Our Struggle

"This is their experiential moment, that moment when the weight becomes too much, when the abstract becomes real, when expectations of continual, inexorable progress slam into the back of a slow-moving reality, plagued by fits and starts and sometimes prone to occasional regressions."

Recently I read these words in a New York Times op-ed column by Charles M. Blow that captures a realization I've had while participating in the demonstrations sparked by Ferguson and Staten Island. Blow writes that he grew up, like most of us, learning about the black freedom struggle that has existed in this country since its founding. But he didn't have a connection to it until the killings of Rodney King and James Byrd, Jr. Those events awakened in him the fervor of the Civil Rights Movement and showed him their relevance in his own day.

Just a few months old in 1991 when Rodney King was killed, I learned about the tragic event in the same way that I did Jim Crow: in history class. And although I've learned a lot about what modern systemic racism looks like, including mass incarceration, I haven't yet felt the fervor and urgency of the black freedom struggle that has at points gripped this nation and moved it to action, such as when slavery and then Jim Crow ended.

That fervor has again been awakened in this country, and my generation is once again taking up arms for true equality. And I feel it.

To participate in this movement I recently attended "Strange Fruit: Seven Last Words of Seven Black Lives," an event hosted by POWER (Philadelphians Organized to Witness, Empower, and Rebuild), an interfaith group of congregations committed to justice in Philadelphia. The main feature of "Strange Fruit" was seven sermons reflecting on the last words of black men and women whose known killers (most of whom were police officers) went unpunished. The service also included worship, poetry, prayer, an update from those on the ground in Ferguson, and demands POWER is issuing in response to such unpunished killings.

The event opened up to me in a mysterious way the deep and long struggle of black people in this country. As I listened to poetic words and sounds, submitted to culturally different worship styles, and heard a people cry out to their God, I realized that I had stepped into an ancient struggle, a pain, a perseverance that has endured hundreds of years. We mourned the loss of people slain for their black skin, a dirge that has been sung over and over. We lamented the reality that black sons and daughters could be next. In the prayers, sermons, and songs I saw the resilience of the black soul and felt its strength, its warm embrace, and heard its deep, melodic refrain.

I also witnessed a mobilization--people organizing, demanding, crying out for justice to the powers that be. It was a collision of history with the present struggle. The demands, although distinct in their particularities, have been the same for centuries. And here they were in my context, in reaction to current events, sometimes made by people my age. Everything seemed at once new and ancient--like the gurgling of molten lava to form a new island.

See me pictured at "Strange Fruit" in bottom right corner.

There I stood in the middle of the ancient struggle. Suddenly it was not just the struggle from ages past, but it was of my time, of my generation and, though I am not black, it was mine.

As my generation boldly steps forward to claim the struggle in a new way and determines to no longer be dragged backward, we can find hope in the advances of generations past, the faithfulness of God to respond to the cries of His people. Blow titled his article "This Is Your Moment." Indeed, this moment is ours, but it carries the momentum of a few hundred years. Let's push forward like so many before us in the ancient struggle against racism--our struggle.

Outside the Gates of University City

I love the location of my apartment—situated between some of the poorest neighborhoods in Philly and “University City,” where some of the wealthiest, most privileged students in the country live, learn, and play. The contrast between them can be staggering sometimes: the rich and the poor, the privileged and the oppressed, the white and those of color, the clean and the dirty, those gorging and those starving—so close in proximity, yet so distant from one another.

I have positioned myself to be able to engage in both of those spaces. In my work and church, I am often serving, learning, and worshipping with Philadelphia’s poor. But I am also volunteering with the chapter of InterVarsity Christian Fellowship at the University of Pennsylvania, so I have a foothold in that world, too.

At this point, I’m pretty comfortable in both. I’m used to being me in both of those spaces, and they each offer me a lot, but the two don’t always know what to do with each other. It’s the tension between them that I often find myself navigating.

Like this conversation I heard on my way home from the Penn IV Bible study last Thursday between a group of students I didn’t know:

--You see a lot of people like that on the streets.

--Yeah have you seen the guy down near our apartment? The one that’s always just sitting?

--Yeah! He sits there all day—the one with the red shirt. His eyes are yellow as the sun!

--I mean when I see him, I get worried if he’s going to die in like the next 3 months or something. It’s sad.

--Well he does it to himself. At seven in the morning, with one bottle already down—that’s how you’re gonna spend your day? Where do you go from there?

--I really wonder how much longer he’s gonna live, though. It’s depressing to think about, but it can’t be much longer…

--Nah, those people don’t die. You can’t get rid of em.

This conversation is in itself interesting, one bro-ish student intrigued by and genuinely concerned for a man he sees dying, or at least only minimally alive, the other student wondering why the man can’t pull himself together and make something more of himself. Neither of them is really doing anything about the guy they apparently see all the time.

What makes the conversation more interesting is what we discussed at Bible study right before I overheard it: the story of the rich man and Lazarus (Luke 16: 19-31), which illustrates exactly the situation of the these students and the red-shirted, sitting man.

Like the rich man in the story, the students probably have way more than they need to survive; they’ll likely have incredibly successful careers and live comfortably, rarely in need. And like Lazarus, the red-shirted man sits right outside their apartment, a social outcast in desperate need. Finally, like Jesus’ story, the college kids know all about the guy who sits there and even suspect he may die soon, yet they do nothing for him.

Wow. Who knew the story could get so real?

I’ve learned over the last few years to love like Jesus loved, to love the poor, who, if they’re like Lazarus, go to heaven just because they live lives of anguish. That’s why I live, work, and attend church in the ‘hood, to have as many opportunities as possible to share Jesus’ love for the poor.

But God is also teaching me to love the rich guys, the college students with access, opportunity, resources, and privilege. The rich man in the story ends up in hell, begging for a touch of water on his tongue to relieve his agony, and although it’s hard to love him based on how he treated Lazarus, it’s also difficult to read about his eternity. Likewise, it was hard for me to love those guys as they talked about the man with the red shirt. It hurt me to hear so little regard for his life. But I don’t like to consider the idea of them sharing the same fate as the rich man in Jesus’ story.

University City is just as much a part of Philadelphia as Mantua, Powelton, or Southwest Philly. Loving this city means loving all of its people and positioning myself between the different worlds within it to pursue reconciliation.

While the conversation I overheard was disheartening, the ones I shared at Bible study were encouraging, with students asking questions like, “Who are the ones sitting outside our gates?” and making plans to bridge those divides by showing love to a neighbor who spends much of his time on the street. At rare moments in this city I get to see people reach across those divides. It’s those moments I love most about where I live.

You Are Here

It started today when I saw an article responding to the feeling that someone else's calling was better than one's own. I don't really feel that way, but in skimming it, I found a few thoughts that were not new to me, but ones I needed to hear: "You are on a long journey of working toward where you are going. Have patience," and "The process is just as important as the destination. What you are learning now is important for where you are going." These are things that I understand. But it's still hard.

After reading those words I kept going on with my day, but they kept swirling around in the back of my head, causing more of a distraction than I thought they actually should have. I didn't have time to consider them, so I tried to file them away for later contemplation, but I couldn't stuff them away with enough force to keep them suppressed.

At the end of my work day, I headed to Bible study at my church where we discussed Joseph (one of my favorites!), who many of us know as the King of Dreams. (If you don't know it, read Genesis 37-47.) The topic of the teaching was--you guessed it--dreams. Not like Joseph's literal dreams he had when he was sleeping, but more like the aspirations, the goals we have for life. Kind of like my calling. As I kept listening, I realized there was a connection to the thoughts that earlier had bounced around in my head and the feelings that accompanied them--discontent, eagerness, frustration, wonder, excitement.

Like Joseph I have dreams. I have a place in life I want to go, a community I want to be a part of, a Church I want to build, a neighborhood I want to love, a society I want to change, relationships I want to see healed.

But I'm not there yet. I'm still learning, still growing. But I have so much vision, so much ambition, so much to pursue, that sometimes it hurts. I'm not there yet; there's a process of getting there. And I'm burdened by the process, but I know that it will it will make me a better leader one day to go through this process now.

While I'm in this formation process, I find myself caught between gratitude and ambition. I appreciate so deeply what has been entrusted to me for this time. I write that with all sincerity. But is it wrong to want more? I want so badly to be there--where I'm going--now.

And I fear my ambition, my longing, sometimes shows itself as ingratitude. Am I just as unruly as young, foolish Joseph proclaiming his prophetic dream that all--including his superiors--would one day bow down to him? Is it wrong to see myself as someone who will one day have influence and be a part of something where God is moving mightily? I don't equate my dreams with Joseph's (i.e. I don't see people bowing down to me...), but I do feel like one day I will be among the leaders of something incredible. And I don't want to feel bad for having that dream. But should I?

I live in this tension. I have amazing opportunities and I'm taking full advantage of them. I see how they build toward where I feel like God has called me. But it's hard to sense that calling and not be there--where I'm going--yet. And it's hard to feel like one day I'll have more responsibility and not yet have it. So yes, "The process is just as important as the destination," is good for me to hear. But it is really hard to hear. And I'm not finding it helpful. So what is helpful?

Knowing that where I am has just as much value as where I'm going. And its value isn't based on the value of where I'm going. Wherever I'm going (and honestly, I really don't know where that is) may be incredible beyond imagination, but that's not what gives my present location value. God has me here now, and later I'll be there. This is not just a process preparing me for when I'm there. I am here. So why wouldn't I fully engage with it? This brings me peace.

If you're interested, here's the link to the article I read. The "quotes" above are actually paraphrases.

I See

You see a cramped block.

I see a community.

You hear senseless rap, unnecessarily loud.

I hear self-expression.

You see a news story of a shooting.

I see a neighbor get shot.

You see wasteful spending.

I see a celebration.

You see black skin.

I see diversity: dark-skinned, light-skinned, and chocolate.

You see a drug dealer.

I see a man who built a business.

You see drug money.

I see the only capital investment in this neighborhood for decades.

You hear shouting and wailing, a disruption.

I hear worship.

You see a future athlete.

I see a black youth who loves to read, write, paint, and make bracelets.

You see a lazy black woman.

I see a tired but strong mother (and grandmother) with a degree and debilitating chronic pain.

You see another dangerous black man off the streets.
I see the latest victim of the prison industrial complex.

You see a culture of poverty.

I see an oppressive system.

I know what you see because I used to see the same things.

But I heard rumors of something different. So I moved to Southwest Philly.

Relationship--with a person, a place, an institution--changes things. It changed what I saw, heard, felt, thought. It confirmed the truth behind the rumors. There is something different.

Photo credit to Walter Levi Wawra.

Behind the Veil

Over the course of the last year we've made friends with a lot of our neighbors. It's easy to meet people by just hanging out on the block, and when you share the same space all the time, you eventually get to know people. 

But some are more difficult to be friends with. Usually it's something like fear or misunderstanding that puts a moment of hesitation between you and your neighbor and keeps you from fully interacting with one another. 

There's one family at the end of our block where that was the case. Although the kids from this family are often outside, we saw the parents much less often. We played with their kids regularly, especially their nine-year-old son, the second-oldest of five. Like most kids, he always runs up when we come onto the block. When we did different activities with the kids he, and sometimes his siblings, were there too. So we played ball, painted, chalked up the sidewalk, and read together.

But we didn't let them into our house. Other kids would come in and play on Saturday afternoons, but not the ones from that family. They wanted to so badly, but as a team we decided long ago that we must meet a child's parent and have permission before they can play in our house. And we had never met their parents because they rarely spent time outside.

And when their mom did make an appearance, it was from behind a veil. Something about the veil made it difficult to approach her, especially being known on the block as a "missionary" from the church around the corner.

From the beginning we had a hunch that they Muslim because of their head coverings. Islam is pretty common in Philly, especially in Southwest, so it's not really a big deal to anyone around here, including us. But for some reason the fact that she was Muslim, represented by her veil, made it a little more difficult to approach her. I wondered if my presence was offensive or if she would want to speak to me. Maybe that's why she never comes outside?

 

But one day I did. She was sitting with some of the other women I know, so I greeted them and introduced myself and her. I told her I enjoyed playing with her son, that he was a bright kid with a lot of questions. And after that conversation the veiled face had a name: Ms. T. 

I wasn't the only one initiating a friendship with Ms. T. Nicole, who has much less inhibition than me, had been trying to be friends with her for a while and actually invited her and the family to come to our house for dinner on Saturday. And, to my surprise, they came!

After she got into the house with the door closed behind her, she reached up and removed her veil. For the first time I saw her face. And it was as if our invitation to friendship was accepted. For the next two hours we talked, ate, danced, and had a great time together. Some of the kids were away for the weekend, so it allowed us to have more personal conversations with Ms. T and her oldest daughter. It was one of the most lively, engaging, and comfortable community dinners we have had in a while. Clearly my assumptions about her--that she didn't want to talk to the missionaries, that we were an offensive presence--were wrong.

In our conversations we learned that the reason Ms. T doesn't come out of the house often is because she has chronic pain that makes it difficult to do much at all. She wants so badly to work, but between her pain and a special-needs three-year-old, it's nearly impossible. 

Just like the label of "missionary" doesn't keep me from wanting friends on the block, I shouldn't have made the same assumptions based on Ms. T's veil. She enjoyed the time with us and stayed later than most. 

As she left, she covered her face once more. But now I know what's behind the veil. It's not a mystery. It's Ms. T, a friend.

**Some might read this and blame Ms. T for my fear and misunderstanding: "If she didn't wear a veil, it would have made things easier." I do not at all intend to blame or speak poorly of Muslims or anyone else who dons a face covering. I was wrong from the beginning for allowing her veil to be a source of discomfort for me. I am sharing a journey of overcoming fear and misunderstanding to become friends across barriers of difference. I inherited those fears from society, and I write this with hope that our society one day understands and accepts women who choose to wear a veil.

This World Doesn't Deserve You

In my dream

I was impressed with a child
With potential unfulfilled
Held back by the deadly combination

of his race

and gender

and neighborhood
and a school system that breeds failure

In my dream I wept over him
I wanted so much more

"This world doesn't deserve you"
Was the title of a poem
I spoke over him
In my dream

As I woke up

Those words slipped away

Like dreams often do

But the boy remains

And his brothers

And my grief

This world doesn’t deserve you

Vignettes

As part of Mission Year, we have an hour each week devoted to "Curriculum," when we discuss a book that Mission Year asks all of us to read. We've read books about community development, race, theology of the oppressed, spiritual practices, even one of the gospels! The book we're reading now is called House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros, and it's a series of vignettes. To reflect on the book and our time in Mission Year, we wrote vignettes about our experiences. We're sharing them here for your enjoyment. Some resemble poetry more than a vignette and there's one song, but all reflect on our year.

Arrival

    It’s stuffy and sticky and sleepy in the back seat of the van. The darkness hides all but the whites of her eyes, surveying the new, unfamiliar landscape.

     There are tracks in the middle of the road and cars ride on top of the them with no trouble. What are the tracks for?

     I wonder how long our ride will be. Trips from the airport are always long--“Here we are!”--But not this one.

     “I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m in the hood; I really can’t believe I’m doing this,” the eyes tell me out of the darkness. I don’t know if it’s an invitation to converse or just a statement. Actually I don’t know anyone or anything. I just get out of the van, into more darkness. Darkness.

Progressive Process

Pennies parting priceless places

Smiles on hurt hearts and broken faces

Who waged which war?

Opinions open onto oppression

Struggle is inevitable

Butter

     On a small street are tall skinny houses that looked as though they've been smashed together. In a house covered in crimson red bricks and a new cast iron gate is a tall fiery woman full of energy that fills her house.
     Her 4 children hold her firecracker personality, she with a heart of gold.
     She strives to offer them the best. After school they run, hide, squirm to get away but she manages to reign them in for more education.
     A small rectangular stick that brings life to any dish resembles her name, and is much like her personality.

The Trained Eye

To the naked, untrained eye

In and out, in and out

People come and go

Up the stairs, down the stairs

Through the door, out the door

In the house, out the house

Things get passed, side to side

In the car, out the car, under the car?

Black bags, rolled up newspapers

The trash pile near the corner of the stoop

Things unseen to the untrained eye

But I see, the smoke after the pick up

What Waits

And are you too blind to see
What waits on the other side

Stuck here held by chains
Like a voice without a name
You are waiting for change
As blame

Drowning in your shame
You turn it all to angst
Eating away your very soul
How you long to be whole

No matter to my words
You close your heart it hurts
I'm only here for a moment
Then I'm gone to the wind

My right hand offers hope
My left hand offers love
Quit drowning in this sea
Quit your dying null to peace

Chorus

Bridge
This my friend is what I see
You keep holding on to be
Let go of yourself my dear
A caged bird can't really sing

Chorus

Sharing Jesus

“Ice Cream!”

A shriek of joy pierces straight through the heavy humid air. The now familiar sound of tiny bells and chimes announcing the presence of the ice cream truck is quickly approaching. I scoop up a child sitting at the top of the stairs and gently place him on the sidewalk.

“You need anything Miss Bella? its gonna be fifty cents left when I get my sandwich.”

“nah, I’m good. Go on, before he leaves!”

I watch him run over and join all the other neighborhood kids at the ice cream truck. Its a weekend symphony that plays in the evening… over and over again the ice cream jingle accompanied by children laughing and shouting to get right up to the window.

My minds eye sees something different. I imagine that the man in the window is something similar to a modern day Jesus; welcoming the children with open arms, songs, and laughter. I imagine that each child that lifts up a dollar, or their spare change, is actually lifting up their hopes and dreams. Each one leaves with a beautiful blessing that suits them… even if its not what everyone else expected.

“Wait, is that a sandwhich?”

“kind of... its like a pretzel with cheese and stuff!

“You got that at the ice-cream truck?”

“yup!”

I laugh and shake my head in disbelief. Literally EVERYTHING comes from that truck! As the stoop of my home fills with kids enjoying their treats, my eyes wander to a child on the otherside of the street. He has no food in hand, no treat from the truck. His eyes catch mine… than he shakes his head and walks away. when he turns the corner, I find i'm not the only one observing him.

“You know him?”

“nah. i’ve seen him though”

“does he live here?”

“He doesn't belong here. He’s not a part of our community.”

I fall silent, mind turning.

I have what I need.
I’m good.

“shouldn't we all be apart of the community?”

“I guess some people don’t like to share.”

Smiles

I turn the corner

62^nd and Reedland

Headphones in my ears and tired after a long day at work

I slowly take them out and my ears fill with new sounds—laughter, conversation, friendship.

I look to my right

     Hello Ms. Liz, Hello Ms. Eva, Hello Ms. Dee

Their smiles and eyes meet mine.

Casual conversation, standing on the porch, leaning on the rails.

Falling into familiarity and comfort

I excuse myself

Hello Aizhe, Hello Nina, Hello Jylen

Another stop, more smiles

Some faces and smiles I know, some are strangers though

Others friends.

I turn and see the trees

Home

Transcending Words (Guest Blogger)

The following is taken from the newsletter of one of my teammates, Priscillia. I share many of her sentiments about how useful art is, and I wanted to share what she wrote to her supporters this month: 

"Interacting with those around me in my home and neighborhood, I have been struck by the different ways in which people express themselves and communicate. One form of expression that I have come to appreciate so much more this year is art. For most of you who know me, you may be a little puzzled as I am probably one of the world’s worst artists. However, my neighbors and teammates have shown me so much about the beauty and depth of expression that can come from art. Using art as a medium, whether it is drawing, painting, mixed media, etc. to communicate often allows people to convey more about their hearts than what words can. I have found that in times of deep emotional struggle or confusion, art has allowed me as well as others to express what is on our hearts and mind.

"A night of deep transformation and vulnerability within my household occurred after a teammate shared what was on her heart and then asked us to use art to express what had been weighing on our minds as she was sharing. Using our artwork, we were able to talk about our struggles as well as the beauty of community. While interacting with my neighbors, my teammates and I often invite the kids over to draw or create. 

"Angel is a high school senior who often comes over just to talk about the things that are going on in her life – these talks often go for hours, but at the end, we are always met with deep gratitude from Angel for our willingness to listen. She often calls us her “human diaries”! One day, she was having an emotional week and wanted to get a lot off of her chest. At one point, I suggested that we take 20 minutes to just draw what we were feeling. Afterwards, we all had the chance to share about what we drew – it was a great way to interact with each other in a different way than usual. Additionally, on another particularly difficult day with one the kids in our neighborhood, we asked him to draw how he was feeling and simply left it at that. 

"There is such beauty in being able to express without any words or expectations, to use art as an outlet for emotion and struggle. When I hang out with neighbors, I often ask the youth in our neighborhood to draw with me, to express what they are feeling, significant events from the week, their hopes and dreams and so much more. Sometimes we have conversations about their art and sometimes we just hang up their artwork and admire it. There is such beauty in being able to create…after all, God is a creator and we are made to be creative beings. There is such joy in being able to share in this activity with my community and discover ways to express myself that transcend words."

Visit Priscillia's personal donation page here.

Like Family

Although I still have three months left in my Mission Year, it's hard not to think about what I will be doing when my year is over in August. Although there are practical things to think about such as where to live and where I might work, I'm also considering the values I want to live by, values that I've learned to practice in Mission Year.

One of those values is intentional community. We talk about it a lot in Mission Year, and I would say it's one of the main components of the program: living with six other people and committing to sharing not just space but experiences, food, money, and a spiritual journey. It's hard. And as I've thought about what that will look like after this year, I've asked the question, "Who are the people that I want to partner with like this in the future?" 

As I reflect on my Mission Year, I'm realizing that that question is a luxury. Because I didn't have that choice coming into Mission Year. I'm thinking now about friends of mine that I know and trust and would want to join with on a spiritual journey in community. But my time in Mission Year didn't afford me that choice. I was simply assigned six people to live with.

Luckily, they all wanted to go on the same journey, so it has worked out. But that doesn't mean that all of us are compatible or even that we like each other. (I'm pretty sure we do all enjoy each other quite a bit, but that hasn't always been the case.) Regardless of how we feel about each other, we are all in the same boat, so we have chosen to be intentional and forge friendships.

But as I looked toward the future, I thought, "This community thing will be so much easier when I'm with more compatible people," with a little bit of resentment that it didn't meet my idealistic expectations. I figured I could meet those expectations if I could just choose the people I lived with in the coming years. But a simple idea helped me to understand just how beautiful my community is this year. I read it in one of my teammate's newsletters, and it clicked for me! 

We're like family.

We have long called ourselves a family. It wasn't a decision we made; it just happened organically. But now as I think more about it, there isn't a more appropriate term. Like a family, we all live in the same (cramped) house. Like a family, we didn't choose each other. And like a family, we are bound to journey through life together--at least for this year. We can't escape those things, just like a biological family! Our ties are maybe not as permanent as a biological family, but many biological families don't stick together for life either. Like our team, most of them move on to the next stage of life without as close of a tie to each other.

We didn't choose each other and sometimes we may not like each other, but we're committed to loving each other with a love that's deeper than just compatibility. And I think we've done that. So here's to my Mission Year family! May we have three more loving months together and a lifetime of knowing that we will always share a familial bond!

An Experiment with Silence (Part II of II)

For the first week of Lent I practiced silence. That means I didn’t talk for a week! (Well, at least not with my Mission Year team, but that is pretty much my whole life.) In Part I of this post, I wrote about why I chose silence. In Part II I will explore what I learned.

I had hoped that my silence would create moments of reflection. Instead of speaking, I would pause to consider the words that I wanted to speak. In this way, I would learn from my silence. I even hoped to create more space for prayer in the midst of interaction. I thought, “Silence will leave so much room in my brain for other activity!”

In actuality, that extra room in my brain was devoted to finding other ways to communicate. It takes a lot of work to be silent! There are constantly questions of how to engage with what’s going on without speaking. In fact, my first reaction was to be somber and non-participatory. But I quickly realized that silent doesn't mean non-existent! I was still present, and I still had to engage.

How did I engage? For starters, I found myself laughing a lot more. I consider myself a fairly active listener, verbally affirming what people say as they share with me. Laughter is a great way to do that without words. It wasn’t a conscious choice on my part; I wasn’t wracking my brain to figure out how to affirm people. It just happened. I laughed more.

Similarly, I smiled more often. My somber approach to silence quickly got old, and I embraced my usual warmth and felt a need to share in some way that I was enjoying what was going on. Again, not with much thought or intention behind it, I smiled more.

I also touched more. In some ways this was just practical. Bereft of my ability to call someone’s name or refer to them using their name, I had to tap them to get their attention or grasp their arm to show of whom I “spoke.” But touch communicates much more than information, and my touches, like my smiles, became a way to connect with people without words. Instead of showing that I cared by asking, “How was your day?” I would pat a teammate on the back or gently hold their shoulder for a moment to connect with them.

By removing my voice, I remembered that there are many more ways to communicate. We often choose what’s easiest and forget that some of the more meaningful ways to “speak” actually don’t involve words.

Silence also taught me trust. With words we say so many little things: “God bless you” when some sneezes. “Thank you” when someone blesses you. “Yes” when someone inquires if you’re finished with your plate. “Okay” when someone reassures that they’ll do the dishes later.

Without the ability to say those simple things, I had to trust my teammates in simple ways: that they knew I gave them my blessing when they sneezed, that I was thankful their blessing, that I heard their inquiries and would make my objections known if I had any.

But when I had objections, I usually had to extend grace. Conflict resolution, something my teammates and I value and practice, becomes incredibly difficult without words. When I was annoyed or hurt or misunderstood, I just had to let it go. Sometimes I was tempted to record the transgressions to share at the end of my experiment, but I took those times as opportunities to extend grace and forgive.

Something else that happened: I got lonely. I didn't spend any less time with my team during the week. But after a while, even laughter, smiles, and touch could not sustain me. I needed interaction! On the last night of my fast I did some incredibly silly things with a few of my housemates that stayed up later. While they tried to read or write or text friends, I kept doing ridiculous things to get their attention because I had gotten so little of it over the past few days. It wasn’t as though they had been ignoring me. Without words I drew less attention, so I was making up for it that night. My silliness was an expression of an isolation that I often felt during the week.

At certain times others joined in solidarity with my silence, sometimes with intention and sometimes with no other option. A few moments with others that I deeply appreciated during my silence:

• Denise sat with my at the table while I finished up my meal after everyone else had finished eating.
• Sophie and I walked to church together on Wednesday night and worshiped together at the service.
• On our long commute home from our weekly citywide gathering on Thursday night, Walter sat in silence beside me on the trolley…without music. He always listens to music on the trolley, so his simple act showed solidarity with my silence.
• Matt, from the Kensington team, came to our house on our Sabbath to watch Star Wars with me. All we did was sit and watch the movie.

There were moments when it was much more difficult than others to keep my mouth shut. Those moments usually came when I knew something that no one else knew. It killed me to not share. It was so painful sometimes that I had to leave the room to keep quiet. Those moments were not unexpected. In fact, you may remember from my first blog about this that I hoped this experiment would expose my pride and humble me.

Those moments became opportunities to practice submission. On one level I submitted to silence, restraining myself from sharing knowledge. On another level I submitted to what was agreed upon or decided by my team. I had to abide by a decision that was made without my special knowledge, a painful yet useful practice.

New ways of communicating, trust, appreciation, humility: these things I learned. So what now? 

Well, silence was just the beginning of my Lenten journey this year. There are still several more weeks until Easter, and my team and I continue to withhold negative comments about others or ourselves. My silence was impactful indeed, but I can't continue in life without speaking. Speech is powerful, as James wrote in the Bible, "The tongue also is a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body. It corrupts the whole body, sets the whole course of one's life on fire, and is itself set on fire by hell" (3:6). I've heard of Christian communities who live forever in silence to keep from unleashing the potential evil of the tongue.

But I don't want to live in fear of my potential sin. I'm striving toward the perfection of my whole being, including my tongue. Silence was impactful as an experiment, but ultimately the goal is not silence but refined speech. I'll continue to say hurtful things, I'm sure, but little by little I hope my words sound like those of Christ.

Want to read Part I? Click here! 

Allan and Rasheen

Allan is on the left and Rasheen the right

Today's post is special because I got one of my friends to write with me. He lives down the street from me and sometimes we play together in the street or in my house. I invited him to write somehting to post here so you could meet him. We spend time together on Satureday afternoons, when my housemates and I make sure to spend time with our neighbors. His name is Allan Erwin, but I'll let him introduce himself:

"Hey my name is Allan Erwin. I like to play football. I play for a team also I play mosly on my block. I love to play with my friends there name is Preston Hogue and the other ones name Zamir Feilds also my brother play football with me. that is my life time storey."

These words are from Allan's brother Rasheen. I play with him often when I play with Allan. We always ahve fun together, and wehn we see each other on the street we wave and say hello. Today while they were at our house they helped my housemate Priscillia make muffins for another neighbor, too. Although Allan wrote his "life time storey," Rasheen decided to write a fictional story about him and me:

"Once upon a time there was a boy named rasheen he had no were to stay ntoher to eat or nothing to Drink one year later a Guy named preston came and said hello do you need a place to stay someting to eat or something to Drink He brang me to a shelter where i can have anything and rasheen and preston lived happyley ever after."

An Experiment with Silence (Part I)

This year I started off Lent in silence. I don’t just mean I took some time on the morning of Ash Wednesday to quietly pray by myself. I mean that for the first week of Lent I didn’t speak—at least not very much. For several reasons, I decided that experimenting with silence would be helpful. This post will explore some of those reasons.

I first considered practicing silence several months ago. You may remember early on in my Mission Year experience a post about solitude and new prayer practices I had enjoyed at a retreat one weekend. In the extended time of silence, I had the opportunity to explore prayer, scripture reading, meditation, and contemplation in ways that I longed to for a while. Excited by my experiences, I continued to read about solitude and silence and found Richard Foster’s suggestion to try it out for a day. I wanted to learn more about myself and God through silence, and I casually tossed around the idea of prolonged silence with my Mission Year team who supported the idea.

Time went on, and the experiment and excitement was filed away. Now I'm reading through Foster’s classic book on spiritual disciplines, Celebration of Discipline. When I reached the chapter on solitude, I decided to take up the idea of silence once more. The timing was perfect. The week after I read the chapter, Lent started. And silence aligned well with the fast that my church is practicing this Lenten season: no negative words about people (others or self). I figured silence would be a perfect way to launch into this fast.

Why?

I was excited about silence for several reasons:

The Lord has been convicting me about my speech for several years now. I have realized that sarcasm, playful jokes at the expense of others, and flippant responses like “Your mom!” may seem harmless but actually can be deeply damaging, especially over time. The way we talk to one another is so ingrained in us that I haven’t yet found a good approach to changing it. Silence seemed simple—and drastic—enough to make some dent.

I’ve also become more aware over the past few months of the ways that I use speech to manipulate and convince people. I enjoy ideas, words, and communication. That’s why I write so much. My strong grasp of how to use language can be a tool for my selfish desires. What is a good thing can be used toward a not good end. I've noticed I use language as a way to control conversation and steer it where I would have it go, especially in a conversation over some disagreement. Living in community, we have many discussions where we make group decisions, and in those times have I realized this trend.

I fear the way I use language. My skill in communication gives me power, and I don’t want to use it take advantage of others. So I silenced myself. As an act of submission, as a tool to expose my speech patterns, as a reminder to listen, I silenced myself.

Well, not totally. Mostly just within my house was I silent. I still had to talk at work and church, and when neighbors came over I would entertain them just the same. You may be able to imagine that it’s kind of difficult to explain to someone why you won’t speak to them…without using words. But whenever possible, and always when I was with my team, I was silent. I participated normally in our weekly schedule—morning devotions, team meetings, family dinner, grocery list-making, even curriculum discussions!—silently.

And I learned so much. But I’ll save those thoughts for another blog. Watch for part II, and if you want an email notification when it’s posted, use the form box in the top right corner of this page.

UPDATE: Read Part II by clicking here!

Thanks to Supporters!

Recently I reached an incredibly important milestone in my Mission Year journey: I met my fundraising goal of $12,000! There are many components to my experience this year, as I hope my blog reflects, and this is one that can be easy to forget about while I'm busy with all the others. So it's important to me that I take a moment to recognize this element of my journey that you are most directly involved with--financial support. 

Honestly, it has never been something that I have worried too much about. I have fundraised this way before, and I have seen God's faithfulness to provide in such situations. But I have never seen such a large outpouring of support so quickly. I met this goal much quicker than I expected, and each month people continue to make gifts after I've met my goal, fulfilling commitments to give all the way through the year. 

Fundraising has helped me to see even more that God desires to equip those he calls. And when he calls us to something longer-term (and therefore more expensive), he still equips us.

It is also encouraging each week when my fundraising totals go up a little bit. When I see it I know that I have people who trust me, who believe in me, and who love me. And more importantly, it excites me that God has given them a little bit of the same vision that he has given me: to to love God and love people. It's one thing for a friend to tell me that they are excited about what I'm doing in Mission Year. It's another for them to show me their excitement by supporting me financially. So thank you!

Meeting my fundraising goal does indeed demonstrate that God is faithful to those he calls. But I would be distorting reality if I didn't recognize that, in some ways, it also highlights my privilege. Several factors contribute to my ability to fundraise $12,000 this early in my year: how much time I've had (several months more than most), how much I could personally contribute, the timing of my graduation (and the cultural value of giving large financial gifts upon the completion of a degree), having a large network of people from several middle-class churches, attending a university that sent my friends straight into well-paying jobs...there are probably more, but you get the picture.

Imagine if someone from my neighborhood was called to Mission Year. S/he wouldn't have those privileges. Only one small church with few middle-class congregants. Fewer graduation gifts. No friends with well-paying jobs. 

...If they struggled to raise funds would that mean that God didn't want to equip them like he has equipped me? I don't think so. I think it reflects more the privilege that they don't have.

But I believe that God would still equip them, regardless of their privilege or networks or degrees. And I believe he would probably use people like me with those privileges and connections to help make it happen.

The truth is, there are people like that in Mission Year right now! Not all Mission Year team members have the same privileges at their disposal to reach their fundraising goal, but you can help to equip them to do what God has called them to do just as you did for me. I challenge you to keep giving to support not just me but also my team and everyone who is doing Mission Year. For a few ideas of who to give to, use these links:
Sophilia Hubbarb
Nicole Roberts
Walter-Levi Wawra
Bella Fout

In the meantime, there are some special folks to whom I would like to extend more thanks. The following people have made three or more donations to my Mission Year fund. These 11 supporters have given 61 times over the past year, some giving 12 times! Their contributions alone have accounted for 46% of the funds I've raised so far. Extra thanks go to:

John Carter
Sherry Cauthen
Valentin Lazar
Densie Kootin-Sanwu
Haji Nishikori
Karen Im
Peter Habib
Ashleigh and Jeffrey Watterworth
Chip and Rosemarie Green
Fred and Susan Worthy
Ote Beshears

And the top prizes for care packages and letters go to:

Marilyn and Dorrell Benefield

Carol and Marty Hogue

Lawrence Wilson

Thanks also to friends at First Baptist Church Ravenel for supplying my team with kids' books and art supplies!

Finally, I got so excited about reaching my goal that I made this nifty info graphic! 

Give to Everyone Who Begs from You

There are certain aspects of the Sunday worship service at my church that are the same each week, down to the exact phrasing that my pastor uses. For that reason I’ve described it as “liturgical” before, although it’s not a liturgy that we use, necessarily.

One of those phrases that we hear each week as the service ends is an instruction that goes something like this: “The Bible reminds us to be careful of how we entertain strangers, for some of us have entertained angels unaware.” My pastor is referencing Hebrews 13:2 each week, and that reminder has often resonated in my head as I’ve encountered people on the street asking for something—change, food, a SEPTA token. As I walk away with my money still in my wallet, I have thought a couple of times, “What if that was an angel?” Jesus himself said that when we feed the hungry, give a drink to the thirsty, or clothe the naked we are actually doing those things to him as well. So I’ve thought before, “I just denied Jesus a couple of dollars!”

I bring up these thoughts because of a discussion we had at our Wednesday night Bible study this week. In a conversation about living your faith out in works, the topic of giving money to panhandlers came up as such an opportunity to “prove” your faith. The discussion went all over the place, with many people having stories to tell about how they’ve handled the situation so familiar to all of us. Some had given out $20 bills and others advice such as “Get as job” (a response to which I have not the time to deliver here). The clearest answer I came out with was “Do as you feel led in the moment, considering the Bible’s strong bend toward generosity.” It was a reasonable answer that left room for “discernment,” a word that came up several times during the discussion.

But this morning I was reminded of a striking instruction from Jesus during his famous Sermon on the Mount as recorded by Luke: “Give to everyone who begs from you…” So simple. If someone begs from you, give them something. This was such a freeing command. Just give.

Of course there is the consideration of what to give, which Jesus does not address. And I agree with Jesus that it doesn’t need addressing. We are to give. To everyone who begs from us.

So as I learn about how to practice simplicity, I’ve decided that I’ll not be caught unprepared any more. I will have things on hand to give, mainly granola bars and SEPTA tokens since I’m usually asked for food or “money for the bus.” I’m commanded to give and I’m confronted with opportunities all the time, so I’ll not leave any more angels with empty hands, and I’ll certainly not leave Jesus with an empty belly. I’ll give.

My Kind of Folk (Guest Blogger)

by guest blogger Sophilia Hubbard of the Southwest Philly Mission Year team:

Why do I need to spend time with folk who are already saved? They already know what they know. I love spending time with people who are rebels. People who don't understand their potential and true value in Christ. I love hanging out with nobodies, people who have no sense of direction. Ordinary people, human beings, with character good or bad that society has written off. Yeah those are my kind of folk. 

Today I met a real cool cat. His name is Lawrence. Lawrence, like everyone else has a past. His past is one of a lot of hardship. An attribute that struck me in a momentary state of shock was the stories in which he shared with me. Lawrence has a passion for helping people that is rare in today's American culture. The stories he shared with me a total complete and utter stranger; if I was Lawrence I wouldn't trust anyone nor talk to anyone. If I went through half the situations he went through I would be muted.... permanently. Lawrence thank you for the encouragement. 

God thank you for all of the rich opportunities and encounters that I have daily to smile and listen to others. I pray for the nobodies of the world like me. I pray as well for the folk who are already saved who know what they know. Thank you Jesus for who you are! Thank you Jesus for constantly molding and influencing me to positively impact communities. 

Quote: 

"I am constantly blown away by the opportunities that God lays in front of us to learn how to love and to be loved."  -William Owen 

Learn more about Sophie here.

Contact Guest Blogger

blissfulsmh09@gmail.com

Mission Year Meals: Thursday

Thursday is the last day of our grocery week! Sophie and I made taco pie. Although normally we take food to our weekly Thursday night citywide gathering, this weekend was actually “Come and See,” a time when family and friends were invited to visit our home and taste the Mission Year life. But this week we had Thursday night to welcome our guests arriving into town. The taco pie recipe is one shared with me by my sister, a source of many of my recipes. Here it is:

Taco Pie

1 lb. ground beef

1 ½ c. chopped onion

1 pkg taco seasoning

4 oz can chopped green chiles, drained

½ c. Bisquick mix

½ c. shredded sharp cheddar cheese

Brown the beef and onions together; drain. Stir in taco seasoning; place in sprayed 9” pie pan and top with chilies. Blend Bisquick, milk, and egg together and pour over beef slowly. Bake 25 min at 400, or until done. Sprinkle with cheese and continue baking until cheese is melted.

We are also serving it with salad and sour cream on the side. Those ingredients:

1 head of lettuce

A few tomatoes

Cucumber

Carrot shavings

Sour cream

We usually doctor meals a little bit to our liking. In this meal, we used more than one pound of beef (to feed more mouths) and increased the amount of bread topping and cheese. Although you can’t tell from this week’s menu, we don’t usually eat much cheese, so when we do eat cheese we indulge ourselves. So instead of just sprinkling cheese on top, I also sprinkled a layer between the beef and bisquick topping.

Ground beef is actually one of our staple meat ingredients. We usually buy the 5 lb. tube and use it for several meals. We don’t usually buy it for just one meal as we did this week, but it was on sale, so we snatched it up in anticipation of meals next week. We don’t always have room in the budget to plan ahead, but when we do, we take advantage of it!

COST:

Ground Beef $9.95 (An investment for next week too!)

Jalapenos (instead of chilles) $0.14

Baking Mix (off-brand bisquick) $2.49

Block of Sharp Cheddar Cheese $1.99

Sour Cream $1.49

Other Ingredients on hand: onion, taco seasoning, and veggies from the general/lunch/breakfast budget

TOTAL: $10.00

So there you have it! Six meals, all under $10.00! It can be done, and it is done every week in my house. 

Mission Year Meals: Wednesday

Denise cooked on Wednesday! It was a yummy black bean dish. Denise likes to cook with black beans. She also makes a tasty black bean burger that we have had a couple of times due to popular demand. Here's the recipe:

Ingredients: (Serving size 6-8)

• 1 lb. ground extra lean turkey 
• 1/2 chopped onion
• 1 jalapeno pepper, seeds and ribs removed, diced
• 1 red pepper, chopped
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1/2 tsp ground cumin
• 1/4 tsp ground red pepper flakes
• 5 garlic cloves, minced
• 2/3 cup low-sodium chicken broth
• 3 (15 oz) cans black beans, rinsed and drained
• 1-2 chopped seeded tomatoes
• 1 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese

Instructions:

1. Preheat oven to 425F.
2. Heat a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add ground turkey and a handful of the onions to the pan, sauteing until meat is browned. Remove turkey and set aside.
3. Coat pan with cooking spray. Add onion, pepper, and jalapeno, sauteing for 4 minutes and stirring occasionally. Add salt, cumin, red pepper, and garlic. Saute for 1 minute, stirring constantly.
4. Stir in broth and black beans. Bring mixture to a boil and cook for 5 minutes. Mash beans to desired consistency.
5. Spoon mixture into an 9x13 (or to another extra pan if you do not want it thick) baking dish coated with cooking spray. Top with turkey, bacon, tomato, and cheese. Bake at 425F for 30 minutes or until lightly browned. Top with green onions and let cool for at least 10 minutes (otherwise it will be too runny).
6. Serve with sour cream, tortilla chips, on tacos, on a salad, or just eat it plain!

Cost Breakdown:

Ground Turkey (a luxury item that we get occasionally) $3.59

1 Jalapeno $0.28

1 Red Pepper $1.00

3 cans Black Beans $1.77

Roma Tomatoes $2.23 (but some of these were used for salad and sandwiches)

Mozzarella Cheese block (instead of Monterrey Jack) $1.99

Ingredients we had on hand: Onion, fresh garlic, spices, chicken broth

COST: $10.00

Sometimes it's nice to have a vegetarian meal (or at least the option for one), so Denise made one pan with ground turkey and one small pan without it. She served it with a fresh salad. Since we all keep salads as an option for our meals, that's a cost that comes out of our general/breakfast/lunch budget of about $50.00.