-sharing reflections on what I've heard and am hearing, learned and am learning,
from voices in the Holy Land, the USA, and Rwanda-



Monday, November 6, 2017

Notebook Entry: 11.2.17 (November Newsletter)

"May I ask a question?"

Seven judges sit around a table at the front of the courtroom of the local primary courthouse. After a long day of work, they had come here for further practice and study in the English language. Despite the fact that each judge is fluent in Kinyarwanda and French (and a few in Swahili as well), each has committed to adding English to his list of fluency. A YAGM volunteer sits among them as he does every week, there to provide another opportunity for the judges to practice English through Bible Study and games.

The president of the local primary court continues: "Is there a name for that day you mentioned? What do you call it? Would you say it is. . . Division Day?"

We had just finished an English vocabulary game inspired by Martin Luther's nailing of the 95 Theses to the doors of the Castle Church in 1517. To set the stage, YAGM Ryan Campbell had given a brief explanation of what that action has come to mean for the Protestant Churches at the beginning of the session, but this judge wants more.

"Isn't this the day the church divided*?" he asks. "And do you think we will ever be united again?"  A judge in search of a verdict. I suppress the urge to shout an enthusiastic, "Yes!" and smile widely as conversation around the table begins.

***

Along with other significant shifts in the history of the Church, October 31st stands as an important marker in Christianity, but in what way? The judge's question gets at the heart of struggle to name the 500th anniversary of Luther's posting of the 95 Theses. Is it a celebration? A remembrance? A commemoration? Where Lutherans say the day marks a reformation, others, like the judge, might name it a day of division. Both are correct. Since the time of the Reformation and even beforehand, the body of Christ has been fragmented time and time again into different denominations and communities around the world. At what point in time will we be united again?

It is possible that we will not know the answer to that question beforehand. We are an imperfect people, constantly falling into cycles of division. We must remember that regardless of the aftermath of an event, not all acts of division are divisive. In fact, we are called to separate ourselves from the forces of sin in acts of confession and forgiveness--the great unifier. However, it sometimes goes that following the way of just reform means we must follow Christ to the cross, a place of ultimate division. On the cross, Christ was torn from life and even the curtain of the temple and the skies above were torn in two. Our walk to the cross with Jesus means we are going to confront division. There is no other way. The thing is, however, as we walk with Jesus toward the cross we already know the answer to the judge's question is this: "Yes, we will be united again." And we even know how.

At the foot of the cross, we are separated from Jesus by the power of death, but we know that the story does not end there. Division is not victorious. Just as Mary knew when Jesus called her by name outside of the empty tomb, so too do we know that our redeemer, our unifier, lives! And in this world of polarization and division, not only are we called to follow Jesus to the cross, but we are also compelled to witness to Christ's resurrection promise just as Mary did!

No point of division--be it schisms, or Reformation/Division Day, or even death--can separate us from the power of God's love for us, all of us, together. It is that love that will unite us all again. And it is moments of that love made visible which we witness and share in our daily lives that opens the way to unity.

So, when will we be united again? I cannot say a date or time, but I know that division will not have the final say. Unity in Christ is assured. Even though the present day political climate may make unity seem impossible, we know that with God, all good and just things are possible. For now, let us keep seeking ways to share and witness to God's message of justice, mercy, and hope for the world. Be it on a Thursday evening in a courthouse classroom in Rwanda, a Monday afternoon around the water cooler at work, or a Sunday morning at church, wherever we might find ourselves, may we fully know and determinedly share: In God's eyes, we are one.  

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

Notebook Entry: 6.8.17 (August Newsletter)

I got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. No idea why, I imagine it happens like that to all of us once in awhile. All morning I took deep breaths each time irritation reared its ugly head, trying my best to let it go. By the afternoon I was pretty even-keeled, albeit not terribly energetic.

I walked up the steep road to the office and sat in the sanctuary of the Kigali Parish, waiting for my meeting with the Bishop of the Lutheran Church of Rwanda (LCR). I've learned that most people who come to the office for meetings first sit in the sanctuary (which also serves as the waiting room) for a time of prayer. I have begun that practice as well. Over the past few years, my personal prayer posture has begun to take the form of a basketball player anxiously sitting on the bench, hunched over with elbows on knees, hands folded out front, head bowed in deep concentration, ready for game time. Recently, a portion of my prayers have included asking God for guidance, courage, strength, wisdom, and daily pep-talks as I enter the busy months ahead. 

Today, however, something changed in both my prayer and my posture. A word popped out of my lips before I could even give it a second thought: joy. "God, grant me joy."

Something twisted inside of me. Joy!? Huh!? Why?! Joy isn't typically what wins basketball games. And regardless, this was the kind of day where I didn't really have much to say to joy. It was definitely not a player in the starting line-up.

But as I sat up, looked around the sanctuary, and opened my Bible, it was not diligent determination or intense focus that came my way. Rather, joy began to flood my senses. And as it did, I thought about the YAGM who served in Rwanda and those who will soon arrive. I thought about the communities of the LCR I have yet to meet and the possibilities that lie ahead. I thought about the communities who have prepared me for such a ministry as this. I thought about the wonders of God's crazy beautiful and chaotic creation.

And it was with this unbridled sense of joy washing over me that I entered the meeting space. Bishop Mugabo and I shared in exciting conversation, brainstorming about our work together and beginning preparations for the six YAGM preparing to come to Rwanda in late August. We spoke of new opportunities for the coming years and reflected on the months of work ahead. In the midst of our diligent focus, joy permeated the room and our meeting time ended with prayers of supplication and thanksgiving.

Ask me how this all transpired and I'll be the first to tell you, it was by no means of my own. The Spirit intercedes for us with joy too great for words to express.

Today, I was humbled to receive a wellspring of grace and enthusiasm at a moment when my grumpy, dried-up bones needed it most. Today, I give God thanks for the intercessions of the Holy Spirit. And today I'm reminded once again that I am a beloved (even when I'm irritable) child of God, and but one part of a much larger body of Christ in the world. And that, I believe, is grace, mercy, peace, and joy come down.

haven't stopped listening

It's been years since my last update. Between my last reflection on "home" (written in May 2012) and now, I have been claimed by three more communities: Chicago, Milwaukee, and Jerusalem. For five years, these places continued to torrentially shower down on me experiences of grace, visions of hardship, moments of solidarity, and awakenings to the work of justice, shaping and forming me in ways (some painful and others joy-filled) that I could not have imagined when I published that last post.

Honestly, I imagined coming back to write here time and time again, but my bones became weary and my mind often could not find the right words to convey what I was learning, unlearning, and relearning about myself, my country, the Church, and our world. I fought to find myself in the chaos of it all, struggling with severe anxiety and entering a new arena of self-examination. In that time, deeply loved friends and companions came into my life. Most everyone even stuck around. And while these years simultaneously opened my eyes wider to my own needs and to even more of the deep needs of the world, I thank God for them. For out of them I have been called to proclaim that which my year in Palestine first set on my heart: God's abundant hope.

Over the last five years, I have completed my studies at the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago and was just ordained into my first call. I sit here in Kigali in what has quickly become my new home. Ask me how the past five years led me to this place in particular and I can say definitively, "Only God knows." I will serve as a missionary pastor within the Lutheran Church of Rwanda, a relatively new (23-year-old) church body, and the country coordinator for the Young Adults in Global Mission program in Rwanda. (Notice that this is the same program that set the stage for this blog to begin seven years ago as I prepared to serve in Jerusalem/West Bank.)

Slowly, the words that evaded me for so long--those from all of the experiences I encountered since my last blog on this page--are coming my way. Words about pilgrimage, seminary discoveries, war, disappointments, anxiety, mental illness, police brutality, my own internalized racism (and other -isms), unlearning that racism (and other -isms), being an accomplice in the work for racial justice, recognizing the work and the love of friendship, claiming my whole self, letting go of love lost, understanding power and privilege, analyzing power and using it wisely, advocating in deed and word, opening my eyes to Jesus in the streets, learning what praise really is, and so much more.

I pray the words continue to come to me, that I might begin breaking through the silence of this page to share what I've been hearing, to provoke thought and prayer, and to proclaim, above all, the hope that is alive and kicking despite the things in our lives that try to convince us otherwise. Some of what I post will be cross-posted between my Facebook and Instagram, some will be from Newsletters I will write quarterly, and some will find a home here only. Check-in when you can. Share your thoughts when you have them. And may the grace and peace of God be with you now and always.