My First JP Retreat

 

I don't like the way I'm feeling right now. Funky, out of sorts, at loose ends. Until now, there have been few to none of these moments in the three weeks that I've been at Jubilee. This brief bout with ennui doesn't approach Kathleen Norris's acedia or the “dark agony” described by Henri Nouwen in a piece I read this morning about living in community.

The circumstances:  This Saturday morning (Sept. 5) has been my monthly half day of retreat, and I've slept it away. I am in the retreat shack, encircled by the verdant woods, in splendid isolation, in the silence of nature. My plan was to write reflectively—emails to family, friends, church; possible blog entries; whatever emerged.

After opening the shutters, I settled on the porch and prayed—and slept. I read the provided chapter excerpted from The Intentional Christian Community Handbook about A Spiritual Life for (and in Spite of) Community—and slept and dreamt. I ate a cheddar biscuit left over from last night's supper and sat back down in the chair on the porch and dozed some more. Then, I came inside and hooked up my computer and laid down on the bed for one last little nap--and slept for hours.

Unworthiness and guilt are flirting with me, though I am not much enticed because resting is obviously what I needed. And no wonder, with the hot, humid days of teaching and pulling weeds and picking in the garden and cooking and washing dishes and playing with the other volunteers and partners and on and on. Life is full and busy and nights are often restless, if not sleepless. Oh, and I'm 66 years old; there's that.

Even in this gracious, delightful community of like-minded believers, feeling odd and out of place is flirting with me, too—and I am enticed. I don't know what's happening back there and how I can fit in. There was a “Last Blast for Summer Almost Past” festival in Comer that I had thought I might get in on this afternoon, but I've missed that.  Other vols and I have talked of carrying a picnic to a nearby park later today. Maybe we will.

But I am here and where are they? Alone in a crowd is how I'm feeling. Odd man out. And yet I am confident that all I need to do when I'm done here is pack up my stuff and walk back up to K(oinoia)-House and this melancholy will vanish. Waking up from daytime slumber can be disorienting, and that's part of what's going on. Already, I've shaken the physical stupor and am feeling refreshed.

Thank you, God, for most this amazing day and whatever it may bring next. Now, I will trudge through the woods back to community, and see what's cookin'.

PLEASE NOTE: On the occasion of moving to Jubilee Partners as a volunteer in August 2014, I am taking up my blog again, after nearly two years of it lying fallow.

      All things new

      Paw paw is a fruit.

Baw Baw is a person.

Eritrea is a country.

Comer is a town.

Karen (Kah ren') is a group of people.

All this is new to me since coming to Jubilee Partners on August 16. These are facts I have learned, experiences that I am having. Paw paws grow here and are mango-like, though smaller and less juicy with multiple pits. Baw Baw is my student learning English as her third language, and we are fast friends, and she teaches me, too. Eritrea is in the Horn of Africa and our newest family is Kunama, a minority group marginalized there due, in part, to scarce resources. Comer, in outlying Athens, Georgia, is a mile away and seems a welcoming place with its village green, a couple gas stations, Food Lane grocery, Family Dollar, Chef Burger and Maggie's cafe. Karen people, as I get to know them, tell the story of fleeing persecution in Burma.

My mind expands with new information, for example that the U.S. accepts more refugees than all other countries combined, around 70,000 in 2013.  

My soul stretches with new relationships and heartfelt worship.

My body tries to keep up with it all, actually doing quite well, relishing even pulling invasive weeds in the heat and humidity and the heavy duty cleaning to get cabins ready for incoming families. Teaching Baw Baw is considered a work assignment but is pure joy. Preparing meals and washing dishes is fun, shoulder to shoulder with others.

Thank you, God, for this place and these people, who glorify you and witness to all things being made new through the power of your love. Amen!

Letting go

    Wow, letting go can be hard, don’t you think? The situation in my life on a daily basis right now is seen in this photo of my baby grandson at nap time. We both have a problem letting go. He wants to hang on to me—he actually clutches my shirt in his tiny fingers as he’s falling asleep. And I love hanging on to him, too.  Holding an armful of sleeping baby is a fine, fine feeling.  My maternal instinct and experience tell me, though, that it would be best for him to fall asleep in his crib, independent of me. Our typical routine is that I put him in his crib when it’s time to sleep, and he screams bloody murder until I pick him up. These actions may be repeated twice or thrice in a single naptime until we have a successful transfer from Grammy to mattress.  I remember this being much easier with my babies, for some reason.

      My family is also having to face the ultimate letting go of one of our own, my sister, who passed over to the other side in October, much sooner than we think she should have. Pancreatic cancer. Her obituary accurately stated that she “reluctantly died;” letting go was hard for her, too, which makes her grace and humor through the eight months of her illness all the more amazing and precious. Rest in the peace, love, and joy of God, Precious. That was her nickname among us sisters—Precious.

      One more letting go that I am doing is letting go of this blog—and of hustling for speaking engagements—and of actively marketing my Sunday by Sunday series. Letting go of these tasks, which I genuinely enjoy, is more of a putting them down for a time to pick up something else:  the writing of my next novel. Now, and for 2013, at least, I will be single-minded of purpose, focused in my writing enterprises on this next book.  Jon Hassler, a fine writer of small town church fiction with whom I had a brief correspondence before his death, said that when he was writing a book he watched no TV, read no newspapers, and had little social life. I thought that seemed extreme on first hearing but have come to accept the wisdom and the reality of it, varying in degrees for each author, I suppose. After several months of little progress with my current project, I know that I've been trying to hang on to too much. “What freedom and relief eventually come as we let go, knowing that God will never let go…” (Cathie Powell, The Anchorage, Greenville SC)

      Meanwhile, I plan to post occasional updates on the book in progress at www.sundaybysunday.com Please stop by!

Koinonia Farm and Clarence Jordan celebration

       Koinonia Partners, an intentional Christian community, was established as Koinonia Farm between Americus and Plains GA 70 years ago. Clarence and Florence Jordan (pronounced Jerdan, for some reason) and Martin and Mabel England were the faithful founders. They felt God calling them to live out the love, peace and justice Jesus preached and lived. I was privileged to join the celebration of both the past and ongoing ministry of this remarkable and, as it turned out, dangerous and courageous venture.

        Greg Wittkamper spoke at a breakout session I attended, telling his story of being a Koinonia kid in the 1960s when the high school in Americus was forced to integrate. These many years later, he had to pause to regain his composure recalling the daily persecution which he and others from the community were subjected, from constant taunting of “Greg Wittnigger” from “Koinonigger” and paperclips being shot into his back to physical assault. Our hearts were wrenched but then warmed by the bigger story of classmates who had acted so hatefully asking forgiveness decades later. An intentional reconciliation took place at the 41^st class reunion.

        Habitat for Humanity and The FullerCenter for Housing grew out of the community at Koinonia Farm, and in a session with Don Mosley I was startled and delighted to learn about the North Korea Initiative--The Fuller Center is building houses in North Korea! For six years, Mosley has been traveling there and helping this happen. Love, peace, justice, radically lived out.

        Jimmy Carter was on hand to give tribute to Clarence Jordan. Their relationship went back at least to a 1952 boycott of Koinonia Farm when businesses in the county refused to buy or sell to Koinonia because the community was bi-racial. Characteristically, Carter was supportive of their cause. Today's huge mail order business of pecans and peanuts started up in response to that long ago boycott with the motto, “Let's ship the nuts out of Georgia!” Carter is now 88 years old, and he and Rosalynn are heading to Haiti soon to help build 100 homes. This is the 29^th annual Habitat for Humanity build led by the Carters. (I can't leave out a major disappointment. I had made a very special reservation for a dinner with Rosalynn and Jimmy and missed it because I was mixed up on the time. Big, sad sigh.)

     I find a deep and abiding pleasure in being with people who see faith the way Clarence Jordan described faith: “a life lived in scorn of the consequences.” I yearn to live that way (at least sometimes) and to celebrate Jesus' resurrection that way, and here's what Jordan said about that resurrection: “The proof that God raised Jesus from the dead is not the empty tomb, but the full hearts of his transformed disciples...not a vacant grave, but a spirit-filled fellowship. Not a rolled-away stone, but a carried-away church...” Yes, Lord, please. Amen.

Chicago's teacher strike and going to school with my grandchildren

Thank heaven schools are open again in Chicago after seven missed days. The closure was a bad thing, all sides are agreed on that. Let us hope, though, that the negotiations and communication of those seven days will serve a high purpose for schools everywhere, making the interruption worthwhile.

In the Chicago teacher strike, my sympathy was with the teachers—naturally, I suppose, since I have spent 14 years of my life teaching special education in the public school system. To be clear, I believe strongly in accountability and professional development and that there needs to be a good way to address incompetence. As an education professional, I eagerly anticipated being observed and evaluated as an opportunity to teach my students more effectively. We teachers watched test scores—and all other measures of student learning—closely, as in “evaluate, adjust.” But my succinct statement in response to what I see as an over-emphasis on 1) achievement as measured by test scores and 2) teacher responsibility for student performance is this: There is too much blaming the teacher when, in fact, they serve as a strong bastion against the complicated, ever-evolving, negative socio-economic forces in our society.

I offer no great insights or solutions; the situation is far beyond my ability to diagnose and prescribe. Which is why I have chosen other options than teaching in recent years. I felt like the greatest majority of us were working as hard as we could, doing our best to practice best practices, completing the paperwork efficiently and accurately, and nurturing and encouraging each student to reach her/his potential. And still, results did not always hit the high mark. The whole of it became too much for me, so, at this point, close to retirement, I've left it to the younger set, with admiration and best wishes.

A new perspective on schools is coming to me now, that of a grandparent. Last week, I was an honored guest at school breakfast with one grandson and lunch with another. Two aspects of contemporary school life struck me. The first was the security system, Lobby Guard, an automated machine into which a visitor like me inserts my driver's license for clearance to enter the building. The need for such security sobers and saddens an oldster like me, and yet, the process was orderly, friendly, and reassuring.

The second aspect, most delightful, was the rainbow of children, utterly diverse in racial and ethnic background. 'Tis marvelous how the kids hardly marvel at the melting pot of their classrooms like my generation often does.This is simply life, not even a new normal for them, just normal period. 

The ugliness of not-so-long-ago segregation with its hatred and bigotry by some and suffering for all stand in stark contrast. How could that ever have been? And, yes, there are still grievous inequities in education which must be urgently addressed, and are being addressed, as in this happy story about a school in South Carolina's “corridor of shame.” As we celebrate this proper and life-changing event, however, let it be noted that having a decent school should not depend on a visit from a president.

"Whatever" shoes...

Our preacher got literal and playful with the Ephesians passage we considered in worship Sunday morning, chapter 6, verses 10-20, specifically verse 15: “As shoes for your feet put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace.” What kind of shoes? Whatever kind is needed, the writer of the letter said. 

Pastor Mary Anderson invited us to consider what shoes we need to wear to proclaim the gospel of peace. She suggested work boots, and that was my first thought, too. Workboots for renovating or building houses for lower income folks. (A hilarious image of Helen Mirren in the movie RED—Retired, Extremely Dangerous CIA agents—appeared in my mind. She's wearing an elegant white evening gown with combat boots and firing away with a submachine gun to foil wicked political assasination plots.) And now, I think of hip boots or galoshes worn for flood relief following relentless rains, hurricanes, or tsunamis as church folk and others have rescued people and animals in horrific situations from South Dakota to Indonesia.

“How about flip-flops?” Pastor half-joked. Sure. I have no doubt that flip-flop wearing believers render courageous acts of mercy everyday for the cause of peace in the name of Christ. I also remember a retreat with early morning worship on the beach, most of us wearing flip-flops, and the wondrous divine peace of the ocean waves and the sunrise grounding us in a fresh commitment to serve.

And how about dancing shoes? A motley crew of us are learning German-style polka moves to entertain at our upcoming Oktoberfest. This festival is developing into a major project at Incarnation, gathering significant funds for community ministries and affording great fun as we work shoulder to shoulder to proclaim the gospel of peace through this event. So maybe dancing shoes. I wonder if Jesus danced the Hora, laughing and whirling to the tune of Hava Nagila, celebrating God's love and grace and peace with sisters and brothers in the faith. I wonder if they ever kicked their sandals off so they could go faster and faster.

“How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who announces peace...” ~Isaiah 52:7a

What are we reading?

Here’s what I’ve read lately:

Fiction:  Toni Morrison’s Tar Baby, published in 1981, is set between the U.S. and a Caribbean island. While the book has that timeless quality a writer strives for, it is also a period piece, depicting and plumbing the evolution of race relations between Black and Caucasian in the early 1980s. I found the writing as well as the story provocative and imaginative. Strong, vivid images appearing in the characters’ psyches, called up by what is going on around them, add an intriguing touch. I will venture a criticism by saying that the ending seemed too light for the weight of the rest. The awarding of the Medal of Freedom to Morrison recently prompted me to read; now, I am eager to read her more recent works, A Mercy and Home. What a remarkable and inspiring woman, as you can see at the website of the Toni Morrisson Society.

Biography:  Charles and Emma about Charles Darwin and his intriguing, high-spirited wife. Using minute details from family writings, Deborah Heiligman has intertwined the story of Darwin’s well researched and formulated scientific findings with the strong, enduring love story of husband and wife. She portrays (to the point of over-repetition, perhaps) Emma’s concern that she would not be re-united with Charles in an after-life because of his doubts about the existence of God. Darwin did, in fact, put off the publication of his theories for decades because of his apprehensions of how negatively they would be received by the religious community; this surprised me.

    

I felt close to Darwin when I read this quotation: “[I am] hard at work dissecting a little animal about the size of a pin’s head {a barnacle}…and I could spend another month and daily see more beautiful structure.” Yes, my soul resonates, contemplating the amazing wonder of every atom.

I related to him as a parent, too. He was a doting, adoring father to ten children, three of whom died young, sending both Emma and Charles into deep grief, clinging to each other to cope.

A few more highlight quotations:

·        “By 1856 Charles was breeding his own pigeons…” Somehow this surprised me, too, his hands-on research.

·        “…when strangers wrote to him asking what he believed about God…He said that theologians should answer questions about religion, scientists about science."

·        to one of his daughters about Emma  “…dear old mother, who, as you know well, is as good as twice refined gold.”

·        Emma:  “I sometimes feel it very odd that anyone belonging to me should be making such a noise in the world.”

·        “His theory will continue to evolve. The debate between evolution and religion continues, too. He and Emma would certainly say that people from both worlds should keep talking to each other."

Reading about the origins of Darwin’s Origin of Species makes me think of the Scopes trial in Dayton TN in 1925. Several years ago I saw the annual reenactment of the trial which takes place in the courthouse where it happened. Fascinating. The dramatic presentation will take place next week.

Now, what are y’all reading? Please tell us in Comments--by clicking on No comments or however many comments there are. To join the conversation, you will have to sign in with a password and prove you're not a robot by entering a code and so on, but please do, if you have something to say. Once you do sign in, you won’t have to do so again..