden Rule—is to recognize that all people do not come from the same starting line. So many love to argue that all people can be characterized in the same way and that the needs and desires of one peoples are identical for all peoples. There is a natural tendency for us to look in the mirror and assume that everyone should look the same. There’s perhaps a more natural tendency to look in the mirror and assume that everyone actually is the same.

But who are we kidding? Undoubtedly we all have similar physical and emotional needs; but to suggest that we all start from the same Point A and need/want to progress to the same Point B in the same way is only a hindrance to the unity and cooperation needed to navigate a society of growth, peace, and understanding.

As frustrating as our plurality of perspectives can be (trust me, I read our “previous correspondence” about 6 times), I hope we take heed to song that rings “we’re one, but we’re not the same.” Particularly as Christians: instead of spending time in our pews embracing ourselves, may we have the courage to embrace the differences of others, empathize with those from diverse walks, and learn from foreign experiences.

Strangely, many of our faiths seem opposed to the idea. I would suggest that our faith depends on it.

Bon Voyage

“We would rather be ruined than changed; we would rather die in our dread than climb the cross of the moment and let our illusions die”    –W.H. Auden

“The path of least resistance is the path of the loser”    –H. G. Wells

The other day I visited Mount Vernon, the home of George Washington, with a friend. It’s one of my favorite places in the Washington area, mostly because of its beautiful scenery of rich green trees, rolling hills, and the blue waters of the Potomac.

On the way home, just north of Mount Vernon we stopped at the historic town of Alexandria, which sits directly on the waterfront across the river from Washington. I was mesmerized by the sailboats.

As we stood on a dock gazing at the beautiful boats and gentle water, my friend asked me an intriguing question: “If money, time, and prior commitments could be disregarded, what would your adventure be?”

As I stared at the tall masts and white sails I answered without thinking: “I would take a big sailboat and sail to the Mediterranean and visit Greece, Italy, Sicily, and any other countries I could reach.” I stood there daydreaming.

What intrigued me that evening was the image of simply leaving the shore behind and sailing away. It’s right there: take what and who you need, get in the boat, float down the Potomac, find the Chesapeake, and the destinations are limitless. It’s crazy, I know.

Perhaps its absurdity is why it’s so intriguing. In “real life” when do we ever truly let go of all inhibitions, all rationale, all expectations and allow ourselves to sail into the free waters? If we did, what would we find? What do we fear?

As I graduate college next summer, I will encounter one of the rare crossroads in life when I will make a few critical choices that will set my trajectory for years to comes—choices to head for faraway land or remain close to home country; to find the unseen or focus on the familiar; to stay close to the shores or venture out to meet the waves and see the stars.

The saddest sight is a person, especially one later in life, who isn’t content on their shore and can’t seem to find a sailboat—or at least can’t find the nerve to start rowing. As naïve as it sounds, I like to believe that no matter the challenges life brings, no matter the social expectations, no matter what people think, no matter the status quo, no matter your age—if you keep searching through your frustrations and discontent there will always be a sailboat waiting for you on the shore. Maybe we all have one—it’s just sitting there, waiting for us to defy expectations, change the game, throw a curve ball, break tradition, and find unknown fulfillment.

It seems ridiculous, I know. And it is.

But what’s more ridiculous is a person with one shot at life settling for discontentment, normalcy, and dreamlessness when there is so much to experience in life.

Trust me, I saw the boats floating peacefully by the Potomac shore—they’re waiting for us.

Taking Back the Kidney

Now that I’ve returned to Washington from the youth service trip and finished a busy holiday weekend, I am settled back into my regular routine. The summer is flying, and I hope everyone is having a great one! The following is actually the guest post for this Monday, taken from the satirical Christian news website www.larknews.com. This news article, like others from the site, is clearly fictional and intended to get laughs. However, subtle warnings to many Protestant church-goers also surface throughout the humorous stories, which are worth pondering. Have a look and leave your thoughts.

____________________________________________________

Kidney donor cries foul when recipient ditches Christianity
from www.LarkNews.com

TUPELO — Aleta Smith, who donated her kidney to a 20-year-old college student last year, wants it back now that the student has changed religions.

Smith, a self-described “on-fire Christian,” gave her kidney to Hannah Felks, a Lutheran and regular Christian camp counselor, last year after seeing Felks on the local news.

“She was going to die unless she got a kidney,” Smith says, sitting on the porch at her home. “They portrayed her as this nice Christian girl who works with kids. I saw it as a great opportunity to help a sister in the Lord.”

The surgery grabbed headlines and Smith was lauded for her selflessness. But shortly after the surgery, Felks embarked on a “spiritual journey” to try out other religions, and settled on a blend of Pagan and Hindu beliefs.

“I wanted to get away from the belief system I was raised in and find the truth for myself,” she says. She took a semester off to travel the world visiting spiritualists on three continents.

Smith was aghast when she heard of the conversion, and she quickly wrote a letter asking Felks to re-convert to Christianity or return the organ, saying it was donated under false pretenses.

“I feel helpless,” she says. “Part of my body, my DNA, is stuck inside a person who’s going to hell.”

Smith suffers nightmares of her former organ filtering “strange Asian teas, pig blood and witch doctor brews in Africa,” she says. She wonders if the Lord really wanted her to donate the kidney, or if she acted on a “triple-espresso high” she had that morning. She is also concerned that when her body is resurrected, it might be incomplete.

Felks frets that Smith is an “Indian giver,” and says religious affiliation was never an issue.

“The kidney’s working fine,” Felks said by phone from Thailand. “I feel bad for Aleta. She did something wonderful for me, but that doesn’t mean she gets to control my life.”

In the meantime, Smith has alerted several dozen prayer chains, and her women’s Bible study group is praying 12 hours a day for the re-conversion of Felks — and Smith’s former kidney.

“I’m all for spiritual curiosity,” she says, “but you’ve got to settle these things beforehand. My kidney belongs to Christ. It will never be Pagan.”

Letter to Myself at 15

I have spent this week chaperoning adolescents at a church camp. Considering how recently I was in their shoes, you would think that such a job would be easy and fun for a college guy. You would think. Actually, I have determined that I would make a terrible youth pastor or volunteer—I say that not in pity for myself, but rather in pity for the kids.

I am still at the stage I my life where I am running away from some of my still-fresh adolescent qualities and experiences. I currently see myself in a transition mode as a twenty year-old: from the teen years to the young adult years. And if I am honest with myself, I’ve been welcoming that change for a long time. I’m still irked as I look back on my high school habits, points of view, mannerisms, social interactions, and opinions. Although I know that many of these irksome parts of High School Sam still linger and, moreover, I will say the same thing about College Sam five years from now,  I still find myself in a constant state of escape as I try to move forward into adulthood.

So to be immersed back into high-schoolness for seven days was no easy task. But as the week concludes along with personal reflection on my own high school days, I would like to write a brief letter that I wish I had read five years ago as a freshman in high school.

Dear High School Sam,

Here is some advice, although you probably won’t listen to it since you’re 15 years-old. However, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Here are some suggestions as you wade through the next four years of Life.

Here are two remarkably important decisions that you will make probably without realizing it. First, decide whether you’re going to live the next four years building your identity around the expectations of others, or whether you’ll spend these years searching for your identity in the depths of your heart, talents, passions, and dreams. Choose the latter.

Second, decide ever so carefully the people you will surround yourself with—your closest friends from school, church, teams, or organizations. These people will have the greatest outside impact on who you become in the coming years. Choose wisely.

A couple other tidbits:

• If you’re always following rules, then you’re doing something wrong.
• Sometimes it’s better to ask for forgiveness than for permission.
• The single most dangerous fear to be overcome is the fear to make mistakes. Live freely.
• Adults are more impressed by kids that admit that they have much to learn than by the kids who pretend to be know-it-alls.
• Most of the time you should listen to advice and criticism from adults, especially those you respect most. But every once in awhile you have to say to hell with them—if for no other reason, to learn the hard way.
• Yes we know, most of the stuff you learn in high school you don’t actually need, you can stop saying it for the millionth time. That’s not the point. The point is to make your mind fully functioning, because right now it’s not.
• Never ever disregard the power of imagination.
• It’s almost always a mistake to get romantically involved with anyone in high school. However, it’s a mistake you should make. Just learn from it and try not to mess up too bad.
• Be constantly aware of your place in the world—your ability to destroy along with your ability to build. May you live to make the world a better place, and beware of those temptations to humiliate, disregard, or tear down others.
• And one last thing: try to give Mom a break every once in awhile—it might lengthen your life expectancy.

Love,

College Sam

Georgia on My Mind

This marks the third day on the job here at Passport Camp in Macon, Georgia. I’m helping lead a small youth group from the church in DC on this trip to Mercer University, in which we spend much of the time each day divided into work crews helping to restore and repair homes for the needy in the community. If you’ve ever been to Georgia in July, you understand why the old hymn was running through my head as I worked with an pickaxe to uproot a stump in the afternoon sun:

“That soul though all hell should endeavor to shake, I’ll never, no never, no never forsake!”

Judging from the heat, hell’s endeavors had arrived and the humidity left me feeling quite forsaken. And dehydrated. Yes, today the sun finally got the best of me—my muscles were aching, my sleep had been minimized, and my head was throbbing. At this point one start’s questioning the concept of being “called to the ministry.” No one ever feels “the call” while swinging an axe in the triple digit heat.

In light of all this, I was becoming frustrated and irritable, although my frustration and irritation were not so much from my aches, sleep deprivation, or headache, but rather from the work itself. You see, usually these projects involve painting a house, patching up a roof, or landscaping the yard for a sweet elderly lady who usually thanks us at the end of the week with tears streaming down her cheeks and her frail bony hands reaching out to hug all the kids, even the sweaty ones. In other words, when we work we have the feeling that we’re truly making a difference, helping the helpless, and bringing some small token of happiness to a stranger. Which is satisfying.

But today was different: the crew leader led us to a narrow lot containing overgrown trees, smelly compost heaps, thick weeds, mounds of litter, and knee-high grass. Oh, and no house. The smelly piece of land is currently owned by the city and we were just there to spruce things up.

It didn’t take long before the result was clear: there was little direction, little purpose in the work. Due to poison ivy, only 10 or 12 kids at a time could work directly in clearing the brush, which left another 10 or 12 kids with little to do except find ways to fight with garden tools or flirt. Moreover, no one knew what exactly the finished product was supposed to look like—to “spruce up” is a phrase that can interpreted in quite a few ways. Consequently, a couple 14 year-old boys were lumbering around with an axe trying to find trees to cut down, while a group of girls was content picking up the scattered Coke cans.

By the end of the afternoon, my attitude was not particularly friendly. Why in hell would we be sent to work on a project without any real purpose?—I stewed on the drive back to campus.

Upon returning I showered, rested, and drank some water. And then at dinner something seemed to hit me: we don’t work on these community service projects just to see the little old lady cry in appreciation at the end of the week. We don’t work for gratification. We don’t work just for the sake of being productive. We don’t work because our impact is really that enormous on the community.

Rather, as I laughed with several of the youth tonight at dinner and remembered the nasty lot where we had been working, I realized that the purpose of working is simply to be reminded that we are a part of a movement much greater than ourselves.

To be reminded that only through unity and cooperation can the world be made a better place.

To be reminded that we are all members of a community—a world community—and the most fundamental, divine responsibility we each inherit is to help our fellow man and woman.

To be reminded that the force of love—the sacrifice of one’s time, energy, well-being, comfort, and convenience—can truly change the world around us.

And hopefully such reminders we receive in these summer days of 2009 will remain with us for years and decades to come.

“Laughing With” by Regina Spektor

I am currently sitting at Macon University helping lead a youth service trip. In continuing the weekly routine started last week—that each Monday post will be an article, poem, song, story, etc that stimulates conversation—the post today is a song titled “Laughing With.” It is the opening single from Regina Spektor’s fifth album Far released on May 18. I would love to hear any thoughts or impressions. Enjoy.

No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one’s laughing at God
When they’re starving or freezing or so very poor

No one laughs at God when the doctor calls
After some routine tests
No one’s laughing at God when it’s gotten real late
And their kid’s not back from that party yet

No one laughs at God when their airplane
Starts to uncontrollably shake
No one’s laughing at God
When they see the one they love hand in hand
with someone else and they hope that they’re mistaken
No one laughs at God when the cops knock on their door
And they say “We’ve got some bad new, sir,”
No one’s laughing at God
When there’s a famine, fire or flood

But God can be funny
At a cocktail party while listening to a good God-themed joke or
When the crazies say he hates us
and they get so red in the head
You think that they’re about to choke
God can be funny
When told he’ll give you money if you just pray the right way
And when presented like a genie
Who does magic like Houdini
Or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa Claus

God can be so hilarious
Ha ha, ha ha

No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one’s laughing at God
when they’ve lost all they got
And they don’t know what for

No one laughs at God on the day they realize
that the last sight they’ll ever see is a pair of hateful eyes
No one’s laughing at God
When they’re saying their goodbyes

But God can be funny
At a cocktail party while listening to a good God-themed joke or
When the crazies say he hates us
and they get so red in the head
You think that they’re about to choke
God can be funny
When told he’ll give you money if you just pray the right way
And when presented like a genie
Who does magic like Houdini
Or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa Claus

No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one’s laughing at God in a hospital
No one’s laughing at God in a war