IVP - Strangely Dim

Drinking from the Social Justice Fire Hose

By Christa Countryman

(This entry is adapted from a recent post to my church's blog.
Read the original here: http://rezfamilystories.wordpress.com/.)

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If you're like me, you are sometimes overwhelmed by the sheer number of tasks you must accomplish and responsibilities you dare not ignore. Between work, friends, family, hobbies, grocery shopping and budgeting, there seems to be little time (or energy) left to worry about things like global hunger, evil, modern-day slavery, justice or such like. These are big concepts, big issues. How in the world do people find the time, with all this other stuff in their lives, to worry about "causes"?

With everything going on around us, it's easy to be passive--maybe because we're busy, or because we know our church's tithes and other donations already support missions or social justice ministries, or because we feel helpless or hopeless, like we have nothing valuable or significant to contribute to the issues and causes that surround us. Let's face it: social justice issues are overwhelming. We're inundated with information about how much people are suffering, locally and globally. We're challenged to buy wisely--for our own household budgets, out of concern for the environment, for the sake of wise use of resources, sustainable agriculture, encouraging fair trade, and other related concerns.

Coupling these issues with legal terminology like fair and just can make it seem that, if we're not concerned with these very grave issues, or if we don't apply our personal resources to their alleviation, we are unfair, or unjust. Or guilty. And there's just too much! Why bother?

If you feel like this--like issues of global, social and biblical justice hit you like a drink from a fire hose--please allow me to encourage you: You are not alone. If you've previously ignored or felt disconnected from issues like these, let me challenge you: You can become involved very simply and easily, and efforts that you may feel are insignificant are in fact very important--like the accumulation of snowflakes in winter. Here are three ways you can begin.

Prayer. Perhaps the first and most important way you can become involved or more aware of justice issues is through prayer. One place you could start is to begin praying about the things that you notice day-to-day that trouble you, but which you may previously have just brushed off. I have found that my daily commute often allows time for me to reflect and pray about things that might not be present in my mind at other times. This could be as easy as praying for people begging along your commute route, reflecting on a news article or news issue from the morning or previous evening, or praying for someone you know who is currently serving in ministry or other justice work.

Research. This one may seem imposing and time-consuming. Who has hours to spend in the library? But it doesn't have to be complicated. Research, as with any journey, begins with but a single, small effort. Pick up literature from your church that describes its ministries; visit a website for a particular organization like Emmaus Ministries, International Justice Mission, World Relief, or World Vision. Read a book like Julie Clawson's Everyday Justice or Mae Elise Cannon's Social Justice Handbook. Have coffee with a friend involved in justice work or with someone who is involved in ministry at your church or in the community, and ask them why they're involved, what kind of work they do, why they're passionate about it, and even how you might help out sometime. Helping with children's ministries might lead you to learn more about orphan ministries in Africa or China. You just never know!

Activism and volunteer work. Take a deep breath, say a prayer and dive in! If you've been interested in a particular ministry, cause or organization, but just haven't taken that decisive step to become involved, do it now. If you don't think your schedule or budget will make deep involvement possible, start small and slow, and see what happens. Begin with an email or a phone conversation. Your skills, interests, talents, time and prayers can find a practical application and outlet, but only if you take the step to find out how.

The fact is, fire hoses are not drinking fountains. They're not meant to be drunk from, but pointed outward, toward places where they can do the most good. If the social justice fire hose has left you bewildered and dripping wet, take a step back, grab hold if it, and point it in the direction of injustice.

 

The Haiti We Need to Know

by Lisa Rieck

Can too much be said about Haiti? She's like the quiet girl in school who nobody paid much attention to unless it served their own purposes, until suddenly, by some turn-of-events--say she found out she's dying of cancer--she's thrust into the limelight. People start making up for lost time, making up for all those years they went to school with her but never got to know her, never asked how she was, always forgot to invite her to their parties. But now, knowing her struggle, they can't turn away; they hold fundraisers and send flowers and balloons and make cards. Her name is all over town. And even if she tries to go back to being anonymous--because, perhaps, the attention makes her too uncomfortable after all those years in the background, or because she doesn't want all the pity--she can't. Her need and name are known.

We hope Haiti doesn't go back to being anonymous in three months or eight months or two years. Because the Haitians need our help--and we need their perspective.

Dave's been keeping us posted about Likewise author Kent Annan and his Haitian friends and about ways we can help Haiti through his organization, Haiti Partners. We can pray. We can give. Some of us can go, at some point. And we can learn--that we might understand more clearly and pray more specifically.

I've never been to Haiti, and I'm sad to say I don't know any Haitians, but I do feel a small connection with the country because of two books. The first is Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder. In it, Kidder chronicles the life and work of Dr. Paul Farmer, who worked tirelessly to fight poverty, tuberculosis and AIDS in several Majority World countries, and particularly in Haiti. The book offers fascinating insights into Haiti's history, politics and structure. It also left me wondering how Dr. Farmer didn't kill himself in the process of his work. (It seems that trying to wipe out infectious diseases is no easy job. Go figure.)

Then, as part of my work (just one of many perks), last fall I had the chance to read Kent's Following Jesus Through the Eye of the Needle. I've been thinking about it ever since, even before the earthquake struck Haiti. Kent's book, in some ways, did for me what the 2004 Oscar-winning movie Crash did: it offers a clear-eyed look at a complex issue from a position of humility, one that admits we don't know all the answers.

Following Jesus is the story of seven months Kent and his wife, Shelly, spent living in Haiti. Kent's powerful, beautifully written narrative offers a firsthand account of individuals, the effects of Haiti's history on its present, the pace of life there, the customs. He learns the language. He forms relationships. He wonders why God led him there, and what, exactly, doing God's work in Haiti looks like. He has nightmares about Shelly being harmed and blames himself for taking her there. He is loved by Haitians. He is made fun of by Haitians. He misunderstands, and is misunderstood. Through it all, we get a rich, full-bodied picture of Haiti and God's work there as well as an honest look at the beauty, risk and hardship often involved in following Jesus and being obedient to his call on our lives. And, though Following Jesus Through the Eye of the Needle is not a how-to book, Kent and Shelly do demonstrate for us the necessary stance for any missions venture: humility, openness, honesty, authenticity.

Haiti's past and, now again, their present, is full of tragedy. They have much to learn. And so do we--about why the poor keep getting poorer. About the role our own country has played in their tragic history. About hope and resiliency and courage that seem to characterize Haitians as a whole.

Haiti Partners focuses a lot on education and on helping Haitians help each other. It's time we got some education too, so that the images on the television screen are not just faces to us, but people with names and families and histories--a people among whom God is at work. I know a little about Haiti so far, but I have much more to learn. We all can learn. While you watch, while you pray, while you give, do some reading. Meet Kent's friends through his stories. Pray specifically for them. And keep checking the Haiti Partners website for updates--today, tomorrow, next year. I suspect they'll still need our help then. And I suspect we'll still have more to learn from them.

 

A Prayer for Us as We Pray for Haiti

Taken from Kent Annan's Following Jesus Through the Eye of the Needle:

In you, Christ, I find my light, though it's awfully dark.

I pray for my sisters and brothers who are hurting unbearably tonight--that you would suffer with them, that you would stop their suffering, though I know you won't stop it all or even very much right now. It's more faith than I can muster, yet there's something in me that trusts you--or wants to so desperately that it resembles trust--despite it all, in the midst of it all, because of it all. I call out for you in rage and desperation and hope and doubt and tender love.

Call back to me, I ask. Call us out of our graves, like Lazarus. Weep a tear for us all again, and let us weep with you. Let's all weep together for this beauty and this mess. Then come, Lord Jesus, come and save us somehow, anyhow. And meanwhile show us how to save each other . . .

Kent's birthday is Sunday. He'll likely spend it in Haiti doing relief work. To support the ongoing efforts in Haiti, visit haitipartners.org and click on "Donate."

Help for Haiti

Haiti has been on our minds a lot lately here at Strangely Dim. A recent release in the Likewise line of books, Following Jesus Through the Eye of the Needle, introduces the reader to Kent Annan's first perplexing years living and working on education issues in Haiti before major political upheaval forced him and his wife to relocate to Miami. Kent now lives in Miami, jetting back and forth regularly to Port-au-Prince to continue the work of his organization, Haiti Partners. To celebrate the launch of his book, we launched a contest, with the prize being a five-day trip to Haiti, guided by Kent, to see up close the work God is doing among the people there. So yeah, Haiti has been on our minds a lot.

So when we heard about the earthquake that toppled the presidential palace, a hospital and countless other buildings in Port-au-Prince yesterday, we were perhaps more concerned than we, safely far removed from such an exotic place, might otherwise have been. We've since heard from Kent that he's in Miami this week and is thus OK, but his codirector at Haiti Partners was in the midst of the earthquake, though it sounds as though he and his family are OK. We have yet to hear about Enel and Edvard, two new friends of ours who joined Kent on his trip to the Urbana Student Missions Conference just before the new year. So while we're praying generally for the people affected by this earthquake, we find our prayers focused particularly on the people we know there, which I suppose is the nature of praying.

What will best help the people of Haiti in the aftermath of this quake has yet to be determined, although there's some effort to get water, clothes and trained emergency responders to the roughly three million people directly affected. But the recovery will take a long time. Toward that end, Kent has set up an emergency fund through Haiti Partners. You can donate to the fund by going to haitipartners.org and clicking on "Donate Now."

Isaiah 'Twas Foretold It

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from your friends at Strangely Dim!

O Savior, Child of Mary, who felt our human woe,
O Savior, King of glory, who dost our weakness know;
Bring us at length we pray, to the bright courts of Heaven,
And to the endless day!
--"Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming"

The Gospel in Glee

I'll admit it. I'm a fan of the popular show Glee, a new FOX offering all about a high school glee club. For all its moral ambiguity (and there is quite a bit--see this great little article in Time), there is something in this show that resonates deeply with me. Is it the fact that I myself was a choir geek? Probably. Is it the fact that I often associated with the misfit crowd? Likely. Yet it still doesn't account for why I find myself so moved during the musical numbers. Or during great choral music in general. What is it about music performed by groups that strikes such a chord? (Sorry, I couldn't resist.)

I have to tell all of you nonsingers out there that singing in a skilled choir, no matter how geeky it may appear, is one of the greatest joys in this life. I'm not kidding. There's not much that compares. Singing great music is like seeing the back of God after he has just passed by. You know you've been close to glory, and you wish it wasn't so fleeting.

I remember singing in Mendelssohn's oratorio Elijah in college under the direction of the renowned conductor John Nelson. We practiced for hours at a time three days a week for months. It was challenging. We worked on tone and balance, learning to listen to each other and match our voices to the group's voice. We worked on diction, making sure that text like "slumbers not nor sleeps" didn't sound like "slumber snot nor sleeps." We learned how to breathe and cut off together. We were 300+ individuals, but we became something more: an organism of sorts, a giant voice that created a fully-orbed sound that none of us could produce on our own. We moved and breathed and sang as one. And on the night of the first performance, the results were electrifying.

Imagine us watching the auditorium fill with 2000+ audience members, many of whom had never heard oratorio in their lives. Would they like this kind of music? Would they understand it? Would they leave at intermission?

The overture started. The crowd was hushed. In one motion we stood to our feet and the first glorious chords began. As the first half came to a close, I had to stop singing because I was so overwhelmed by emotion. "Thanks be to God, he laveth the thirsty land," we sang. I felt the flood of God's presence washing over my thirsty soul.

We worked our way through the rousing Baal choruses and Elijah's calling down fire onto the altar of God. We followed the prophet to the end of his life, when he was taken up by God in a whirlwind. The excitement mounted until the final chord echoed out over the crowd and fell silent.

Immediately everyone was on their feet with thundering applause, waving, shouting and cheering. You would've thought we'd won the homecoming game. The thrill was palpable. The joy was ecstatic. It was heavenly.

I think that's a big part of why people like Glee--not because everyone loves show choir music or can sing, but because the story of a group of flawed people coming together and being transformed into one voice that creates something beautiful is a foretaste of heaven. It speaks to the longing we all have to be unified in God and with God, to contribute to something extraordinarily beautiful and bigger than ourselves, to be caught up in the redemption and consummation of all things.

This Advent I again had the pleasure of singing with a wonderful choir. And I was reminded of who it is we await: the master conductor who comes to bring all of his creation into harmony. We will one day have the supreme pleasure of coming together in him to experience ultimate, never-ending glee.

Even so, come quickly Lord Jesus.

Authors in Their Native Habitat

This nugget of strange dimness brought to you by David A. Zimmerman.

If you are related to Mike Sares, pastor of Scum of the Earth Church in Denver and author of the forthcoming Likewise Book Pure Scum, I have three words for you: Watch your back. Mike may give someone the coat off of it.

That's what happened to me during my visit a couple of weeks ago. Because I'm a reasonably ignorant traveler, I packed a windbreaker to help me stave off the winter weather. Because Mike knows Denver well, he quickly surmised that a windbreaker wouldn't be enough. So he dipped into his son's closet (his son, incidentally, is in Brazil, blissfully unaware) and gave me--not loaned me; gave me--what his assistant later told me was "probably a $200 coat."

It's awesome. I'd be wearing it right now if my coworkers would promise not to look at me funny.

I would have counted it a great visit even without the free coat. I've been eager to get a look at Scum of the Earth since I first heard of the church, and now that they've moved into their new, permanent location, the timing seemed perfect. A wildly creative church with a longstanding relationship with the Denver homeless community, Scum has always struck me as both innovative and orthodox, a combination that many churches struggle to master--as much as anything, because attempts at both innovation and orthodoxy are so often met with contempt from outsiders.

Case in point. The new building Scum finds itself in, formerly a church-turned-residence for a mosaic artist, is smack-dab in the middle of a Denver neighborhood gradually being transformed from cosmopolitan crevice to arts district. As such, the church's creative streak is for the most part (one holdout notwithstanding) welcomed by its new neighbors, but the homeless community the church attracts is not. It can be tough to be orthodox sometimes.

Similarly, the name of the church (taken from a passage in 1 Corinthians 4) draws as much ire from church purists on the right and left as it does praise from the "left-out and right-brained" it seeks to serve, and curiosity from ambivalent onlookers. Like I said, it's not easy being orthodox.  

And yet the people from across the spectrum of Christian orthodoxy who get it, get it. I attended a year-end banquet for the church, a sort of Christmas celebration of all the good news Scum has experienced in 2009. Also in attendance were students, alumni and faculty from Denver Seminary, pastors and congregants from a number of other Denver churches, and longtime friends and supporters of various members of Scum's staff team, who count on such supporters for their salaries. We enjoyed a dinner of homemade Greek food and the company of this eclectic mix of people, set against a backdrop of good music and a slideshow of the church's activity over the past year--which included acquisition of the new building, which includes what friend of Likewise Margaret Feinberg has called "the coolest bathrooms in Christendom," or words to that effect.

Seriously, you should see the bathrooms at this church. Same goes for the kitchen, the "nursery" and the cross. It's only fitting that a church made up of so many artists and craftspeople would house itself in the former home of an artist who considered every wall, ceiling, floor and counter as creative space.

If you're intrigued by the prospect of visiting such a church, I have two words for you: sensory overload. Still, I'd recommend a visit to anyone and everyone. Mike tells the story of the church in Pure Scum, but you won't have the whole story till you've walked through the foyer and stood before the cross--not to mention used the bathroom.

Snow, Snow, Snow

By Lisa Rieck

When I started typing the title of this post, I accidentally typed "Snot" first, which I suppose is appropriate, seeing as how it's often a by-product of snow. As is what I really want to talk about: cleaning off your car in the winter. It's one of my least favorite parts of winter. I've had to scrape the frost off a few times already this winter, but today was the first real snow: the first snow that covered the ground, and the first day I've had to brush snow off of my car. Thankfully for all us poor (in spirit and in money) car-brushers, it was a light snow (never mind all those kiddos out there hoping for some good packing snow), and brushed off easily. But I still didn't like doing it.

I'm realizing, though (this is what too much time in the cold brushing off your car will do), that cleaning off my car is a good metaphor for Advent. (Ha! Take that, Floridians. Your lack of snow is stunting your spirituality.) The metaphor is particularly apt for this second week of Advent, which, as Kimberlee Conway Ireton instructs us in The Circle of Seasons, is the week we're to focus on preparing ourselves for the Savior. She writes: "We as Christians are to be paying attention to God's presence in the world and preparing for Christ's return. . . . That is why we need Advent--it reminds us to pay attention, to be on guard, to keep watch that we might be ready for Christ when he comes again."

The concept of preparing for Christ's second coming has always felt a little vague to me. What does that look like, specifically, aside from the "normal" parts of following Christ? How, in other words, do I learn to be particularly attentive? What types of things should I pay attention to?

Turns out, I think preparing is a lot like scraping the snow and ice off of my car. It's getting rid of all that clouds my vision of myself and the world--all the distractions that keep me from thinking about the true state of my heart, all the temptations that keep me from following hard after Christ. And, to be honest, this spiritual clearing away is about as fun as standing out in the cold brushing snow off of your car. It's messy, and hard. But I'm convinced the only way we can truly grow is by being willing to let God search our heart and tell us what's there.

That's how I'm "celebrating" this week of Advent. I'm asking God to search my heart, to clear away all the pretty snow and show me the hard, cold truth underneath. It's humbling for sure, but I believe it will give me a clearer picture of myself, of God's grace and of myself in light of his grace.

Here's another way I'm celebrating Advent: by fasting from listening to music in my car while I'm driving. I'm trying to use that time to ponder Christ's coming (his first and second coming), and to reorient my thoughts according to Christ's ways, not the world's. Not listening to music does not, of course, mean I'm thinking about Christ. My thoughts still roam all over. I have to deliberately choose to pull my thoughts from the distractions and temptations--to scrape away the frost, if you will--to get to what's underneath my worry, my need to be "productive" (yes, even while driving), my self-absorption. It too is humbling and hard; I'm sad how difficult it is for me to focus my thoughts on Christ during a twenty-five-minute drive. But this effort, this trying, is one more way I can prepare myself for Christ's coming, one more way I can make myself more available for his work of spreading his kingdom on earth.

So, all you cold-weather friends who might be feeling a little unprepared for the coming of winter, let the scraping of frost remind you to prepare for Christ's coming. Brush the snow from your windows and eyes. Wave your ice scrapers in the air. Try not to complain too much. (And don't lick any metal poles, even if someone dares you to. You can never be warned too many times.)

Happy Birthday, Birthday Boy

Reposted by David A. Zimmerman

Today is the birthday of longtime friend and icon of Likewise Books, Don Everts (his friends call him Donaldo). Two years ago we were in the throes of a fit of creativity here at Strangely Dim, and Don's birthday (which is today--occasioned the following, one of my all-time favorite posts. I re-present it here for your amusement. Celebrate Don's birthday by buying one or several of his books--they make great stocking stuffers. (Some of them actually do fit in socks; some of them are even about feet!)

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Today is the first of the month, which means that once again we're participating in our friendly <a href="Rabbit'>http://strangelydim.ivpress.com/rabbit/">Rabbit competition.</a> Today also, however, falls within our Fortnight of Odes, so that ups the ante a bit. And to top it off, today is the birthday of <a href="Don'>http://www.ivpress.com/cgi-ivpress/author.pl/author_id=1029">Don Everts,</a> author of four-soon-to-be-nine books. So I hope you'll forgive my infelicities as I try to marry these three phenomena together in today's post.

Ode to a Rabbit Named Don Everts

He hops in beauty as the knight
Hops to duty and sits down to write
All the ideas living in his head
This knight writes nightly; he'll sleep when he's dead.

He's heard everything in his short little life--
From "I did . . ." from his students to "I do" from his wife.
His feet may be dirty, but they're covered in luck--
For example, book contracts seem to fall off the truck

Into his laptop, where he mines all his senses
For a way to convey best our cosmic offenses.
And just when you think he's said all that needs saying,
He twitches his nose and continues conveying.

So here's to Don Everts, our favorite bunny;
He's cute, warm and friendly, decidedly funny.
A preacher, a writer, who's highly regarded;
Here's hoping he's still only just getting started.

Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday dear Don . . .
Happy birthday to you!

We Are Waiting for Christmas, Redux

By David A. Zimmerman

This time every year I start feeling quite thankful, thank you very much, for the authors I have the opportunity to work with. (You'll find the most recent ones listed here.) It's a pretty trippy life you're living when random people ask you if you think someone you've started to call a friend is a heretic, or when people casually mention how their life has been changed by reading a book written by an author you just had breakfast with. So as usual, this year I'm thankful for all sorts of things, but among them are the friends I've made while bringing their books to print.

One such friend is Kimberlee Conway Ireton, who recently invited me to wax geeky on her blog about one of my favorite books, and whose own book has been really instructive for me over the past couple of years in how I might tether my personal faith to the way the church navigates through each calendar year. For Christians, the new year starts this weekend with the first week of Advent. This time last year I posted the following excerpt from Kimberlee's book The Circle of Seasons; I post it again here for your edifitainment.

 

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The coming of Christ into our midst requires that we rethink our desires and that we learn to hold them lightly, allowing the desire of God to supplant--or increase--our own desires.

If we were to observe Advent as the season of thoughtful reflection and repentance that it has traditionally been, we would have an opportunity to do just that: to rethink our priorities, to realign our lives with God's desires for us, to seek forgiveness and to start anew--the first Sunday of Advent, after all, marks the beginning of the church year. What better time to reflect, repent, receive forgiveness and so refresh our weary souls?

To spend the weeks before Christmas in this way would be radically countercultural, to be sure, but it would also serve to remind us that we are waiting for Christmas--and that the celebration of Christmas is worth waiting for.

The book goes on to offer really lovely experiential insights into the various seasons of the Christian calendar, from Christmas to Easter to Ordinary time, and all points in between. But for now it's a nice reminder at the end of a calendar year that the year of Emmanuel--God with us--is only just beginning.