Standing on the Shoulders

Yesterday, I attended the memorial service of a loved one, albeit one that I felt I barely knew. My great aunt Jane, better known as J.J., passed away at the age of 85 on Wednesday. When I received the text from my dad informing me of the news, I found it hard to describe the emotion of the event, most likely because, as I said, it had been a few years since I had even seen Aunt Jane. I was definitely sad, but I hurt more for those that would be affected by her passing. I thought of my grandmother (Bet Bet, affectionately), and her loss of a sister. My mind went to my dad and his sisters at their loss of a beloved aunt. Finally, I went to my distant cousins, those I knew and had relationships with, but barely ever saw or communicated with, yet those that I hurt for at their loss of a mother and a grandmother.

These were all people I empathized with, relating to because the sting of losing my grandfather a year and a half ago is still fairly real. While I didn’t know Aunt Jane incredibly well, these people did, and I could almost feel their hurt. They were the most affected, having encountered this woman in a real way, knowing and loving her, being directly affected by her loss. What I didn’t realize going in, however, was all the people that my mind didn’t immediately go to when I learned of her death.

Rev. Joe Elmore, who officiated the memorial, spoke of looking through the archived history of J.J.’s church which bore the title “Standing on the Shoulders of Saints, Servants and Sinners.” I sat through the service hearing stories about my great aunt and her groundbreaking work in Tuscaloosa as an attorney, her service to her church, and her love for her family. Having these thoughts in my head, I decided to look up the article that was written in the Tuscaloosa News after her passing. This article chronicled her achievements all the way from being the first practicing female attorney in Tuscaloosa County to her work in starting a United Methodist Children’s Home for at-risk children, as well as her advocacy in Chapter 13 bankruptcy.

It was reading this article that got me to thinking. No, I didn’t know Aunt Jane that well. The hurt I felt for her loss extended more so to the people that I was closest to rather than her actual loss. But, I realize now that the influence we exert in our lives goes far beyond those we come in direct contact with. Aunt Jane’s passion for “unselfishly doing good for people” [my loose paraphrase], as my cousin Julia spoke of at the service reaches out beyond those clients she dealt with on a daily basis. Her heart for advocating for those who had no voice touches many more than those children that were provided a home at the Genesis House.

Aunt Jane’s influence reaches past two generations to touch even my life, as I see those values that were apparent to her family such as Bet Bet and later Pop, as well as to her nieces and nephew, my aunts and father. All these people that, unlike Aunt Jane, I am close to, have instilled in my life a passion to serve the poor, to do good at all costs and, as Jane used to say, to never give up when your cause is just.

All of this is evidence that we, as a people of faith, stand on the shoulders of those saints, servants, and sinners that go before us. The values and ideals of those that teach and lead us, whether in our lives directly or indirectly, guide and shape ultimately the disciples that we become. We go forward and learn more not because we are smarter, but because we stand on their shoulders, seeing further not in spite of, but rather because of. May we take those examples of women like Jane Dishuck and learn. May we recognize that because of women like her we move forward to accomplish that which has been set out for us. Doing justice, loving mercy, and walking humbly.

Thank you, J.J. May you rest in peace after a life well lived.

"Give Me My America Back"

I was watching the Daily Show the other day when I saw a clip of a recent town hall debate on health care reform. A woman held the microphone and, while sobbing, pleaded, “This is not my America. I don’t know what you’ve done with my America, but I want my America back! Give me my America back!” As Jon Stewart quipped in reply, "Go tell that to the Indians." To see the actual crazy person-ahem...excuse me-crazy citizen, click here. The aforementioned clip begins around the 1:10 mark.

Obviously, she didn’t want “socialized” medicine, “government death panels,” “hostile government takeovers of our entire health care system,” or whatever else Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, Ann Coulter, Glenn Beck or any other Fox News talking head had been telling her the President’s reform measures would bring.

My question immediately was, “What and where is this America that she was talking about?”

The root of her fear, it seemed was that the government would invade every facet of our daily lives and ruin all that is good with “her America.” Fear of the government, as the Great Beesh would tell you, is a very healthy thing. But, fear based on blatant misinformation can be completely destructive.

Now, I don’t know this woman. I don’t know what her exact political views are. But, I think it wouldn’t be too irrational to assume that she longs for the days of Republican/George Bush power. Power that brought warrantless wiretapping, secret CIA prisons across the globe, torture, Dick Cheney and Halliburton tomfoolery, waterboarding, even more torture, the Patriot Act and the politically-motivated firing of US attorneys.

Programs and acts, it appears to me, expand government’s role far, far more than a public option so forty million of Crying Woman’s fellow citizens can proceed without fear of being tossed into financial ruin because of a broken health care system.

These programs fly in the face of the sacred document each President swears to uphold. Those are forgotten, though, when a Democrat takes office. Bigger government role in social programs? Nay…it is socialism, we’re told.

Fear, when kept in check, is a healthy thing. The fear of the Lord, for example. But fear of Uncle Sam in a SWAT team outfit kicking your door in and killing your grandmother because she is unproductive is destroying democracy.

In a blog written by my man Bob, he tells that it’s time to get back to school, where you don’t speak unless you raise your hand and are acknowledged. If I had shouted down Shannon Jones in third grade like some of these “grassroots protesters” (sarcasm implied), I would’ve been strung up…literally. It’s about respect…respect for the Constitution, respect for your fellow man, and respect for the democratic process…all things that are a part of “My America.”

This woman’s? I’m not so sure.

***For a much better and more well-written response to this video and sentiment, visit THIS blog.

Toasty/Bagel Hope

My apologies for the Dust-Bowl type drought in the updates. I would tell you that I just didn’t have time, but in an effort to be transparent, I’ll just say that I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Honestly though, the second half of the summer was much, much different than the first. We didn’t have as many groups that came on Sunday night and stayed till Friday morning, for whatever reason. Because of this, there was a substantial amount of downtime for Tori and I. Many groups came in just for the day and worked or painted, while some came and stayed for only a few days. To pass the time, we brushed up on our forensic skills and tore through Season 1 of CSI.
Now that the summer is over, I’ve been trying to process what I learned, or didn’t learn, from this summer. It is safe to say that while last summer taught me extensively about things I’m good at, this summer taught me exactly the opposite. It seems to be a theme of this particular journey. Being reminded of my inequities is a good thing, I suppose, but is never an easy thing to stomach. It’s a good starting point in addressing things I need some grace for, beginning ministry. It is, however, hilarious to look at the ways you can rationalize or talk yourself out of doing certain things is certain situations. I would expose some of these things, but I’m not ready to be quite that vulnerable yet. I’m sure you’ll understand.

Much of what I’m about to type has been said before by Deb, so I’m not going to act all profound by saying it here and claiming credit, just so you know. Just giving credit where it’s due.

There were many times this summer when I asked myself “Why am I here?” My experience this summer had the unfortunate and unfair position of being compared in every way to my experience from last summer, so I was continually asking myself if what we were doing was accomplishing anything. Last summer, we oversaw 15 homes that were repaired to be warmer, safer and drier; that is, the families that occupied those homes’ lives were vastly improved. This summer, inevitably because of many of our volunteers, I struggled to see the good in what we were doing. Sure, the homes looked much better with a fresh coat of paint and trim, but what did we do to alleviate the problems that faced these homeowners? We would only be there a week (maybe two), so it’s not like we could enter into deep, meaningful relationships. We were just…painting. The neighborhoods they lived in were still riddled with crime, the schools would continue to be subpar, the health problems many homeowners carried around were still there and they would continue to be overlooked. Painting their home for them seemed to be, in my eyes, putting a band-aid on a gunshot wound.

Thankfully, as the summer progressed, I was able to see a bigger picture. In the neighborhoods we worked and lived in, there wasn’t much light. Crime, as I said, drugs and poverty were simply ways of life. But throw a coat of paint on a house, though, and a little light begins to break through. Deb mentioned of times when neighbors, seeing the new house, would come outside and try to tidy up their own property by picking up trash and doing yard work. Hope, she said many times, is contagious. So while many homeowners still have rotten siding, accumulating medical bills, live in fear of their own neighborhoods, and struggle to buy groceries, perhaps we have done just a little to brighten up their lives. Hopefully, we have made enough of a crack in what was despair so that some light can break through.

Light, in toasty and bagel.

Home Again

The trip is on its last leg and reflecting on it, I’ve learned many things. Some seem pretty profound, while others are pretty trivial. I guess in a sense, it all really is, but it all in all, God seems to work through the trivial moreso than not. Our last day in Riga, we spent the day with Dan, Courtney, and Ceara, the 11-day old latest edition to the Randall family. Dan and Courtney, both Duke Div graduates interestingly enough, are UMC missionaries in Latvia and together, essentially run the church. It was great talking with them about the new baby, Camp Wesley, as well as our common friends we had. LT and Eidson spent half of last summer with them in Latvia before heading to Russia, and Courtney was previously a youth director/minister at a particularly outstanding church I got to know really well last summer from Cary. The world is small indeed.

We broke schwarma together before saying goodbye to D, C and the baby and heading to old Riga. We decided to try our luck as street musicians in one of the old squares in town. Turns out, it was really hot and we hit an epic mental and musical block, which rendered us unable to think of anything to play, thus turning into a really long blues jam in E (obviously).

That night, we found a restaurant and ate one last meal out before doing various things the rest of the evening. Once we arrived in Frankfurt and made a futile effort to get an earlier flight home, we prepared for our 22-hour layover in Germany. After much indecision, we decided to take a train into the city to eat. We settled on a small outdoor café in which we ended up spending the next four or so hours sitting around. We tried to get the check at one point, but John, our Filipino waiter who lived in Germany but spoke English in what sounded like a California accent, insisted we hang around. Restaurants are one place in which American and European cultures differ dramatically. There is hardly a rush to turn tables, mainly because tipping is much different. I’m sure many servers were shocked to see the amount of tip we left throughout our various eating adventures, but oh well. I bet it made them happy and that is worth it enough.

The train ride back to the airport was as big of an adventure as we had. We followed all the correct signs back to the terminal, but when we stopped at the main Frankfurt terminal, the train shot us back the other direction towards the suburbs. It took forever to finally get it worked out, but we finally made it back around 1:30 a.m. local time. Turns out, we weren’t the only ones wandering around that particular city, though. Literally, and I’m not exaggerating on this, one in every seven or eight people was wearing a Bruce Springsteen shirt. It seems the Boss had made a stop in the city that night, which caused what would normally be a pretty vacant train station to swarm with people. It definitely made things more interesting. Once we got back to the airport, we set up shop in a dark area and each went about finding our most preferable sleeping positions. Some preferred the seats, while the Bob, Beesh and myself ended up on the floor. We left Frankfurt at 10 and arrived in D.C. a few minutes before one. We’ll leave here at 5:10 EST and get to Birmingham just after 6:00, thus ending the trip once and for all.

In Gallup’s StrengthsFinder, your top five strengths are determined from a list of several questions that you answer. When my results came back, not surprisingly, number one was connectedness. It is the idea that everyone in the world is seemingly connected, that we are all related somehow, that something greater links us together in a community that most, if not all, cannot understand. People with Connectedness carry this belief in the forefront of their mind, which coincidentally or not, is something that’s been happening to me all year long. God continually shows me ways in which we are tied together, be it through paint brushes and rollers at Urban, guitars in Latvia or anything else. He is teaching me something, though I’m not quite sure what it is.

One doesn’t need to spend much time around any number of people in my immediate or extended family to know that music is an important thing. To hear the Hastings family rip a 9-part harmony to the doxology before lunch or dinner at the lake is all-in-one hilarious, beautiful, inspiring and well, beautiful. Music has been such a large part of my life so far and I don’t think God did that as an accident. Music provides a place that the connectedness I’m talking about can manifest itself in my life. I knew going into the trip that I would be touched by the transcendence of the language barrier that would happen at the worship workshop at Camp Wesley. That, in itself, is a beautiful thing. The moment that I was really flooded by the emotion came during “All Who Are Thirsty,” as our Latvian friends gradually took the lead on more and more songs. They chose this particular song because they had the words translated in Latvian, so away we went. As I played for Sonita and Kristina, I began to sing the words in English to myself. We all started to jump into, gradually increasing the volume as they became more comfortable leading the song. Once the chorus hit, it was almost unearthly.

“Come Lord Jesus, come.”

Harmony knows no language. Harmony is universal. I believe, as I alluded to earlier, God gave me somewhat of a gift in music to lead me to a place where I can not only lead worship, but that I can realize this web of faith that is woven when we do worship. As we sang that simple chorus, with blending languages and everything, the presence of God was eerily palpable. It was almost as if words didn’t matter; we were offering what we could give, the harmony, the melody, in worship to a God who provides a way that connects us all, even when we can’t begin to understand words the other is spoken. I believe in a way, God is harmony. We’re not all in the same place, but we are in a place that when we summon that gift or offering inside us, beautiful music is made.

Throughout the trip, these things have continually been made present in my spirit and mind. Desmond Tutu speaks of this communal sense using a traditional African word: ubuntu. To have ubuntu is to recognize that your humanity is innately tied in your fellow man, that we are all, indeed, connected, that I am human because you are human.

May you recognize, affirm and live in this spirit of connectedness and ubuntu each and every day. Grace and peace.

jc

Not at the Table, Carlos.

Hey again from Riga.

It's been an exciting couple of days in Vilnius, Lithuania. We sang at a Vacation Bible School before seeing the Hill of Crosses, which was phenomenal. More on that later. Vilnius was incredibly interesting, with history and culture and the like. It was the beginning of their once-every-four-years music festival, so everything was really crowded and expensive, requiring us to cut our stay to one night. We saw many of the sights walking around and ate at Pizza Jazz, which isn't quite as American (or Italian) as it sounds. After others went to bed, Beesh, Rachel and I decided to see a little more of Vilnius, but due to the apparent early-bird nature of their society, there wasn't much fun to be had. We did meet a nice Scottish gentleman in an establishment who informed us that Obama was doing a fine job until he started "bombing the shit out of Pakistan." Of this I was not aware. Leave it to the Scots, I guess.

After checking out of the hotel, we did more sightseeing, including the castle/fort of Gedeminis, the founder of Vilnius and the tile representing where the last person stood in the human chain. During the demise of the USSR, the three Baltic satellites were the first to rebel against the Soviets; as an act of solidarity, what had to have been millions of people made an unbroken human chain stretching from Tallen(sp?), the capital of Estonia to Vilnius. The location of the tile in the square is not publicized or documented; rather the locals encourage that "each person needs to find their own freedom." It is an inspiring display to say the least.

We arrived back in Riga last night. After taking in The Hangover at the local cinema, we found a hotel, then ventured out to find food. We lucked out when we stumbled upon what seemed to be the only thing open, and each took in some traditional Latvian fare, and while I'm not sure how it's properly pronounced or spelled, I believe it's something like "Big Mac combo."

Today will involve a relaxed day of shopping and sightseeing before we fly out tomorrow. Once I process everything I hope to have something a little more inspiring, but until then I will remain descriptive. Peace to all of you and

Euro-trippin'

Hey from Lithuania.

This is the first time I've had internet access the whole time, so if you've been freaking out about me now getting in touch (Moooom), sorry. The Baltic wi-fi connection isn't quite as strong as it is in the States.

I arrived in Riga on Friday afternoon after two very uneventful flights. The transatlantic voyage was about 7.5 hours, with me sleeping somewhere between one and three of those. I'm not exactly sure of the time, but I do know that I fell asleep in the middle-end of He's Just Not that Into You (which is terrible, by the way) and Last Chance Harvey, so interpret that as you feel necessary. Bob met me at the airport in Riga and we drove the two or so hours to Camp Wesley, just outside Leipaja. Friday, Saturday and Sunday consisted of a worship-leading workshop and getting to know the Latvians that we stayed with. I’ll get more in depth with that once I get home, but it went really well.

We slept in tents outside. Yep, just us and the Latvian wilderness. Oh, and also the swarms of gigantic mosquitos. It doesn’t really get dark until after midnight, but we usually stayed up past then, so it wasn’t a problem. It’s weird to be outside in broad “day” light, only to find that it’s ten ‘til eleven. For meals, we ate mostly traditional Latvian fare, which consisted mainly of potatoes and vegetables. I didn’t really realize how much my body depended on protein until this trip. Many of us have come to experience what we’ve dubbed as the “carb crash,” in which your energy level literally bottoms out in what feels like an instant. Luckily last night, as we travelled back in to Riga, we found a steak house where we each did work on various assortments of steak. We left just after the sun went down at ten past midnight and went to bed.

Today we’re in Siauliai, Lithuania (pronounced Sho-lay). It was about a two hour drive here, mostly consumed with Mitchell and Beesh talking in accents that will be documented later. We are now at the Hotel Siauliai after eating lunch. There is a long pedestrian boulevard that is lined with restaurants and shops which was a cool experience. Tomorrow we will visit the Hill of Crosses, a Catholic monument that is well-known across the world. More about that here. The next few days will be spent between Vilnius, also in Lithuania and Riga before flying out of Riga on Friday.

I hope you are all well. Talk to you soon.

Pax

jc

Leavin' on a Jetplane...

I'm sitting in Bhm Int'l. I forgot how I love and hate airports at the same time. Funny. I'll be in Riga, Latvia tomorrow around lunch, local time of course. It's an 8-hour swing, so you do the math. I guess I could use your, my faithful readership's (all 3 of you), prayers for travels and for the workshop we're doing. The Beesh-tastic duo of James and Anna along with Bob and Rachel got to Riga yesterday, so they're safe and vigilantly await my arrival. I'll try to blog again when I get there. Peace to everyone.

jc