why hello, pilgrimage!

Store up your treasures in heaven.

2009-03-02T02:28:00.000-08:00

Last week I had the amazing opportunity to live with an Indian family... On the campus of the Mennonite Brethren Centenary Bible College in Shamshabad, near Hyderabad.

I very nearly mistook the opportunity for a burden and was reeeeally feeling cozy in my guesthouse with a big lonely room, lots of power outlets all to myself, and a whole shelf full of real towels. But then I got smacked around a bit and realized that staying with a family was probably the very best thing I could do in India, and my desires for things like real towels were, in actuality, pretty silly.

So MB Pastor Joel, Helen, Serena, Pranai, and a quiet and still nameless grandmother took me in, stuffed me with delicious food, taught me a Telugu song, didn't laugh at me too much as I learned to eat with my fingers, gave me beautiful parting gifts, and showed me a completely different side of India that I would never have known for my own selfishness.

From February 22...

This is definitely a different side of India. It is private, in a home with the day-to-day happenings of a family and the comfort of an apartment that has been lived in, not just enjoyed for a day or two by travelers who come to know what to expect from a guesthouse.
And this side is Christian – not just church once a week, Jesus will save us in case Nirvana isn't all it's cracked up to be or somewhere along the karmic road you miscalculated.

This is fervently, proudly, pastoral, prostrated devotions each morning, early 1990s landscape scene Bible verses on each wall, “JESUS SAVES” as a window decal on your family car, distinctly Indian graphic design images of Old Testament stories on calendars advertisting Hyderabad MB churches, “Menno Simon's Block” the name of your apartment complex, prayers before each meal and each tea break and each errand run and probably each cricket game, high-pitched bleeping of “Our God is an Awesome God” as your ringtone kind of Christian.

It seems that being a Christian outside the West is usually something like this – written everywhere, spoken often, with reminders in each corner, held onto fervently, because you're living in a city where the Muslim mosque's solemn call to prayer and the Hindu temple's early morning pop/worship music are competing for air space in your ears, and possibly space in your soul.

So to win, you the Christian can always call upon your ringtone, inviting people into a different wavelength of sound and into a tradition that you believe is the right one, the fantastic one, the only one worth anything. You invite them into a tradition far from their own, and do your desperate best to somehow convince them that this white-looking man you frame on your wall is not just another attempt by the west to colonize.

Your Hindu country, or your Islamic country, was colonized by a white military, your culture is being colonized by a shining gleaming skyscraping whitewashed America flashing a perfect white smile at your children, and now this religion where two sticks crossing each other are supposed to mean more than your generations of devotion to those gods who have kept you alive and kept your family's identity intact for ages – and now you are being asked to give up your soul, just be colonized all over again?

And so in anger or hatred, or more truthfully in fear, you lash out. You, the insider now made outsider, slander government officials who follow this white man, you shut down their churches and drive them deep into underground cell groups, you turn their water off and cut their electricity so they become homeless drifters in what they view as a frightening sea of Arabic and Sanskrit, you turn Christians away from your communities and your houses and your hearts.

And if you are a Christian pastor, you may not be allowed to work outside the church, ensuring that your attention is not distracted from spreading the gospel. Not having enough income to sustain your family is distraction enough.

India says:
Store up your treasures in heaven, you Christians, because they are not welcome here.

The church says:
Store up your treasures in heaven, you Christians, because that's all we can afford to give you.

India's pretty self-explanatory.

2009-02-19T05:54:00.000-08:00

My new grandmotherly spritely friend Jay and I saw a Bolloywood film together in Bangalore the other day. Fun. : )

Although we couldn't understand absolutely any of the Hindi spoken and sung, the visuals were India just as I am experiencing it outside the doors of classy Rex Cinema.

In my mind I conjured up this vision of a friend and I watching the film (probably with subtitles this time around) and him/her turning to me and asking, "Wow - so really, what is India like?"

In this vision I answer him/her simplistically and holistically as I point to the screen and shrug nonchalantly- "India's pretty self-explanatory."

And then I realized this is just about the foolish and untrue statement that has ever come out of my potential mouth. Psssht, what a silly thing to say!

India is not self-explanatory in the least, especially when the government posts signs in the park that read "NO ILLEGAL ACTIVITIES" - or when rickshaw drivers ask their brother, their acquaintance, their business competition, and finally you exactly the whereabouts of this place that you the foreigner are visiting in this driver's hometown - or when you see a Bollywood dance routine where women are dressed more scandalously than you can ever imagine, and get back to the street to see women in burkas who may be watching the same dance routine - or when the shoe holders at the temple entrance keep the change from your five rupee coin, when the sign is clearly marked one rupee per pair of shoes, but apparently for foreigners is a more luxurious price - or when its tourists expect to be treated with special attention but are only willing to pay less than the local price - or when the post office's request for "Q PLEASE" is literally trampled underfoot by the masses including yourself, who have probably never realized how one is supposed to spell queue. or queu... - or when cafe menus turn out to be six years old with half the items out of stock and the other half hilariously mispelled, and the cafe turns out to be a place that of course sells only dosas in the morning and nothing else - or when a sign advertises an education service for self-empowerment and entrepeneurship with "individual care for dull students..." hahaha... - or when its sacred cows are allowed to feed off the crumpled rubbish lining every reachable ditch - or when the joy and celebration of an Indian wedding is nowhere reflected in the haggard, stressed out faces of the bride and groom who have people yelling at them, music blaring at them, and huge cameras stuck in their supposedly-jubilant faces - or when a wedding attendee spies your camera and asks to see your camera permission ticket, looking very serious and important as he reads the ticket completely upside down - or when you are sitting and eating a delicious meal and wondering how in the world you can stand yourself when you see the handless, footless, toothless, speckled brothers and sisters in the street who would give anything for some naan but have absolutely nothing to give - or when you receive the most understandable directions, or the most unsolicited compassion, or the most uninhibited toothy smile and most reaffirming little head wiggle from the person you would least expect to share it with you.

Yeah, India's pretty self-explanatory.

Beyond Sadhana Forest, day one.

2009-02-16T01:05:00.000-08:00

Saturday night I didn’t get much sleep. Actually, I didn’t sleep at all.

There was a smashing reggae dance party that extended deep into the evening/morning, a joyous Delta Spirit-accompanied toilet stirring session in the dark, quiet Internet errand time, wonderful much-needed conversation with Julia and Andrew via the comforting bleeps of Facebook chat, some really solid early morning photograph time with colors so vivid I can’t figure out why I never had appreciated them this much the whole month prior… and a climb up our water tower to soak up the last morning of Sadhana Forest from a reflective perch, seeing the whole picture of the home I was leaving…

That glorious combination makes up for the lack of sleep, I think.

Last night I said my exceedingly, embarrassingly tearful goodbyes and walked out to Koot Road to grab a bus to Pondicherry full of giggling young girls shouting “HOW ARE YOU!” and gentle mothers trying to convince their little boys to wave to me instead of the easier act of simply staring at the sight of a really, really pale individual.

I crashed at 9:00, choosing to care only about fixing my sleep deprivation and not much else. I chose not to care about the condition of the room I found at Ajantha Lodge, because at $4.50 a night for a decent bed and a private toilet, and some free incense, budget-seekers can’t be choosers.

Well, maybe they can - but really sleepy budget-seekers shouldn’t be choosers.

Today is an amble around the city, grabbing samosas, chai, band-aids, pomegranate juice, mysterious but always tasty Indian treats, some antibiotics for a swollen foot, a new bag, postage to get rid of some the weight in my pack, and a taste of this coastal French-esque town before heading on an overnight bus to Bangalore.

Into the great wide open!

What are You Doing?

2009-02-13T23:57:00.000-08:00

My friends in the next room are playing a game... a noisy, boisterous, ridiculous game that is rocking the thin bark beams of our main hut.

It's called: What are you doing?

If you were to ask the temple down the street, it would say that it is celebrating its grand opening – with flowers, music, colors, and lots of joy.

If you were to ask America, it would say that is celebrating its day of love!

If you were to ask me, I would say that I am resting in the comforting knowledge that I absolutely adore this new home of mine. I would say that I am fidgeting in the discomforting idea of beginning to travel India, outside my home in the forest. I would say that I am reveling in the beautiful idea of how much I love my family, my friends, my Fresno.

Usually, what I do at 4:15 each morning - is burst awake to the poppy, energetic, nearly abrasive music blasted from one of three temples in our neighborhood.

6:15 - I wake up again, this time more sleepily, to more welcoming words from our wake-up call volunteer. My favorite by far... “Wake up, you sleepyheads. Get up, get out of bed! Gonna have some fun, digging a brand new bund; we'll have some conversation on our favorite topic of water conservation. Good morning, Sadhana! Time to wake those weary eyes!”
Although I'll admit that the newer song “Wake Up, Little Hippies” is a close second.

6:30 – I crawl out of my mosquito net, slap on some clothes that still have a few clean spots, stumble outside the main hut to our first work meeting, joining about one hundred other volunteers in collective sleepy tooth-brushing (with an awkward-tasting organic toothpaste I still haven't gotten used to) and banana-eating and muffled greeting of each other.

From here we split up – some to cook breakfast, stirring delicious porridge and chopping loads and loads of pineapple, papaya, lime, banana, chickoo, and other tasty fruit... some to form a watering chain stretching from our mudpool to trees that need some thirst-quenching love... some to dig, some to plant, some to mulch, some to take care of the village's inner workings.

8:30 – We hear a bell ring and draw us in with its call to breakfast. A stop by my hut to grab a journal, a pen, a good book, and maybe the camera, and then some time to relax before the moment of silence and a fantastically satisfying and well-deserved breakfast. Reading, writing, conversing, batting the flies away from my feet that now have way too many cuts and bug bites to count...

9:30 – More splitting up of work, perhaps building onto the sandbag eco-dome... cooking more delicious vegan lunch of rice, dahl, veggies, salad, and maybe even a banana mush dessert... collecting twigs for the fires... feeding the four dogs and three cats... learning to make charcoal and put out the fire at just the right time before all the work crumbles to ash... stirring the compost toilets to make sure the maggots haven't discovered them... organizing, at least somewhat, the medicine box of foreign labels and homeopathic mystery... digging lots of holes and building lots of bunds to create space for water to collect...

12:30 – Lunch! Another well-deserved and almost always delicious meal. Of course that doesn't stop most of us from venturing out to ice cream and chai for our dairy fix...
The afternoon and evening usually bring a vast spread of free time, for laundry or yoga or a mudpool visit or a bucket shower or workshops of all shapes and sizes, or otherwise milling about the place and making friends. Most of the people I'm close with are in a permaculture course each afternoon. (Permaculture... large name, even larger concept, but so worth looking into. It seems to me essentially the emergent church on a farm...)

The evenings here are indescribable... The late-night jam session bonfires remind me of how much I need live music to feed me, the late-night conversations remind me of how interesting people are, the simple act of eating together in a shared space reminds me of how important community is.

By far one of the best parts of the schedule in Sadhana is the times when one can get away from Sadhana... take a bicycle or motorbike out into India beyond this little oasis of beauty. To Auroville for more eco-friendliness, Europeans, and a grand gold structure called the Matrimandir; to Kuyilapalayam for internet, ice cream, toilet paper, and a slice of India; to Koot Road for the real thing. Koot Road boasts it all – chai shops, vegetable stands, electronics shops, clothing shops, mobile recharge stations, forgotten roadside shrines, traffic that would make the West dizzy, a world that is totally different.

Sometimes I feel like curling up at night on a squishy cushion in a corner of the main hut, listening to the conversations happening and the sounds of guitar and djembe experimenting together, soaking in the restfulness and peace in this place.

And sometimes I feel like running to Koot Road to lose myself in the chaos, and set myself free from the desire to make sense of anything, or understand it even a tiny bit.

This weekend is the cusp between Sadhana and India.
I have no idea what to expect outside this home of mine, but I am expecting to be blown away.

So far the unexpected has turned out to be amazing.

I lied. I said I was going to India.

2009-02-01T02:20:00.000-08:00

I said I was going to India to plant trees and spend time in a cult called Auroville.

As it turns out... We only plant in the monsoon season, we in a hippie ecovillage called Sadhana Forest are way too diverse in belief to be any kind of cult, and we are tucked away in the wilderness far from Auroville. But I am in India, I didn't lie about that!

We mulch, we sing, we cook, we dig, we garden, we clean, we laugh, we explore, we do our own thing. We eat delicious vegan meals together, we compost our leftover food and our leftover poop, we use a computer run on solar energy, we live in huts made of bamboo and coconut hair rope, we spend time with people from our homes and from homes far away. My newest friends are Australian, Israeli, South African, British, Spanish, Irish, Indian, Danish, French, Argentinian, Finnish, and Belgian.

I am doing my very best to soak it all up... I really had no idea what to expect here. I expected India, which I've only caught glimpses of so far. These last three weeks, which seem to have gone SO much faster than three weeks, have been spent in a place nestled in the midst of India in all its craziness. I've caught glimpses - in the Chennai airport; in food/cigarette/cell phone recharge/toilet paper/toothpaste anything you can think of to buy shops by the side of the road; in local Tali restaurants; in my friends Mohan and Praesh from the village Morattandi; in advertisements; in chai and chai and more chai; in the lack of sight and lack of hands on beggars by the side of the road; in the multitude of goats and cows that roam the streets and bravely face any motorbike futilely wanting to pass; in the mix of tourist trap and local economy; in a visit to see the Hugging Mother Amma and partake in a sacred Indian ritual that draws a pushing, shoving, jostling, noisy, sweaty, love-seeking crowd for one single five-second hug from Amma; in images of Hindu gods all over the place, gracing the presence of anything they will stick to or be drawn upon; in Westerners who come to India seeking a spiritual presence that they can't feel elsewhere.

There is a presence here. I can't put my finger on it yet, but it's unlike anything in the West.
I am terrifically nervous, and excited, and frightened beyond belief to explore this country... I have two more wonderful weeks in Sadhana Forest to soak up, and then it's off to Kolkata. Three weeks on the road, seeking out bargain hotels, cheap restaurants, and the many hearts of India.

Thank you, to all of you who send your love this way and remind me of why I love my home so much.

I always grew up thinking I was somebody who detested the thought of home... so boring, so stable, so familar. But now I realize that being away from my home makes me yearn for it... and very ready to embrace it on March 4.

So. Sorry for lying, but what I did not expect has turned out to be amazing!

I Found a Letter.

2008-12-16T16:47:00.000-08:00

June 29, 2006

Congratulations Jessica,

You have been awarded $300 from the Hoover High CSF Chapter.
Keep up the high standards that you s howed at Hoover High School.

Good luck,
Paula Magdaleno
CSF Advisor

PS! Sorry but we do not need your pet python.

Action is the antidote to despair.

2008-11-29T16:41:00.000-08:00

Thank you, Joan Baez.
I think we needed to hear that.

Thoughts?

oh, and this is new.

2008-10-27T19:56:00.001-07:00

things lately.

2008-10-20T01:37:00.000-07:00

hello all. i miss you!

things are happening in my life...

the last few months have held:
new friends!
seven houses of wonderful residents!
mcc in winnipeg, manitoba!
intentional community in san francisco!
backpacking in the calfornia wilderness!
peace week!
mcc in ghana, west africa!
more downtown adventures!
sociology of gender!
mcc in akron, pennsylvania!

the next few months will hold:
old friends!
barack obama! (si se puede!)
mcc in chicago!
a semester off!
reforestation in india!
mcc in kansas!
mennonite disaster service!
and who knows what else!

this may be my job in january...

sound good?

the more you see

2008-08-27T00:03:00.000-07:00

the less you know.
the less you find out as you go.
i knew much more then, than i do now.

i sat in a class today, one that i sat in precisely two years ago.
theology, culture, and u2.

one of the first classes that allowed me to realize the beautiful complexity and connectedness and enigma and challenge of the world around us... and gently asked me to take ownership and embrace of my small piece of the world that i have been given.

i am certainly not the same girl who first sat in that class two years ago.
i realize how different i am from that timid, unsure, apologetic girl.

i have learned, i am learning, to embrace my small piece of the world... i am learning to refrain from apologizing when my piece does not seem to fit flush with others'... i am learning to balance discontent in the big things and content in the small things... i am learning to look ugly in a photgraph.

everyone.
oh, you look so beautiful tonight.
thank you for being my friends in the journey.

the end of summer.

2008-08-06T23:09:00.000-07:00

vietnam, for three and a half weeks.
humidity... motorbikes... war... accents... ho chi minh... across the universe... architecture... communism... chicken claws... lots of tofu... water bottles... xin loi... restlessness that lasts for a long time to come... coming to a deeper understanding of why i am a pacifist and who i am created to be.

mcc in ontario, for three days.
layovers layovers layovers... new wineskins... wisdom from my elders... pleasant surprise to be listened to... hungry in uptown waterloo without a cent... mcc not as smooth and harmonious and idealistic... mcc as rough, and messy, and imperfect, but wholly realistic... getting in on a movement that goes far beyond saving souls and into transforming our world.

the streets, for a long day and a long night.
ivan and andy and delilah and kenny and god and don... hot... cold... downtown... eyeballers... learning that there is still so much to discover about my own town.

jesus for president, for one glorious evening.
weeks and weeks and weeks of planning... downward mobility... psalters... fruition... shane and chris and cassie and all... subverting the empire... downtown... words of the revolutionary... music of the refugee... in-n-out in the early morning... veggie oil and the black bus... realizing that our community goes so much deeper than we give it credit for. and once we start loving one another we can make some good, good changes in this broken world.

camp keola, for three weeks.
john the baptist... children... trees... inspiration point... ping pong... HUAGH... discipleship... the threat of bears... solemn and thoughtful campfire... shooting stars... huntington lake at night... josiah!... the best dance party ever... learning that true service can look like anything. anything at all.

as the summer closes, i have learned this.

john the baptist is more MAN than your boyfriend.
he is a prophet, nomad, monastic, humble, wandering, messenger, legendary, empire-subverting, society-renouncing, honey-eating, camel-haired, summer sweater, crazy man who desperately believes that the kingdom of god is here and now.

i would very much like to get to know him.

jesus for president. the book, the tour, the wonder of it all.

2008-07-09T12:26:00.000-07:00

-- shane claiborne, chris haw, some psalters, and friends roll into town to shake things up. you should definitely be there.

7 pm
july 12
cornerstone youth eenter
stanislaus and l street
downtown fresno
(it's free too!)

-- provoking the political imagination
-- subverting the empire
-- living in community
-- taking politics beyond what we think they are capable of
-- making our own clothes
-- rethinking the way we understand justice
-- learning how to create peace creatively
-- eating locally and organically
-- running on veggie oil
-- getting into a Christianity that is more about peace, justice, and living simply than it is about telling smokers and gay people that the kingdom of God does not belong to them
--and befriending our enemies while we do it all.

-- it's not about how we VOTE on november 4, but how we LIVE on november 3 and november 5.

-- jesusforpresident.org -- jlm9@fpu.edu -- 559.304.3652

This is what I want to be.

2008-07-02T23:16:00.000-07:00

Behold.

A trailer for an upcoming documentary from Jamie Moffett, exploring a peculiar kind of Christianity being born in homes and playgrounds and shelters and gardens across the empire.

And please note the soundtrack.
Anybody else on board?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gNYgwNYf6Ok

I had a good day. Did you?

2008-06-17T23:43:00.000-07:00

Today I met a man named Singh while we were waiting at the doctor's office, for an appointment I had no desire to follow through with.

He told us all about how in India his light blue eyes felt very strange and out of place, but in Germany he found them to be beautiful... he walked us through all the symbolism of his devout Sikh faith... and he ended up giving me one of his bracelets (karra), engraved with Punjabi words of wisdom about the god that I believe both of us love deeply.

Today I had the chance to dance around with some great authors and play my harmonica to old time revival music, complete with washboard. We heard Mark Scandrette give an incredible spoken word exhortation to reimagine... everything.

I felt like I stumbled into a poetry jam in 1908. And that is a good combination to stumble into.

Really, who wouldn't want to meet these guys?

Vietnam, strange and ragged.

2008-06-08T23:55:00.000-07:00

I feel strange and ragged and like the Prophet who has walked across the land to bring the dark Word, and the only Word I have is “Wow!”

Kerouac's words ring incredibly true... reading On the Road amidst the traffic and lights and buzz and sheer foreign life of Saigon makes the words all the more potent. A feeble“wow” is about the best I can muster from twenty-four days in Vietnam, a country where my mind is still and my heart will be for a long while.

Perhaps I feel particularly strange and ragged because of the jet lag, but this is a feeling not easily gotten rid of. It seems that from now on I need to learn how to be strange and ragged as a way of life. Vietnam has pushed me over the edge of being contented with a life of normalcy. Even as I am back in Fresno for only a few days before traveling again, I feel restless, needing to be on the move, needing to discover some new remarkable sight or dig some new remarkable people. A few nights ago I took a simple walk around the Tower District, where I can always find something unseen before. There were no motorbikes, a surreal shift, but venturing out into the unfamiliar is essential. I will be strange and ragged and discovering newness and somewhat out of place for a long time, I suppose.
I'm okay with that.

I am not the same by any stretch of the imagination. The last three weeks have been transformative. I can now meet a Hmong mother at Cedar and Tulare, and wonder if I have visited her people's home; I can now window shop for boots and know how many young women it took to make a pair; I can now answer the question of why I am a pacifist because I have seen fetuses of those who would have been born were it not for Agent Orange; I can now eat a delicious spring roll and know at least vaguely how to craft my own; I can now visit a Buddhist temple and remember the smell of the coiled incense that burns for the same reason across the globe; I can now think about Communism as more than a daunting red glare, as a comforting and iconic legacy of our dear Uncle Ho; I can now share lunch with an old veteran on a highway median, who may be crippled and ostracized and altogether strange and ragged, and understand a small part of his story.

My first impressions of Vietnam were mostly of amusement and confusion – and those certainly remain. The juxtaposition is hilarious - rich European tourists and friendly sampan rowers without all their teeth, magnificent Ha Long Bay and a Hoi An alleyway under construction where the children play, loud loud dance music for the university crowd and gentle traditional strings for the purists, toilets made of holes in the ground and showers made of toilet rooms, a heartily depressing tour of the Cu Chi Tunnels and the glee of shooting an AK47, the bright noisy children and their quite embalmed beloved Ho Chi Minh, and of course the proliferance of very-French-but-very-Vietnamese baguettes. The image of the Vesak float will always remain with me... Getting off a plane to be greeted by such a display of Buddhist pride and horticultural talent, and fondness for very loud and very synthetic music, was an honor.

The only word I have is “wow...”

I did have one of the most spiritually significant moments of my life on top of a rooftop in Saigon, among the drying laundry and giant water heaters and the company of a very significant Djarum menthol. But that's not put into words quite yet.

I am convinced this means I need to go back to Vietnam to find more words.

Motorbike Makeout!

2008-05-31T02:21:00.000-07:00

If Vietnam is a country, not a war - then Vietnam is not just a country but a diverse mix of different people and places and ways of life all bound by the same national borders. After all, North and South Vietnam were not even that friendly towards one another for a few years there...

Traveling from Hanoi and some rural areas in the north, to Hue and Da Nang and Hoi An in the central part, and now to Saigon in the south - the distinctions between these regions of Vietnam are inescapable. Dialects, geography, aesthetics, cultural history all transform as one travels the country.

I have to wonder what places in Vietnam are the target of most tourism... and I have to wonder if the type of tourism varies from place to place. In Hanoi, we saw many European (and a few African) visitors wandering the streets, with their hip travel gear and chic backpacking attire. In Hoi An, a town devoted to tailoring, we came across tourists who were there especially to shop. We made friends with some fabulously eccentric older Australian visitors who were more than ready to stock up on their tailored wardrobes. Some of them were veterans from the 60s and 70s, coming back to wrap up the hurt loose ends and see Vietnam in a different light.

The impact of the American War, and Vietnam's civil war, is certainly seen differently as we have traveled the country. Stopping at My Lai in the central part of the country and going through the demilitarized zone reminds us of the reality that the ground on which we walk was literally under attack, from one power or another throughout the years. In Saigon today we visited an incredible war museum, reminding us much of the fighting between the Viet Cong and the Americans happened in the south. It's tempting to hold the theory that the 17th parallel divided the nation neatly in half, with a bad side on one and a good side on the other - and if we are capitalists, the bad side is the northern Communists. But the reality is that South Vietnam was home to many Viet Cong fighters, and many more civilians not willingly involved in the struggle, so the South sees the effects of war through a different lens.

But the war of years ago seems, at least on the surface, to be irrelevant to the minds of people in Saigon today - especially the young people. Western, modernized, and very very chic, the city is marked by a fashionable and romantic generation who are fond of frequenting a spot that our group has affectionally labeled Motorbike Makeout Alley.

This city is definitely no Sapa.

You buy me!

2008-05-28T00:09:00.000-07:00

Saying the words "surprise" and "commerce" in relation to Vietnam conjures up conjures up phrases like "You buy me!" and "Happy Buddha, one dollar, very cheap, very cheap." It conjures up images of small crowded streets lined with shoes, and shoes, and shoes... or appliances, and appliances, and appliances... or suits, and suits, and suits... or dog meat, and dog meat, and dog meat... Just about everything regarding Vietnamese commerce has come as a surprise, from the way that tipping works to the way that the governmental system effects the economy.

One question that has been on most of our minds this trip is the very HOW of survival of commerce here - from our Western systems of competing businesses that wouldn't dare choose to locate themselves next to one another, the compartmentalization of businesses we see in the cities gets very confusing. As we spend time in Hoi An, it's apparent that the town itself is a tailoring town. Aside from some lanterns, Oreos, and of course bottled water - the town is all about clothes. It's such a huge difference from the states, where an economically healthy area is marked by its diversity of products. It makes me wonder if the competition somehow looks very different, and is something we just cannot see through our Western lens... Or perhaps this is where Communism's rejection of a market economy and capitalist system really comes into play...

In Hanoi we encountered some larger corporations in the midst of all the mom and pop shops, mostly electronics or fashion. Even in the big city, they seemed out of place somehow. It almost seems like a total reversal of US systems - in cities like San Diego, NY, and San Franciso, the shopping districts are known for their brand names that light up the streets, and seeing a smaller business would be a surprise. Then again, every district seems a shopping district in the cities here. We've noticed that whatever we are wanting at the time seems only a block or two away - drinks and snacks, "authentic handicrafts," ponchos, very cheap DVDs, or any other appealing item to a tourist.

In the rural areas, commerce is an entirely different story. Getting rice from the terraced fields to the markets, to the restaurants or buyers, to the consumers, is a process that I'm sure looks very different from the big city commerce that we can see more readily.

Something that's been on my mind especially is the perception that some may have observing Vietnamese economics - some may think that poverty is what marks the country's commerce. I have to wonder if we are judging by our own perception of poverty, based on an American framework that demands upward mobility and the search for "betterment," however that gets defined. I'm just not sure that search for success is so important here - providing for a family, sustaining what is already there, getting by with enough, may be enough. In that case, commerce takes on an entirely different meaning and significance to life.

Things come together.

2008-05-27T02:52:00.000-07:00

I will soon crawl through tunnels where young boys were killed fighting for a democracy they hardly understood...

I swim in the waters that my country graced with destruction in hope of salvation...

I read Shane Claiborne's plea for creative and humble nonviolence in a world where violence has become the most powerful currency...

I walk among the ruins of My Lai, a product of rage from a war of colonization disguised as
democracy...

I sing the Beatles' words that cry out against the death of Vietnamese Prudence and the complacency of allowing strawberry fields to become the norm...

I see Ho Chi Minh's loving face and the sickle's reassuring strength in every town, Communism that we so fear but gives so much comfort...

I ride from foreign land to foreign land to foreign land to foreign land in a vehicle dependent on democracy's next guise...

And all I can say is, xin loi.

I am so sorry.

Bizarre.

2008-05-24T11:02:00.000-07:00

From my journal on May 19:

"Today can only be categorized as absolutely bizarre.

We rode another night train and arrived in Hanoi around 5:30 am - walked around the strangely empty city without motorbikes - stopped into a pagoda service and Catholic mass - wondered if the people realized that the hymn they sing sounds horribly mournful to Western ears - stopped in for some tai chi and communal street aerobics - encountered multiple towels that can only cover about one shoulder - had a very awkward lunch complete with fish body, skin, eyes, and extra eggs, as well as a few chicken heads - again was attempted to be set up with a random Vietnamese man at least thirty years old - started off on an innocent "walk" through the rice paddies that transformed into the need to take off my mud-soaked shoes and instead trek for a very very long time barefoot in the alternating sensations of squishy mud and sharply painful rocks - had another awkward meal in which the presence of French fries was more redeeming than ever before - participated in a "cultural exchange" where many singers graced us with their lovely tonal and entirely unintelligible vocal skills.

New favorite song: Vietnam! Ho Chi Minh!"

Into the Country

2008-05-24T10:59:00.000-07:00

From my journal on May 17:

“I love contrast.

Yesterday I spend much of the day walking around the busy, humid, and very very warm streets of Hanoi - riding on a motorbike downtown in rush hour, where we ran into entire streets roped off for pagoda anniversary celebrations, eating in a little hole-in-the-wall pho place that would be shut down immediately if seen by an American health inspector.

Now, we find ourselves in Sapa, possibly the most gorgeous mountain town I will ever encounter. The scenery is absolutely lush, the culture is traditional Hmong, the women are beautiful across their agespan, and the fog makes things so much cooler. I can’t wait to see the mountains when it lifts.”

Getting to Sapa after some crazy Hanoi times was certainly an experience of contrast... the difference between urban and rural Vietnam is immeasurable. But beyond the obvious contrast in weather and setting, time in the rural areas, especially in the Thanh Thuy District, gave us insight into an entirely different way of life. I wonder how different the definition of “community” would be between the two ways of life...

In Hanoi, it seems that community is defined by whose homes and businesses you find yourself next to - all the shoesellers are friends perhaps. In the rural areas the framework of community may be defined partly by locale, but the connection would have to stretch farther than one’s next door neighbors. The immense rice paddies make it a little difficult to visit a friend by simply walking down the street - I wonder if that makes for a more meaningful relationship when a muddy trek is necessary for interaction.

The way the communes are set up provides a foundation for connecting at least the leaders of each village or small unit of people. It’s interesting to see the different ways that political participation happens in the urban and rural areas - although Communism is very much an influencing factor in both areas, it takes a different form for each. In the city, clean-cut official-looking skyscrapers mark the places where politics happen... in the country, the official buildings were much more user-friendly, down-to-earth, and in tune with the surrounding simplistic rural areas. Ho Chi Minh is everywhere, in every place... But in the commune areas, his bust is placed at the front of each official building and gathering place, reminding the people continually of how the political system operates on a level that directly affects their day-to-day life.

Rural life is always slower to change than urban life... Maybe the fashions hit Hanoi and become plastered over each billboard the next day, while the same trend goes virtually unknown in Thanh Thuy. But the presence of young people will inevitably be a variable for change. As more young people in the rural areas take notice that there is a different world out there beyond their rice paddies and water buffalo, the change begins to happen. Sometimes it is demanded. I wonder what that looks like - young people abandoning the communes for city life and leaving the communes to their traditional ways... or the ideas and desires of a younger generation seeping into the rural communities and changing them from the inside.

The contrast is telling, and thought-provoking, and exquisite.

the first two days

2008-05-15T17:54:00.000-07:00

Vietnam - it's a place most often associated with a war that left a bitter taste in the mouth of recent American history. But simply being here reminds me that this country is so much more than a war zone. It is a place with its own incredibly rich cultural and religious and political history, things that are not easily forgotten by the Vietnamese people... it's kind of difficult to forget one's presidential past when every day school age children are paraded hrough the Ho Chi Minh mausoleum where they get the chance to see their former president's embalmed body. (Government history is exciting, right kids?)

Anyway, Vietnam certainly has its own heritage, and self-awareness, and personality, and of course personality quirks.
The first couple days here have been very much marked by these quirks, making for a pretty hilarious time so far! Our very first impression of the country, right as we stepped off the bus, was witnessing a vehicle pass by that looked like it belonged in some sort of psychedelic festival parade... very unfamiliar music playing, very bright flowers waving, moving parts that didn't seem to make any sense. As a group of twenty Americans coming across this Eastern float, we had to crack up. Turns out the day we arrived was the first day of the UN Festival of Vesak, the week-long Buddhist celebration that we happened to stumble into.

We've been stumbling into a lot of things these last couple days - a humidity that makes me wonder if a shower is really going to do much good, gutters that could use some love, streets filled with more motorbikes than I have ever seen in my life, a cacophony of loudspeaker/incessant honking/engines revving/people speaking a very tonal language, a quaint-looking market street that just happens to be dedicated to dog meat, a communal life that happens almost entirely outdoors, and definitely a lot of tourist traps. I have to give them credit though - after years of perfecting the art of snagging naive tourists, they've got it down. I'm learning to perfect our art of the counter-attack, mostly an "I'm sorry" in Vietnamese, which sounds like "KA ZOI!" There are others in our group who prefer the more direct "DAT QUA!" complete with astonished hand gestures, a sure sign that the 'tantalizing' items are way too expensive.

I guess my most overwhelming response to these first impressions of the country could be one of relief. Thank goodness that not everybody has bought into the concept of the American dream. I was a bit afraid that the people of Vietnam might have done that very thing, and that globalization might have taken its toll in the form of Westernization to the point of not really knowing who the Vietnamese are anymore. But so not the case for this place. Eastern identity has not been stamped out by any means. And it's not just the pagodas and temples and pho and tofu and incense and cyclos and lotus flowers that make it so, although those have all reminded me of a beauty that is far from my own Western experience. Its Eastern identity is something that I am so excited to learn more of in the next three weeks, getting a glimpse into the workings of somewhere completely different than my comfort zone. I am relieved to see that much of our trip will come as a surprise.

jessica mast is in vietnam.

2008-05-14T10:03:00.000-07:00

she smells lots of fish and sewage and incense burned for buddha, hears lots of motorbike engines and horns, sees lots of faces that remind her of her home in southeast fresno, tastes lots and lots and lots of rice, and feels like the streets of hanoi are exactly where she should be right now.

highlight of the day:
the hilarious irony of visiting the very somber and very magnificent ho chi minh mausoleum - in the middle of a crowd of vietnamese children grabbing the back of their neighbor's shirts, or pants, or skirts, to keep them from getting too distracted and out of line while they toured.

really, what four year old wants to see their old president's embalmed body inside a soviet-inspired box of marble?

more to come later. i love my life.

Does this make anyone else cry?

2008-04-25T02:09:00.000-07:00

Gimme Shelter.
The Rolling Stones.

I can't tell if it's the mournful guitar intro, or Merry Clayton's powerful pleading voice, or simply the word children... All this destruction is just a shot away, if we don't pay attention to it and keep it from happening.

It always makes me cry, but I never really listened to the lyrics until tonight.
And somehow they drove it home.

Mick Jagger in a Rolling Stone interview:
"Well, it's a very rough, very violent era. The Vietnam War. Violence on the screens, pillage and burning. And Vietnam was not war as we knew it in the conventional sense... That's a kind of end-of-the-world song, really. It's apocalypse."

It is this tangible apocalypse that makes me cry. It happens more than we know.

Oh, a storm is threat'ning
My very life today
If I don't get some shelter
Oh yeah, I'm gonna fade away

War, children
It's just a shot away
It's just a shot away

War, children
It's just a shot away
It's just a shot away

Ooh, see the fire is sweepin'
Our very street today
Burns like a red coal carpet
Mad bull lost its way

War, children
It's just a shot away
It's just a shot away

War, children
It's just a shot away
It's just a shot away

Rape, murder!
It's just a shot away
It's just a shot away

Rape, murder!
It's just a shot away
It's just a shot away

Rape, murder!
It's just a shot away
It's just a shot away

The floods is threat'ning
My very life today
Gimme, gimme shelter
Or I'm gonna fade away

War, children
it's just a shot away
It's just a shot away
It's just a shot away
It's just a shot away
It's just a shot away

I tell you love, sister
It's just a kiss away
It's just a kiss away
It's just a kiss away
It's just a kiss away
It's just a kiss away
Kiss away, kiss away

Love, sister, it's just a kiss away
Kiss away, kiss away

who i am minus the exegesis

2008-04-08T02:47:00.000-07:00

I feel like recently I've been trying to figure out who I am apart from my theology...
It's weird.

My theology is such an immense, powerful, driving, catalystic part of who I am, but one day I realized that if my beliefs are my only source of identity, I am missing out on something.

If you ask me who I am, I might answer that I am a person who wants desperately to work for social justice, a person who finds joy in reading the Bible as a narrative and not as a rulebook, a person who believes that salvation is so much more than we give it credit for.

But what about the parts of me that aren't defined by my theology?
I am also a person who wants desperately to become a better singer and dancer, a person who finds joy in the promise of revolution, in the late 1960s and the freedom that is expressed in living counterculturally with a group of people that you love, a person who believes that a bit of jazz, a dash of wilderness, and a spot of tea are very good remedies for mundane life.

Maybe it's self-indulgent. But I have certainly enjoyed getting to know myself better.

Of course my theology is behind so much of what I do, how I think, and who I am.
But maybe I don't have to rationalize it all out, and instead just embrace the surface of me. If you know me at all, you know that I despise staying at the surface of things... but perhaps it's good to learn how to live at the surface and see just glimpses of what's beneath.

All this to say - apologies if I haven't been too theological lately, I've been preoccupied with discovering what my theology means for me in everyday life.

This is my new favorite thing.

2008-03-21T11:07:00.001-07:00

My world smelled delicious for hours afterward.

And who says I can't enjoy a pipe because I am a woman?

Mmmmm.

A Bus Testimonial.

2008-02-29T15:49:00.000-08:00

This is a little something I wrote yesterday for this month's FIFUL Faith and Justice Forum; the topic was transportation and justice. Here are my two cents, whatever that adds up to. : )

Fresno Area Express... I'll readily admit that the city bus is not always as “express” as it could be. There is no pretending that riding the bus is a glamorous thing – the AC isn't always the best, it take a while to get from 0 to 60, a few of my fellow riders aren't too concerned about their hygiene, we don't have hydraulics or rims or fuzzy dice.

What my bus does have, though, is a world that I would have never experienced on my own. Riding the bus gets me out of my small world, a world that is quite pleasant but is mostly white, middle to upper-class, Protestant, and familiar. The FAX does a wonderful job of plunging me into the unfamiliar, which can be a really, really fun time.

My bus reminds me to live intentionally, consciously, and environmentally-friendly. My bus does wonders for the earth; it brings justice to the ozone and righteousness to the greenhouse gases. It is healthy for the world we live in. But for me, it's even more than environmentalism, I ride the bus because it is healthy for my own soul. It gets me out of myself, into somebody else's sphere of living that has an incredible amount of wisdom to offer.

Some of my favorite people, the Amish, say they ride buggies because it slows them down. The bus is my buggy, reminding me to slow down and think about the choices I make in life... Am I choosing to live a life marked by convenience and comfort and self-sufficiency? Or can I make the choice to live with a little more work, a little less comfort, and a renewed appreciation for the beauty of interdependency?

Justice means that things are set right, that things are moved from their state of inequality to their state of equality. I may look like a silly little middle-class white girl getting on a big unfamiliar bus, but it is that kind of thing that defies our skewed notions of the certain things that certain people should and shouldn't do. And every time I get on that bus, it becomes more familiar – and it becomes more okay for me, a silly little white girl, to be there.

That is justice to me, not conforming to the myths about what we should and shouldn't be doing. If we follow the example of Jesus, he had some pretty crazy ideas about deconstructing those myths.

So is there risk on my bus? I suppose so... the world of the bus is where most of my date offers come from. And from some very interesting fellows.
It does get awkward.
But I am more than willing to get past that awkardness, to a place where I can simply be with my neighbors in their journey – and become a part of that community that exists on those wheels.

Firsts.

2008-02-24T02:11:00.000-08:00

These last two weeks have been fraught with new adventures... They say there's a first time for everything, and that time has been quite enjoyable.
Recently I have:

Gambled!
... spontaneous Table Mountain visit that got me $3 poorer and fairly depressed at the sight of so many people hoping for something they probably will never receive, staring at their individual screens, only slightly more advanced than a really bad arcade game.

Mailed a package to Canada!
... I love Laura Adams.

Gone skiing!
... the bruises are worth my sense of accomplishment. I learned to glide downhill, even if that meant a lot of crashing into the sides of the trail... at least the snow was soft, right?

Bought a dozen roses on Valentine's Day!
... I love my friends.

Helped make a film!
... no, not professional - but entertaining and incredibly fun? Yes.

Ran away from an oncoming train and sat on a rickety bridge platform while it sped by!
... mmhmm, exhilirating. Go try it sometime, I will gladly go with you!

Visited a synagogue!
... favorite moment: learning that the Hebrew writing above the altar reads simply, "for the love of truth and peace."

Eaten a veggie sandwich at a ribs joint!
... delicious.

Watched a Vietnamese film!
... Three Seasons, see it if you get a chance and have a desire to see many beautiful lotus flowers.

Spun and danced crazily on a pier above the Pacific Ocean in a blustery windstorm!
... okay, maybe not windstorm, but it was intense. I thought I might blow away. If our day retreat was all about figuring out what sexy is, it was captured in that moment of liberation above the waves.

New adventures are good ones.
Peace.

I love sexy.

2008-02-14T08:39:00.000-08:00

"look, no eyes"

courtesy of phitar

http://www.flickr.com/photos/phitar

Hmm. Some thoughts.

2008-02-01T00:30:00.001-08:00

So, certain individuals have called for an update.
The problem is, I feel like there is way too much on my mind right now to create any kind of cohesive and coherent message to convey all that's been happening the last little bit of life...

We'll start with this: The world is good. Life is good. Sometimes they get hard and sometimes they get confusing, but goodness abounds.

I love my module. I keep realizing this fact, and the fact that my module loves me, more and more.

MLK Day was a good one. I bicycled, marched for peace, played with children, visited friends, had some tea, and stopped by a car wash fundraiser to get the bicycle clean. I find that some of my favorite people are those that I interact with for about three minutes... A wave is more than enough to share a bit of friendship.

"Sex class," or rather Theological Ethics of Conflict and Peacemaking, is great. It has been stretching, affirming, challenging, strengthening, turning upside down my own ways of viewing human sexuality. Yes, it gets frustrating when I find myself one of the most liberal people in the room - but this is growth.

I miss Laura Adams. I am so happy for her to be living out life in a bold and unconventional way. But I still miss her and the comfort she so lovingly brings to my troubled mind. Sigh...

I think I finally settled on a New Year's Resolution... seeking out friends who are different from me. Whether that comes in the context of belief, personality, language, image, life goal, or whatever else plummets me out of my own comfort zone, I am ready to have friends unlike me. Honestly I am becoming very tired of continually being with people who are so like me - usually white, Protestant, middle or upper class. There is nothing inherently wrong with them, with me, but I just feel very ready to know more people unlike me.

Jesus for President! The tour is coming to Fresno on July 12, and I am incredibly excited to be on the planning team for this wonderful occurrence. On the agenda: potluck, veggie oil, fliers, music, political imagination... Can you get any better than that?!?

For Lent, I am nearly convinced that I won't be buying anything for myself. No purchases for me, unless in an emergency. This means I'll need to stock up beforehand and be very conscientious about my habits. If Lent is a time to examine the things that distract us from seeking God, this fits perfectly. Should be fun. : )

I am currently listening to Norah Jones and wishing I could sing a bit more like her. Today in jazz band I took an unsolicited scat solo - not great, but it's a step for me!

And now, to conclude.

"Do you think that one of the reasons why people hate The Da Vinci Code so much is that, if Jesus had a baby with Mary Magdalene, he can't be their boyfriend?"
courtesy of Robert Jost

sabbath and reflection

2008-01-10T21:37:00.000-08:00

"We are not a very reflective culture," said somebody quite wise.

That is really too bad.... how much are we missing out on when we forget to reflect? We get fed so much information that we don't even know how to process it; we get so busy contributing and being productive that we never take time to step back and look at our work.

Last weekend's RA retreat challenged us to live in rhythm, with room for diligence and room for Sabbath. Sabbath is reflection to me, a recognition of time set apart for something beyond the everyday.

Thank God for places in life set apart for reflection - like my comfy thrift store kimono, favorite well-worn bicycle paths, an obscure teahouse, blank pages hungry for thoughtful ink, the delicate needle of a record player, the warmth of a kitchen as dinner is prepared, and a lotus flower that silently reminds me to be perpetually in awe of life.

And when Sabbath comes in the midst of the everyday... we reflect without even knowing it.

the words of Juno

2008-01-06T22:09:00.000-08:00

If I was a flower growing wild and free
All I'd want is you to be my sweet honey bee.
And if I was a tree growing tall and green
All I'd want is you to shade me and be my leaves

If you were a wink, I'd be a nod
If you were a seed, well I'd be a pod.
If you were the floor, I'd wanna be the rug
And if you were a kiss, I know I'd be a hug

All I want is you, will you be my bride?
Take me by the hand and stand by my side
All I want is you, will you stay with me?
Hold me in your arms and sway me like the sea.

All I Want is You... Barry Louis Polisar

You're a part time lover and a full time friend
The monkey on your back is the latest trend
I don't see what anyone can see, in anyone else
But you

I kiss you on the brain in the shadow of a train
I kiss you all starry eyed, my body's swinging from side to side
I don't see what anyone can see, in anyone else
But you

Here is the church and here is the steeple
We sure are cute for two ugly people
I don't see what anyone can see, in anyone else
But you

Du du du du du du dudu
Du du du du du du dudu
Du du du du du du dudu du

Anyone Else But You... The Moldy Peaches

The film Juno is a wonderful, wonderful, heartwarming, refreshing, hopeful, wonderful, wonderful look at life and all that life has in store. The soundtrack makes me smile and cry and wish that life was as simple as we sometimes forget that it is.

Sigh.

mystical christmas

2007-12-24T22:30:00.000-08:00

The spirit moves in mysterious ways, yes?
Shouldn't Christmas be a time to celebrate that mystery of the spirit?

I believe it - so does the Oneness Center of Fresno. My family and I, looking for a meaningfully different kind of Christmas Eve service tonight, ventured to the center and witnessed one of the most beautiful services I have ever experienced.

It wasn't an average Christian service by any stretch of the imagination.
The message was not to believe in Jesus and bask in his power - this was the message of my church yesterday morning. We skipped over the beauty of Christmas entirely, and I walked away very disheartened.

The message was to simply reflect on what it means to experience the divine presence within each of us, within ourselves and within others. The beauty of Christmas is that Jesus comes with such subtlety and ordinary life as a simple peasant baby of an oppressed people... but that his life is a testimony to what happens when the presence of God is always sought, always revered, and always loved.

We talked about 'enlightenment,' 'realizing one's divinity,' 'metaphysical interpretation,' 'the divine in me' - the language is not familiar to my Western ear, but it reminds me a side of God that I sometimes forget.

God is not all common sense; God is mysterious.

The story of Christmas is not of one reason and rational thinking... unusual, unexpected things are happening in a world that is calling for a Messiah. A young girl giving birth to a child not created the way children are usually created -- a father who owes nothing but chooses to love a young woman and her illegitimate son -- an old, barren cousin having a son who will later eat locusts and wild honey -- men traveling for weeks, months, years to follow a star that they believe will lead them to a prophesied king -- and all this happening to a tiny Jewish life that probably has no idea what all the commotion is about.

I love Christmas. I love the fact that it really doesn't make that much sense. And there is the beauty. Let's recognize God's presence wherever we see it... I see it in this tiny child, in this story, in this season. I see it in you, and I see it in me, and I see in Josie who I met today on Olive.

I see it in the song "O Holy Night," which never hit me until tonight. The reason that a traditional, liturgical hymn would touch me in a place where mysticism, interspirituality, and metaphysics are the norm - now that is a mystery!

a thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices
for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn
fall on your knees, oh hear the angels voices
oh night divine!
oh night... when Christ was born

merry christmas, and namaste!

christmas break discoveries

2007-12-19T16:23:00.000-08:00

In the few days away from my usual life of tedious and/or invigorating academics, the company of twenty other young women residents, the tranquility of covering books, the same pre-planned lunch each day of the week, and a real bed -
I have learned that...

My little brother is ridiculous. He tells us to stop "exasperating" him and then claims that he has a limited vocabulary so he can't be held to his words. I can't wait to see that kid grow up.

I really, really enjoy citrus fruits. I never have in my life, until a few weeks ago. I'm glad for the change of heart!

The Big Lebowski is really not worth your time, if you've been pondering it. Don't even worry about it.

I need a coat.

The Bible would have turned out very different if written by women. Currently reading The Red Tent by Anita Diamant... It's written from the perspective of Dinah, an often-overlooked Old Testament character from the days of Jacob, his twelve sons, and his four wives. Now really, do we ever stop and think what kind of everyday life that messy family would have experienced?

Moccasins don't mix well with rain. Neither does very hot chocolate mix well with an unsuspecting tongue.

What have you learned?

i love peacemaking.

2007-12-16T11:03:00.000-08:00

we told that cannon who's boss. and we still look good.
don't even mess with us when we've got pacifism in mind.

hanford.
courtesy of caitlin baird.

i love music.

2007-12-13T01:36:00.000-08:00

i'm not usually much of a romantic.

but this changes my mind.

lakes.

courtesy of caitlin baird.

saved?

2007-12-03T01:59:00.000-08:00

this was posted in response to another's blog, that wonderful man barry mast.
just thought i'd share in the larger sphere. it's something that is very, very close to my heart and on my mind every day...

-----------------------------------------

one thing that's been on my mind recently is this idea that "salvation" may be more of an awakened consciousness than anything else.

once we realize who we are created to be - parts of a bigger and grander whole, children of a creator who vastly loves us, people who make mistakes but still believe in ours and others' redemption...

perhaps we've been "saved" all along, but it really hits home once we start to recognize it and live in response to it.

as far as salvation being a one-way ticket to heaven... i just can't invest in a god, who LOVES his people, condemning them away from his presence by failing to pick up the correct ticket.

----------------------------------------

do we see being 'saved' as more than a one-way ticket out of jail?
do we even acknowledge the fact that salvation is SO much bigger than 'me and god'?
do we give god enough room to be who god is and not fit into our tidy four-pillar formulas?
do we allow god room to be grey, though it may cause discomfort for our logical minds?

Questions.

2007-11-26T21:55:00.000-08:00

I love questions!
I ask them quite frequently. And as frightening as it is sometimes to not know the answers, I'm okay with that. What good are questions if they're answered easily anyway? That just serves to sap all the fun out of asking them. : )

It really has been fun, especially over the last few months.
The other day I was looking through my journal, which houses a myriad of thoughts – some deeply personal, some fleeting glances at a subject I have yet to delve into, some seeming to have no bearing at all on real life. But amid all these thoughts I found many, many questions.

I thought I should share a few of them with you. Some may hit things hard, some may make me look like an idiot. You decide. Feel free to answer if you'd like, or just leave them as they are, allowing us to remain in contemplation.

And, you know, it's good to keep in mind that Jesus asked questions too.
So, some of the questions I've been asking recently...

1. Instead of equipping people to achieve the grand “American dream,” can we imagine a different dream and reach it cooperatively?

2. Why do we give so much power to the word “pastor”?

3. How is our dominant, majority culture accidentally silencing those who need to experience God differently?

4. What would happen if we allowed the holy spirit to embody the qualities of a female? Wouldn't that complete the trinity as a family? Father, son, and.... mother?

5. If Jesus can be described as “a very political person, who loved people deeply and wanted things to change, here and now”... who's to say we cannot embody that same persona?

6. Recommended dietary intake is usually placed significantly higher than our bodies actually need... Why is the government suggesting that we eat more than we need? Is that holistic health at all, for us or anyone else?

7. What's with this crazy dualism and separating our spiritual selves and our physical selves from one another?

8. Why, if I've been consistently loved and encouraged by those around me and if my parents have always told me that I am worthy and intelligent and good, why have I struggled so much with my self-esteem?

9. How do we avoid disaster tourism in the search for alliance with those who need help?

10. If five of our FPU athletes became Christians at an altar call last week... that's great. I'm glad they feel some sort of transformation. But what does that say about our recruiting strategies?

11. And... what's the big deal with altar calls anyway? Do we give too much importance to a point in time rather an a journey?

12. Reflecting on my class, Conflict Management and Resolution - where we learn that it's good to be sympathetic, to be cooperative, to put the needs before oursevles – isn't this common sense? Do people not get this?

13. Why are French salons so cool?

14. If I don't believe that there should be one person as the “head” of a church, should there be a “head” of the household? Or vice versa?

15. Does it really make sense to think that God's children are inherently evil? What if it is simply easier to live selfishly, narrow-mindedly, “evilly”? Doesn't it make sense that we were created for good, but it may take some hard work to realize that fact?

16. Why do important, meaningful, and profound ideas so often become trendy and trivial?

17. Is the emergent church, as much as I love us, too filled up with a sense of who we are, to the point of being exclusive again?

18. If Jesus can be friends with Simon the Zealot and work together despite ideological differences, who's to say I can't be friends with anarchists?

19. What the hell does “glorify” mean anyway?

20. What if transformation, being “transformed by the renewing of your minds,” has as much to do with organizational life as it does with individual life?

21. What if there is no point where we receive or grab hold of the divine spirit... instead, the spirit is always at work within us, but it takes some work to recognize it?

22. What makes the band Heart so incredibly sexy? What makes anything incredibly sexy?

23.Ideas?

This is what happens.

2007-11-16T01:03:00.000-08:00

when Christians and Buddhists realize they can be friends.

when the line between sacred and secular is blurred.

when God meets the heart of an artist, and an artist meets the heart of God.

when shalom is creative.

a section of the mural honoring buddhist monks in burma

love song community outreach

shalom and art

Alexander Supertramp, gypsy.

2007-10-29T19:20:00.000-07:00

Inside the bus, on a sheet of weathered plywood spanning a broken window, McCandless scrawled an exultant declaration of independence:

Two years he walks the earth. No phone, no pool, no pets, no cigarettes. Ultimate freedom. An extremist. An aesthetic voyager whose home is the road. Escaped from Atlanta. Thou shalt not return, 'cause "the West is the best." And now after two rambling years comes the final and greatest adventure. The climactic battle to kill the false being within and victoriously conclude the spiritual pilgrimage. Ten days and nights of freight trains and hitchhiking bring him to the Great White North. No longer to be poisoned by civilization he flees, and walks alone upon the land to become lost in the wild.

Alexander Supertramp
May 1992

Documented by John Krakauer in his book Into the Wild
Expressed profoundly by Sean Penn in his film Into the Wild

If you have ever dreamt of being a wanderer, a vagabond, a nomad, a pilgrim, an ascetic, a monk of the wilderness, a person freed from the trapping of society as we know it, a gypsy...
So have I.

So has Christopher McCandless, claiming his liberated identity as Alexander Supertramp. His story is one of a journey that allowed him to discover the essence of himself, in harmony with the world around and uninhibited by the falsehood of humanity.

His story is one of a beautiful discovery.
But he discovered it alone.

Happiness is only real when shared.
People may be flawed, people may be unreliable, people may be terrible to one another - but we need them. We cannot do this alone.

This film spoke to my core, a conflicted and confused place that seeks both independence and community, liberation and connectedness, the life of a gypsy and of a citizen.

We cannot fully experience life alone.
Gypsies like us should be stamped for solidarity.

Imagination.

2007-10-16T15:33:00.000-07:00

I love imagination.
The other night I painted with some of my very good friends.

It didn't really matter what colors we chose to mmix, or what patterns we chose to sketch - but what mattered is that we were together, creating something that gave God some glee. God was pleased at our artwork and pleased that we were crafting a piece of immense beauty.

The other night I saw Across the Universe.
It was a celebration of the brilliance that happens when people are creative, finding and crafting beauty in the midst of a dark and hopeless time.
Yes, there was sex. God created us for that, too. God is an artist.

I am an activist.
I stand for peace, I stand for justice, and I stand for imagination. What good is a statement if it does nothing to engage the senses, if it fails to make people stop and marvel at it, if it is nothing out of the ordinary?

Imagination is key.
This world is bleak and drab without it. Without creativity, without art, without music, without poetry, without a creative expression of love... where is God? We are made in the image of a creator - can we revel in the creativity that has been instilled in us? Please?

I hope to be a prophet, a prophet of imagination. You are a prophet.
You are a work of art. We are works of art.
I am a work of art.
Even me!

Oh, Africa.

2007-10-02T01:04:00.000-07:00

My past.
South Africa.
Four weeks in July.
Thank you letter.
Somewhat cheesy, but do what you will with it.

--------------

Hello hello, friends!

I am back in the states after quite possibly the most wonderful, mobilizing, beautiful, challenging, affirming, transformational trips I have ever experienced. I cannot thank you all enough for your support – each of you contributed to a season in my life that will not easily be forgotten. It can only go forward from here! This trip solidified passions in me, sparked some new ones, and most of all stoked an already burning fire. I pray that fire continues flaming as I process our experiences, and strive to live a life transformed by what happened in South Africa.

At our first church service in Durban (the huge, smoggy, industrial, tense, violent, and undeniably westernized city on the eastern coast of South Africa) each of our six team members spoke to the congregation of about thirty people. I mentioned that in the family of God there is no Jew or Gentile, free or slave, man or woman – and, I added, no American or African. The applause and laughter indicated that this was the people’s sentiment as well, and that mindset carried us through the trip, being able to view very different people as one because of a common goal and a common desire to seek a God and a kingdom that transcends the politics and power of our own.

We worked closely with Mennonites Brothers Church in the South Beach area of Durban, far from the guest house where we slept, in the safer, whiter, richer neighborhood of Morningside. The daily commute was a cultural experience in itself, driving through the various boroughs of Durban in combies, packed mini-vans with gangster emblems and phrases all over the outside and Mr. Akon blaring on the inside. At Frere Mennonite, where we spent most of our days, we taught English lessons that invariably turned hilarious; helped build part of a roof to prepare for a nursery program (crèche); ate some delicious waffles, a standard South African dessert item; played with and took care of children for the “big mamas;” sang hours upon hours of French, Lingala, and English worship songs complete with uninhibited dance; cleaned up and painted the “backside” of the church (our friend Rachel left her mark beautifully through an amazing mural she created!); distributed food along with some very sketchy theology… But most importantly spent time with the people of the church, getting to know them and hearing their incredible, inspiring, and often disconcerting stories. The church was made entirely of refugees from the Democratic Republic of Congo, except for our one Caucasian friend, Philip. Philip is an ex-diamond smuggler, who “never shot to kill, only shot to cripple.” He has one of the most crazy, transformational life stories I have ever heard! He said we were all invited back to Durban for his wedding next year… and we may take him up on it! Our favorite friend by far was an amazing man named Honore, French for ‘honor.’ He reminded us all of a young boy trapped in an adult body, a body that due to its incredible height and incredible lack of fat reminded us in turn of a giraffe! Honore has quite possibly the most gentle and generous spirit I have ever encountered – it has been a great privilege getting to know him.

Outside of the city, we had the chance to help lead two youth gatherings and speak to the junior high and high school students of Pietermaritzburg and Stanger, smaller towns about an hour away from Durban. The opportunity to share our hearts was a wonderful one, empowering for each of us and affirming in the fact we definitely have worthwhile words to share. The drives to each city were pretty phenomenal as well! Out of the city and into the country, we drove through some beautiful countryside and experienced those proverbial African skies. And yes, we managed to see some animals. We drove through two game park reserves and got close to the rhinos, buffalo, ostrich, zebras, wild hogs, lions, and giraffes. I must admit, one of my favorite moments was spent crouching in the brush and smelling the earthy, unadulterated scent that accompanies the chasing of a baby giraffe...

All our great experiences certainly came with some challenging ones. Money became more of an issue than we could have imagined. We discovered that we had severely under budgeted and would soon run out of money; at the same time we were worrying about our own caretaking, all those around us were in a much worse situation. Reconciling our vast American wealth, and simultaneously our friends’ great financial difficulties, was one of the most stretching mental challenges for me. We heard sentiments that suggested America is essentially heaven, the place everyone wants to be; such statements frightened me and truly awakened me to the reality of globalization and America’s imperialistic nature, intentional or not. Visiting a Target back in the states, a couple weeks ago, gave me a fair bit of culture shock... the idea that all the people in the store could afford to buy all they needed, and more, nearly made me cry.

Thankfully, through all the ups and downs of our trip, I had an absolutely phenomenal team alongside me. Us six FPU students, now including some of my closest friends, were able to connect and work together in a remarkable way, far beyond any of us would have guessed would happen. Although most of us didn't know the others well, we felt connected already by the end of our week of pre-trip training.Sharing the journey with these incredible people was so valuable – we were able to come together each night to debrief, sing, process, pray, read the book of Acts, and support one another when things around us seemed to make no sense. I am positive that those nights in our little hotel room comprised some of the best “church” I have ever experienced. We do our best to keep that church together, seeing each other again every couple weeks. They did so much for me this trip, as a group who accepted, encouraged, and genuinely loved me for my whole self. I can tell I have returned to the states transformed espescially in my own self-image, and my five friends have so much to do with that.

Since we've been back, a fair amount of time has passed. And I do apologize for keeping you hanging for so long... It's been filled with more retreats, the start of my sophomore year, much bicycling through downtown Fresno, some great class discussions on racism, the thrill and challenge of being an RA, spontaneous trips to the coast, organizing and planning for Building a Culture of Peace Week, making friends with some local anarchist activists, and much dancing! It's been a good start to another good year – overwhelming at times, but the kind of overwhelming where I know that I am doing things that I want to do. And for that opportunity I am quite thankful. I've declared my majors as Biblical/Religious Studies, Intercultural Studies, and my minor as Peacemaking and Conflict Studies – although I know well that they may change!

Who knows what comes next? This school year is an adventure of its own, and next summer holds the potential for a study tour to Vietnam, overseas work with Mennonite Central Committee, a position in Chicago or Toronto as city host for exposing students to the reality of urban life... Or something else entirely! This trip has affirmed my belief that much of my life will be spent traveling and exploring what discipleship truly means, and I am stoked to live my life in response to that belief. It is an exciting journey to be on, and I thank each of you again for helping me along the way.

Thank you so incredibly much – I love you all.

B Day

2007-09-09T02:20:00.000-07:00

The last two days have been miraculously filled with many of my favorite things that start with the letter B. Let's revert back to our Sesame Street naievete and appreciate this moment.

Busses (three)
Bob Dylan
Bags
Babies
Buddhism
Bicycles
Benny and Joon
Blankets
Baking
Bracelets/Bangles
Bryan Feil
Balance
Building a Culture of Peace Week
Brother
Big Band
Back to the Future
Barefootedness
Barrios
Becky Kruse
Beasts
Bohemians
Breathing

But not beef.
Peace.

Speech

2007-08-24T11:03:00.000-07:00

The heavens declare the glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of his hands.

Day after day they pour forth speech;
night after night they display knowledge.

They have no speech, they use no words;
no sound is heard from them.

Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,
their words to the ends of the world.

Psalm 19

What if our lives shine so brightly and display God's love with such enigmatic beauty that creation speaks for itself? What if our message cannot help but flow from us and touch the world with its poignancy?

Peace in Perspective II

2007-06-25T01:59:00.000-07:00

And yet, in contrast of politics with no peaceful purpose... comes purposeful peace that happens to become political. (Say that five times fast...)

In his literary beauty, A Generous Orthodoxy, Brian McLaren relates the overall stance of Anabaptists in regards to conflict and peacemaking. Anabaptism is very close to my heart, the heritage I have been raised in and have come to embrace.

"While a generous orthodoxy does not assume that everyone will become a strict pacifist, it does assume that every follower of Christ will at least be a pacifist sympathizer and will agree that if pacifism is not required for all followers of Christ just yet, it should be as soon as possible. In other words, people holding to the vision of Jesus Christ - the kingdom of God - never believe that the ways of violence lead to peace. For them, there is no way to peace, but rather peace itself is the way to life in God's kingdom. (This is why an argument that brands pacifism as impractical makes little sense to Anabaptists. Practicality used in this way is a means of preserving the status quo, and Anabaptists believe the kingdom of God is not the status quo. For them, the only practical way to receive the kingdom of God is to live in peace.)"

Mmmm... peace that leads to the kingdom of God, peace that defies what we expect from our culture, peace that rejects the status quo and fixes its gaze on something of another nature... I can go for that.

Peace in Perspective I

2007-06-23T21:48:00.000-07:00

I just got home from the Fresno Center for Non-Violence's 15th Anniversary party of sorts... A great thing to celebrate!

But far from celebrating a legacy of peace-making and looking toward a hopeful future of non-violent change to come, the featured speaker hit on a narrow, entrenched, exacerbated, and ironically near-militarized agenda.
Yes, the Bush administration has done wrong, a lot wrong. Yes, the US should not have invaded Iraq. Yes, our nation should never be allowed to abuse our power in such atrocious ways.

But to slam a few people in power and only further hostilities between already hostile groups... that doesn't seem very peaceful in itself. I love the fact that people outside the power realm are enthusiastic about speaking up and willing to be bold enough to say that there is something very wrong occurring. But how far are we really going to get when all we do is shift the power to the other side of the equation? How much does hardcore leftism counteract hardcore rightism in a way that actually seeks peace?

At one point the speaker began to highlight the differences between Democrats and Republicans, on the issue of the Iraq war. I couldn't help but think to myself, Isn't there something more? Isn't there any other system we can look to that allows us the freedom to go beyond our allegiances to one or the other extreme of the political spectrum?

Not to be a SuperChristian... shudder... but I think that here lies the beauty of a faith beyond this earth and its oh-so-fallible systems. As followers of another revolutionary leader, we pledge allegiance to a higher power. We invest in a system of politics that completely transcends them.

The speaker missed this third option of loyalty. We don't have to immerse ourselves in one horizontal extreme or the other; there is another plane of existence that provides a wholly alternative policy.

If there is anything good about believing and living in step with a higher power (which I happen to believe is a good thing anyway), it is the fact that we are not bound by our earthly systems. They fail. That's life. But something remains beyond political systems that often don't quite make sense...

God and the Father

2007-06-17T16:23:00.000-07:00

They say our perception of God is colored by our perception of our fathers.
My God is a good one. Wise, patient, loving, just, silly, challenging, sacrificial, a bit inexplicable at times, but unceasingly speaking truth in grace.
And for this God I am very, very grateful.

For my father, who taught me about this God and continues to remind me of his creator, I am more grateful than words can express.
I'm not sure my father even realizes just how much I respect, admire, emulate, and love him. There have certainly been times when I thought him a tyrant, prude, or even a heretic... But I realize God is none of those things. And this man who strives to remember God is none of those things.

You, not a tyrant, have helped create who I am by making decisions for me, when I was too unsure to make them myself.
You, not a prude, have modeled a different way of life that leads to so much more than we can ever comprehend.
And you, perhaps still a heretic, have taught me to think for myself - question the orthodox, challenge convention, reject normalcy for the sake of normalcy, and remain bored with satisfaction. (It may cause me to meet a few pirates along the way, but at least I will have made some friends.)

Thank you.
Thank you, Dad.
Thank you for choosing us.
Thank you for crafting me into who I am.
Thank you for reminding me of what really matters.
Thank you for being a manifestation of who God is, and how God loves.
You are my hero.

I love you.

So does Mom, and so does that other kid you are crafting.

Happy Father's Day.
Your ock.

Prophecy

2007-06-16T18:13:00.000-07:00

Prophecy is not merely prediction of what is to come. Prophets speak of a different way of life, an alternative to the present that we do not passively await, but actively pursue. The life that is prophesied is not just a thing to hope for, it is a thing to build now.

From Shane Claiborne's The Irresistable Revolution - some eloquent and imaginative prophecy, rethinking the concept of conversion and presenting a new way of life, undeniably appropriate for our time...

"Then we will start to see some true conversion vans - vehicles that run on veggie oil instead of diesel. Then we will see some converted homes - fueled by renewable energy - and laundry machines powered by stationary bicycles and toilets flushed with dirty sink water. Then we will see tears converted to laughter as people beat their swords into plowshares and weld their machine guns into saxophones, and as police officers use their billy clubs to play baseball."

It's good to know that prophecy is not just for prophets. It speaks to everyone willing to hear it and consider something different.

Then again...

2007-06-16T18:04:00.000-07:00

The source of the statement below, that so adamantly despised the professor's lack of knowledge, is the same source that, after a reference to the last presidential election, whispered...

"Who's John Kerry?"

Grey Matter

2007-06-14T00:34:00.000-07:00

So the other day... we spent more than an hour having a conversation about some fabulously grey area in my summer women's studies class. The professor has done an amazing job at presenting new material in a way that is invitational, not coercive - thought-provoking but not overwhelming.

And yes, much of it is grey, rejecting the conventional dichotomy of "one or the other."
In regards to gender, relationships, science, theology, truth, and pretty much all of life... grey is necessary.

As she gave us an idea of what to expect on our next exam, she seemed fairly uncertain about the material to be covered... understandable.
Asked whether we'd need to be prepared for a certain section of our textbook, she replied, "Yes, kind of."
I heard an overly exasperated sigh from behind me, soon followed by a demanding and uncompromising voice, "Yes or no?!?"

Sorry, weren't we just on grey?

Dancing

2007-06-12T13:38:00.000-07:00

"It's not my revolution if I can't dance to it. "
- the sentiment of Emma Goldman, Lithuanian anarcha-feminist

"A revolution without dancing is a revolution not worth having."
- V, V for Vendetta

"May we continue to feed each other hope as we dance God's revolution together."
- Shane Claiborne, The Irresistible Revolution

Agreed.
Who says there's no theology in graphic novels or anarchy?
Or... who says there's no room for graphics novels or anarchy in theology?

I'm going to Hell... Woot!

2007-06-01T02:37:00.000-07:00

Who knew?

Evidently a friend of mine did. I had no idea, but I'm so very glad she clued me in to my faithless and heathenistic shortcomings... Oh, how the glorious venue of Teazer can be defiled by such ridiculosity.

So, I'm headed down the path to that fiery place. The reason: I have not been baptized.

According to my Mennonite tradition (I use the word intentionally) baptism is a symbol, a public act of commitment to following the way of Jesus in community with other followers. It is also symbolic of pledging allegiance to the kingdom of God through a public display of faith. I love it.

But according to my friend’s tradition, baptism is synonymous with 'salvation.' Salvation itself is another matter entirely, but let's assume for the moment that is has to do with my soul being in right relationship with God and the assurance that my afterlife is one of happy heaven-filled goodness. This salvation, as she describes it, is dependent on a six-step process, so far incomplete in my life.

1. Hear the Gospel.
2. Believe.
3. Repent of past sins.
4. Confess Jesus as Lord.
5. Be baptized for the remission of sins.
6. Live a Christian life.

Now, I'm going to be prideful and say that I have completed (or have tried my best to complete) five of these steps. But the order of my ‘steps to salvation’ has been a bit askew, and so I’m stuck in that awkward in-between stage between confessing and being baptized. Sounds like puberty, ugh. In my friend's mind, this means that I am not fully 'saved' but instead am missing a crucial part of the formula to eternal life.

So... all my attempts the past several years, in the stage between confession and baptism, all my attempts at living a life pleasing to God, following God's command, striving to imitate Jesus' example - all this is in vain because I haven't followed one rule? A wise man brought up the point that Jesus also lays out a rule to cut off our hands and gouge out our eyes. That's pleasant.

1. Hear the Gospel.
2. Believe.
3. Repent of past sins.
4. Confess Jesus as Lord.
5. Be baptized for the remission of sins.
6. Gouge out eyes.
7. Cut off hands (you decide, one or two).
8. Figure out how to function handless and blind.
9. Live a Christian life.
10. Good luck. Sorry guys, it’s the rules.

Maybe I’m just too anti-rules - horrific, anarchic, mutinous rebel that I am.

This anti-rules sentiment is the reason I've never been baptized in the first place. Baptism, as manipulated by man and man's desire for power, has become an unfortunate element of church politics. I have not (yet) found myself in a place and time where I felt ready to commit to membership in a particular church through baptism, and felt I fully understood all that that entails. It’s not that I don’t want to be baptized, I really would love to be. But my personal convictions lead me to choose when and where carefully.

My friend proceeded to let me know that I was either not ready to repent, or not focusing on God enough. Maybe I should just pray harder… But, you know, I wonder if I am even allowed to pray, if the Holy Spirit hasn’t entered me through baptism yet? Tricksy little argument cycle there.

It sounds pretty hopeless for me until I get my whole head underwater.
It sounds like I better do it quickly, or my soul may be in jeopardy.
Excuse me while I run to the nearest river and jump in, for fear I die of catching pneumonia from my wonderful baptism.

But first, I leave you with a song. Enjoy.

I am a C
I am a C-H
I am a C-H-R-I-S-T-I-A-N. (Oh yes, I am!)
I have been B-A-P-T-I-Z-E-D with the S-P-I-R-I-T
But more importantly, with W-A-T-E-R (Splash!)
And not just any W-A-T-E-R - W-A-T-E-R I've been D-U-N-K-E-D in
D-U-N-K, I say D-U-N-K, full I-M-M-E-R-S-I-O-N (hand claps 2x)
We do no S-I-S-S-Y little S-P-R-I-N-K-L-E-S (Boo!)
And I have C-H-R-I-S-T in my H-E-A-R-T
And I will L-I-V-E E-T-E-R-N-A-L-L-Y
According to the S-I-X-S-T-E-P P-R-O-C-E-S-S!
(S-U-C-K-A-H!)

Ranchwoods

2007-05-25T01:37:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago was the last Ranchwoods get-together of the year.

All the jumble of emotion and thought process that accompanied the formation and continuation of a high school girls' Bible study culminated last night in the most beautiful way possible.

From the very beginning, 'relationship' was the buzz word. We, a few white girl FPU students, wanted to build relationships with them, a few high school age black girls from across the street, across the culture boundaries that defined us.

By the end, there was no 'we' and 'them' - or at least the collective we had come to appreciate, embrace, and celebrate our collectively diverse nature. We danced together, with some popping, locking, and dropping that I would have never tried on my own. We imitated each other, with wild gesticulations, 'yanadarimeans', and British accents. We played together and enjoyed the company of someone different.

As we went our separate ways, I passed by some girls outside and attempted my newfound groove once more. We laughed at my incompetence, joking but appreciating our differences. Before I left, they asked me to call.

We can try to convert young souls, undermine a subculture we think inferior, and try to mold people into our own image as much as we want... when all they ask for is a call.

Motion

2007-05-21T22:44:00.000-07:00

Hello.
I'm new, and shall begin with this.
From March 2007, after enlightening, challenging, and terrifying experiences with a US-Mexico border study tour, and Chaim Potok.

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I'm processing.

I can't help thinking of the vast injustice people undergo while I sit in my plush chair, furnished by a private, fairly conservative, Christian, bubbled-in university. I can't help thinking of Asher Lev, who was shunned by religion itself for using art to express the world as it truly is. I can't help thinking of people I've met who have developed, in such a short time, into men and women who speak for justice, regard life as an intentional expression of faith, use their capacity for knowledge to better understand and interact with the world surrounding them, act boldly and choose to live a life that many would deem wholly wasteful. They live in the margin by choice.

I want to be in that margin.

People tell me I've got it together, that I have a level head and know where my life is going. But it hasn't gone anywhere yet. I'm still waiting for it to get off the floor and cease the stagnation that has formed from ideas and passions, ruminated too long without being set free. I know I have the desire and the capacity, both welcome to manifest themselves, to do good and to be good for the world; but they remain unseen, merely glimpses of the person I could be but not yet am.

I want to lead an eloquent, powerful existence.

I can call myself a hippie all I please, spout postmodern theology, tote around my thrift-store Nalgene, proclaim to be a visionary for a kingdom without borders or marginalization... But that kingdom remains hidden until I actively seek it, in action and not just in belief. What causes the transformation of the church, the embrace of peace and simple living, the push towards the right and true kingdom, but the lives of those who cry loudly for it?

I can cry. I'm quite good at it, and I've noticed that people listen.

It's good to have people listening. It's good to share my beliefs with those who will take them seriously. But more than believing, I long to act. More than being, I long to do. Perhaps it's something I have to wait for... or perhaps it's something my feeble mind has missed. But I am distinctively finished with remaining motionless.

This is orthopraxy.