A Tension of Wills

Would I be content to live a life that does not at all meet my own expectations if in doing so I follow the will of God for my life?

Whatsmore, would I not only be content, but would I be joyful and fulfilled to live a life which, by my OWN expectations for myself would be mediocre, if in doing so I follow the will of God for my life?

Would I be joyful to live far away from my family?
Would I be joyful to never fall in love?
Would I be joyful to never work in a field where I feel that I am "making a difference"?
Would I be joyful to never speak in different tongues, to interact with different peoples and cultures?
Would I be joyful in living in the suburbs, far away from the urban life?
Would I be joyful in always being severely limited by money (for example, unable to see family for lack of funds)?
Would I be joyful to be far away from the beauty of nature?

I say I want to follow the will of the Lord, but would I really? Would I really, if it conflicted with my own? I live in the tension somewhere between knowing that God created me to be a certain way, with a certain set of passions and gifts which I feel would be going to waste if not used for the Kingdom, and between knowing that if I am to live out what I believe I must be willing to drop my own desires at a whim. God gave me these desires, but I must be willing to act on them within a will greater than my own, the will of God. As I am looking at my future, my desire to "make a difference," to study, to live in Denver because it offers me family, city, nature, and my bike...my desire to feel like I--emphasis on the I--am doing something "worthwhile," I cannot help but wonder what I will do if these "plans" of mine do not pan out, for whatever reason. I have always thought I have felt a relatively strong sense of direction and peace in my life regarding where I should go or what I should do. I feel that now as I am beginning the process of looking at seminary for next year. But if that changes...I cannot help but wonder what I will do. Will I put my actions where my words are and follow the will of God joyfully and obediently, stubborn and sassy little thing that I am? Or will I stumble in my imperfection and resist with my whole being a will that is not my own?

Or, can I become a spiritual being so in love with my Creator that my will and God's will are one in the same?

The beauty lies in the tension.

Distancing Ourselves From the Other

First, in an effort to bring awareness to the fact that I am coming from multiple perspectives as I write this post, I begin with the general announcement that, growing up, my sister and I were sponsored children.

Every Christmas for several years, the single parent program that my mom participated in (an amazing program called Project Self-Sufficiency which I will always advocate for and have still not written an article I promised to write for them...oops, sorry Mary!) paired participant families with small companies or other individual families as Christmas sponsors. I have nothing but fond memories from those years. Really, I don't. However, I do remember that the first year we did not have a sponsor, my wonderful, amazing, beautiful mom told my sister and I (a little guiltily, it seemed) that Christmas gifts would be very, very simple that year. I also remember that I never got to know our sponsors; they were always anonymous. More on the relevance of those two things later.

Now, why do I bring this up at all?

I am currently helping out with a project at work which involves a holiday sponsorship program. As per the usual, sponsored people (in this case children, seniors, and teens) write holiday requests, which are then delivered to sponsors, who are either corporations or families (though mostly corporations, I think). The sponsors buy the gifts, deliver them to the third party non-profit (in this case, my work) through whom the sponsored people were selected, and the non-profit then distributes the gifts to the families.

It's a frequently-used model, both domestically and abroad (Operation Christmas Child, anyone?) but as I am helping organize it through my office this winter, something about it feels...off.

My thoughts as a Christ follower...

Two things about this sadden me.

The first is that this type of program plays so directly into our purely Americanized idea of what Christmas should be. If a family is not able to purchase "nice" Christmas gifts (those gifts on par with the social norm - video games, Adidas shoes, Bratz dolls, etc.), then the idea is that the solution somehow lies in giving them the ability to play into our capitalist Christmas...by buying said gifts and consuming said products. In saying this, I acknowledge that I have not been absolutely destitute; even though I was a "sponsored child," I nonetheless probably would have gotten a stocking full of trinkets during those difficult years. I clearly am still speaking from a position of privilege and I acknowledge that. However, the question that I am constantly learning to ask myself as I am trying to pursue the radical life of the Way is "Are we not called to something greater?" I think of the notorious Banksy and his shopping bag crucifix... Sacrilegious? Perhaps. Off base? Not at all. What have we done to our Christ?

[Tangent: the spelling of the word "sacrilegious" is ridiculous. One would think that "religious" would be in there, no? English is so illogical...]

The second thing that saddens me, and perhaps the more important of the two, is the implications this type of program has on interpersonal relations. I firmly believe, both in my Christian thinking and in regards to development in general, that true change--reconciliation--shalom, if you will--will never happen without relationships. Programs like this remove relationship from the equation completely. What's worse, is it allows the whole system to continue on and on as is. The upper class feels good for the holidays because they have completed their duty as the upper class by giving to the poor and to the needy.

Is this inherently bad? No. Is it as good as we think it is, though? No.

My reasoning:

Programs like this allow the respective parties--wealthy and poor alike--to stay within their comfort zones. For the wealthy, they are allowed to speak in a language they are comfortable with: their money. It is easy and convenient for them to go to the store and buy whatever is on their sponsor's list. There is no awkwardness, there is no discomfort, there are no uncomfortable encounters with people who are different than them. For the poor, well, not much changes. They stay where they are at, and they might even feel worse off for it as parents who cannot "provide Christmas for their kids" and instead let other people fulfill this roll. Neither do they have to deal with the awkwardness that can come from being relational with someone different than themselves. Why is this a problem?

Some Global Studies friends were recently joking about our enthusiasm and obsession with the term "shalom"--the Hebrew word for peace. In the Bible, it is frequently used to reference the picturesque Kingdom which Jesus talks about, the Kingdom where the world's order is flung on its head, where the rich are jumping through needles, where the last are first and the first are last, where debts are erased and where prostitutes wash the feet of the Lord with their loving tears. I admit, I'm obsessed, and it's probably just because I don't understand it. At all. In all reality, the Kingdom of the Lord is a weird place. It is a place of strange and beautiful reconciliation. It's a place that makes most of us turn our heads and say "What the [insert-profanity-of-choice-here]...?" Reconciliation--shalom--is at the core of this topsy-turvy Kingdom. It is communal. It is loving.

When I express frustration with programs such as this one, at its core it is because it is the easy way out. As Christians called to more, I truly believe that God gives us the whimsical imagination of a relational Creator. That's my way of saying we have the Holy Spirit. We are called to build bridges and to love our neighbors. We are called to be relational. Material giving mediated by a third party, while not inherently bad, isn't really loving...it's just easy. I was recently reminded of the verse (too lazy to look it up) where Jesus tells his audience that "the poor will always be among you." A lot of people tend to quote that when they talk about poverty. The way I've heard it put, though, is in terms of relationship, of shalom. The real question this verse poses is "Are the poor actually among you?"

Really...most of us would have to say no.

We distance ourselves from the poor. Really, we [all of humanity] keep ourselves at a comfortable arm's length (or gated neighborhood's length) from those who are different than us, whether they are poor, ugly, rich, annoying, awkward, smelly, nerdy, Mormon, or purple, we keep them in a safe place. Aka not close. Most of us won't admit it outright, but we do it because it's comfortable. And then we are allowed to take the easy road and participate in programs like this one, programs which in some ways allow us to feel good about ourselves while not really having to invest in relation with the Other.

Without that relation, though, we cannot even say that the poor are among us, because they are not. We cannot say that we love our neighbor, because we do not. We have not even begun.

I am guilty. So guilty. What's hardest is that I believe that reconciliation--true, God-given, beautiful change--will happen only when we are in relationship with the Other. With the poor. Or really, with whichever people group we struggle with distancing ourselves from (for me that's actually white, evangelical conservatives. But I'm working on that).

That is why I believe that for the Christian, simple programs like these do nothing of the sort.

I think it is time we begin to crawl out of our comfortable places and use our imagination to create ways to become truly relational with those whom we fear. Let's begin to brainstorm this new way of life together.

Where to begin?

I Am Pro-Life: The Most Intense Post I Have Ever Written

I have had some thoughts on my heart for a while, thoughts which I have only recently begun to process more intentionally as I have found myself in a circle (specifically, a Catholic circle) where dialogue around this issue is raging more than my usual circles. I want to tread carefully, first acknowledging that I am [obviously] not perfect and that my thinking stems from the standard that I desire to hold myself to and that I feel the Lord is calling me to. It is not necessarily the one I am perfectly living out, though by the grace of God I will become such a person…someday. Ojalá. The soapbox I preach from is the same level ground that you also stand on, and I hope to convey my thoughts both humbly and earnestly, not pointing fingers but also not watering down what is so strongly on my heart. These days I feel glimpses of what some around me know as the Sacred Heart of Jesus…glimpses of the immeasurable love and passion with which the Savior loved and loves the world. It is for this reason that I write. I also hope that in reading what follows, you come with an open mind and heart, taking from it what you can and knowing that I write lovingly and passionately both for myself and whoever decides to read these words. In the end, though, this post is not about me writing it or you reading it. It is about both of us as passionate lovers of God and of humanity living it. There is absolutely no value to what I am about to say if we do not walk forward, acting in humility and love. 

Here it goes. In prayer. In love. In humility.

I have recently found myself in several discussions with various people about the topic of abortion. Understandably, it is a difficult and painful topic. While the issue is very close to all Christian hearts, it is especially strong in the presence of the Catholic community, of which I am currently a part of. First off, the passion is both beautiful and admirable. There is something to be said about the fervor with which people desire to come to the rights of the helpless. Scientifically, to my understanding and to the understanding of most people who have ever studied human anatomy and biology, it is difficult to say that the act of abortion is not terminating some form of human life. In the words of many, to put it not-so-lightly, it is murder. You would be hard-pressed to find many people who would negate the biology of it, though some argue the use of the term murder as they may or may not yet consider the impregnated egg a “human life.” That is not what I am here to argue. For this purpose, I am simply stating the opinion of--at the very least--a great deal of Christians.

In their passion for justice, as certain people – certain Christians – fight for the rights of the unborn, they sometimes do so violently. Where I grew up, Christian picketers were notorious for standing on the side of major intersections and in front of women’s clinics holding massive signs featuring huge, gory, bloody fetuses. In doing so, they were fighting violence with more violence, with shock value, succumbing to the societal myth of redemptive violence. They settled for less than the gift of love that they are free to give and receive as true followers of the Way of Christ. Similarly, on my Evangelical college campus last year a “pro-life” (I prefer anti-abortion…more on that to come) group was passing out small rubber fetuses to students. They felt just as one would imagine a real fetus feeling. It was disturbing. Again…shock value. Violence. 

Now I ask: How often do we as Christ-followers settle for this way of life? Why do we go with the relative ease of creating literature, of donating money to “causes” which “fight for life,” of dealing with the world the same way the world deals with us: violently? How often do we choose the simplicity of pointing to the “problem”—abortion—without truly looking at its causes—lack of education, socioeconomic factors, abuse, neglect, fear, patriarchy, poverty, etc.—and instead becoming a people of deep, loving, systemic change? Do we not pray each day “Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven”? What is stopping us from realizing that, by the grace of God?

The Black Eyed Peas nail it: “Where is the love?”

Are we not called to more?

It is here that I will attempt to articulate my thoughts as they currently stand. Well, they’re kind of swimming, really. They are evolving, as always, but they undoubtedly arise out of a deep-seeded need I have to seek and to live out this extreme love which we as Christ-followers are called to emanate. Again, I’m not perfect. I’m in process.

Simply put, though, my heart is this: The Way of love calls us to be pro-life, not exclusively anti-abortion.

To be fair, I am sure that I am not the first lover of Christ to ever articulate this. Actually, I know I am not.  Before you suggest that I am a murderer of innocents, though, please, let me explain. Again, in love. Love and humility. I’m trying here. Hear me out.

First off, I am trying more and more to be an optimist, or, in the very least, to find hope in situations that seem hopeless. I am learning to find alternatives to the "anti" way of thinking. I mean…of course I am still “anti” things in theory, but I am coming to believe it’s better to find a healthy alternative--something to be for--than to just fight against something all the time.  You know…I am more “pro veggies” than “anti meat” or “pro giving” than “anti money.” Those kinds of things. Fighting against something all the time is exhausting, really. Of course, it’s all a slow process, but God is gracious with me. I feel that the “anti” attitude is often what leads us—no matter how well-intentioned we may be—to settle for the easier way, the more violent way, as I demonstrated earlier with the lovely examples revolving around bloody fetuses. I also feel that an “anti” attitude leads us into the pitfall of black and white thinking, of seeing a situation as ever only having two possible outcomes. Do we not serve a God who is greater than that? 

While I do believe that abortion is murder, I am hesitant to march against it full speed ahead and banners blazing (too Crusade-like, if you ask me, and that time period was already bloody enough). That's not the Christ I serve. The shrapnel in such a campaign is only more pain, only more bloodshed. As we “fight abortion”—violence with violence—we lose as casualties the mothers who feel lost and incapable of raising a child. We lose the mothers who just aren’t ready to have kids and who forgot to take their birth control that one night. We lose those who have been raped. We lose the kids with sexually transmitted infections. We lose the kids who end up in the foster care system later on in life. We lose the kids who will grow up on Section 8, on WIC, on TANF, on Medicaid, on Food Stamps, on SSI, on child support. 

So rather than be anti-abortion, rather than risking the potential of losing all or some of the aforementioned people as casualties in this war against murder, let us instead choose to be pro-life. Rather than pick up our picket signs and throw our rubber fetuses, let us instead take to the streets with kind words and hugs. Let us not stop at donating money. Let us instead care for the orphans and the widows. Let us bring the foster children—the ones who were not aborted—into our homes. Let us invest in sex education that tackles the tough stuff rather than dust it all under the rug in the name of Christian purity. Let us direct our energy towards tearing down the systems of patriarchy and ignorance that contribute to unwanted and crisis pregnancies in the first place. Let us empower our society’s females so that they feel able to raise their own children, and let us empower our men to stay alongside their partners in the process. Let us come alongside the pastor’s daughters, the prostitutes, the girls-next-door, and those from the projects as they chose life for their children. Let us build walls of love and protection around these brave women, and let us also love the women who chose to abort. Let us hold our men as accountable as their partner in these decisions, but do not let the male politicians have the last word because, let’s be real, they don’t have vaginas. Let us not feel as if we must resort to utilizing the State’s power to control this. Let us instead love so much that the State is not the final word. Let us not shy away from the grunt work, from the long and arduous hours that we must invest if we are to truly be pro life.

And let us realize that to be pro life—to be God’s hands and feet as the Kingdom of God descends on this Earth—requires an acutely keen sense of the kindred life that we share with the rest of humanity. To be pro life is to fight for life on all fronts. It is to be pro peace, pro love, pro creation. It is to look at the systems we have created—the systems of oppression that stifle life—and to realize our part in perpetuating those systems. We are guilty of human trafficking, of slavery, of killing others of thirst and of hunger, of dropping bombs, of poisoning the poor with our garbage and our chemicals. We are implicit in the murder of millions each day. Abortion is only the most obvious to us as we have allowed globalization to distance us from the gravity of the rest of the world's plight.

Let us pray that our hearts be broken--shattered even--by the reality of the loss of life surrounding us.

And then let us move into action.

We begin, by the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, to realize that we are called to something greater. The world is great at being “anti” everything. The world is great at perpetuating violence, and too often we as Christians go right along with that, saying we are “anti abortion” but “pro war on terrorism.” The horrific irony of that statement is lost on so many of us. The myth of redemptive violence is so tantalizing that we do not realize it even in its most subtle forms. Serpents are slippery. I’m as guilty as anyone, feisty little thing that I am. I love a good fight…

But we are followers of the Way. The Way is different. The Way is Love. And the Way should have us imagining better ways to pour into the lives of others. Abortion should not be the issue. Rather, let our love speak first. Let our love shout joyously and contagiously from the rooftops of city buildings, not just in the steeples and sanctuaries or in the homes of our like-minded kin. Let our love run rampant.That, sisters and brothers, is where the real change will begin. The rest, by the grace of God, will follow.

The Mafia

A sister
told me a story
about the Mafia.

Years and years ago
this particular sister
was walking down a New York block
with another sister.
Habboted.
They were startled by
a gruff voice yelling
from an apartment window above.
The women knew the building
to be owned by a certain mafia family
who had always remained neutral
about the sisters' presence
in the neighborhood.

Until now.

"If you lay one hand
on those nuns,
I will kill you!"

The sisters turned around
just in time
to see a man,
knife in hand,
who merely seconds before had been prepared
to attack the two women.

Funny how the Lord works.

The Beginning

I am officially all moved in to the Columbus Community here in the heart of NYC, where I will be living through June of next year! Laura and I (my wingwoman) arrived here after our commisioning ceremony at the Sacred Heart senior sisters' convent on Monday afternoon. (There, I was able to enjoy a Colorado-brewed Blue Moon beer at the BBQ...I love that the sisters have beer at their events!) Once at Columbus, Laura and I got straight to work unpacking our things...while great, orientation and all of its moving left us in DIRE need of a sense of place. My suitcases, which seemed SO huge and bothersome in transit, didn't yield much to work with in terms of decorating my blank walls. Considering my need for color and art, I have a little work to do, but I've made headway with the few scarves that I have as decor. I'm pretty resourceful. :)

After a long day Monday, I woke up bright and early Tuesday morning for my first day of work at Cabrini Immigrant Services, where I have spent the last two days beginning to learn the ropes. The previous missioner, Gina, is helping pass the torch, which is great seeing as I will essentially be performing two jobs--food pantry coordinator and office manager. Among other things, I successfully womanned the door for our food distribution day. Seeing as we are located in Chinatown, a great deal of our clients only speak Chinese, so it's pretty essential that someone literally blockades the door to keep traffic manageable--some of those older women are quite intense! It was interesting seeing the diversity of some of the clients we serve with the food pantry. While the majority are of course Chinese, there were plenty of other ethnicities represented, the next largest being Latino. During my time running the door, I actually encountered a Chinese man who, upon realizing I didn't speak Chinese, asked me if I speak Spanish. I was both taken aback and happy to be chatting with a Chinese man in Spanish!

Today I continued some database work and Gina and I paired up for the enormous task of taking down and returning the 100+ voicemails that have accrued since last week. The office has been short-staffed, and in addition to that, Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) has had the office in a whirlwind. Our lawyer--the director--and our social worker are taking appointments like crazy. They are aiding youth in the process in hopes of helping them present a workable case to Homeland Security. For those who don't know, DACA is Obama's attempt at making the DREAM act more of a reality for immigrant youth. It temporarily grants a limbo status to undocumented immigrants who meet certain requirements, which are as follows:

1. Were under the age of 31 as of June 15, 2012;
2. Came to the United States before reaching their16th birthday;
3. Have continuously resided in the United States since June 15, 2007, up to the present time;
4. Were physically present in the United States on June 15, 2012, and at the time of making their request for consideration of deferred action with USCIS;
5. Entered without inspection before June 15, 2012, or their lawful immigration status expired as of June 15, 2012;
6. Are currently in school, have graduated or obtained a certificate of completion from high school, have obtained a general education development (GED) certificate, or are an honorably discharged veteran of the Coast Guard or Armed Forces of the United States; and
7. Have not been convicted of a felony, significant misdemeanor, three or more other misdemeanors, and do not otherwise pose a threat to national security or public safety.

While this is NOT a path to citizenship, it does (allegedly and hopefully) alleviate the risk of deportation for the thousands of should-be citizens who populate our nation's schools and universities. I have been astounded at the diversity of applications we are currently processing...Dominican Republic, Guyana, Trinidad, Honduras, Ecuador, Nigeria, Jamaica, China, St. Vincent (which I didn't even know existed), Mexico, and many others.

I am incredibly excited to learn more about the laws and legislation that are currently affecting immigration policy in the U.S. and look forward to attending events where I am able to hear the stories and experiences of some of the amazing youth who are trying to blaze a pathway to citizenship. It's a blessing to be able to be in this environment in the midst of the whirlwind of policy changes that are going on, and I feel like even in these initial stages I am where I am supposed to be...

...even if being where I am supposed to be sometimes means misunderstandings in Spanish, making sassy Chinese women exercise patience, entering data upon data into the computer, and hating Verizon for the fact that their internet does not work when it rains...this is the work of the Lord. This is holy.

Welcome to Gotham

Now-blackened gum peppers the sidewalks, finding its place amongst the cracks that etch their way through the aged cement walkways. A Latina woman crosses the street against the light while talking on her cell phone. “¿No, no, no, donde estas tu?” I hear her exclaim, frustrated. A car slows down to let her pass. Stoops of varying colors and conditions jut out from their respective apartment buildings, creating an eclectic mix of architecture. Those with flowers or metal embellishments try to emphasize their creativity and individuality just a little bit more than the next neighbor over. A Chinese man smokes a cigarette on the steps. He looks tired. There is heaping pile of black trash bags on the curb, guarded vigilantly by a once-loved ceramic lion statue that is now resting amidst a slew of other disregarded antiques, no longer needed by the Section 8 resident who abandoned it outside the project. Three little girls giggle together as they walk down the street. It is midday and they are in their pajamas, chattering in Chinese and staring as they pass a man attempting to woo pigeons onto his arms with a bite to eat. McDonald's is home to a crowd of all colors and tongues: black, brown, yellow, white, Chinese, Spanish, English. One African American man with a mustache and stylish shoes eats with his sunglasses on. Apparently the iconic restaurant now delivers its chemically-modified “food” to city residents. For free. Steak-n-Go makes great smoothies for $2.50, but the gate is down today and the store is closed. Someone there must observe Sunday as holy. The Subway is plagued with construction and riders are forced to spend an absorbent amount of time in the bowels of the city. Gotham's underground is damp, humid, and smells of all of the things that you dislike. Tile murals let lost riders know which station they are in. Advertisements are pasted up on the discolored tile walls. The ceiling drips next to a bench where a pair of broken sunglasses sits, abandoned like the ceramic lion in Chinatown. A beautiful woman passes by wearing a hijab. Another equally beautiful woman wears a mini-skirt. Above ground, buildings are as unique as people. Some are brick, others are metal and glass. Some have beautiful murals painted on their sides; one is of a Puerto Rican man who died at the age of 33. His family misses him. 

The city is alive.

It breathes; there is a rhythm to it. 

The waves lap the shores of the East River.