"Now there is time and Time is young..."

(quote by May Sarton, Now I Become Myself)

At Koinonia I have experienced an awakening of sorts, the growth of a seed which was planted in my heart in Houston when we planted the literal seeds of our community garden, when we ate sunburst tomatoes warm off the branch, and handed out bags of yellow zucchini to our friends and neighbors. Similarly at Koinonia I have discovered that there is nothing quite like picking ripe figs off our trees, eating potatoes grown in our rich red soil, blending up such an earthy green concoction of pesto, that first juicy bite into muscadine, the look on my English students' faces when I hand them a bag of fresh pears...Beautiful, organic produce yielding abundantly out my window. I left home to seek out solidarity with the poor, but this is luxury beyond compare. Day after day I walk out to find even more yellow pear tomatoes, more basil, more figs, more peppers...I stopped purchasing personal grocery items because homemade yogurt and pecans, fresh eggs, herbal tea, and toast spread with blueberry jam is a breakfast to be grateful for.

The financially poor are often at the mercy of what is available and cheap in local stores, which means Walmart gets a lot of business. It was Clarence Jordan's vision to see the poor of Americus have access to good food from their own backyards. But I suppose people have to want it first. When Farmer Fred asked my Houston neighbor, 9-year-old Angel, “What will you eat if the vegetables don't grow?” He answered matter-of-factly, “My Lunchable.”

Prophets of our time, Wendell Berry and Joel Salitan, recognize the layers of problems and struggles facing this generation. But they also recognize, in the words of Berry: “The roots of the problem are private or personal, and the roots of the solutions will be private or personal too” (The Gift of Good Land).

I cannot make others adopt this wonderful way of life, but I can live it out faithfully on a personal level, and hope in the manner of Van Gogh:

“Do our inner thoughts ever show outwardly? There may be a great fire in our soul, yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and the passers-by see only a wisp of smoke coming from the chimney, and go along their way. Look here, now, what must be done? Must one tend that inner fire, have salt in oneself, wait patiently yet with how much impatience for the hour when somebody will come and sit down near it – maybe to stay? Let him who believes in God wait for the hour that will come sooner or later.” (Letter 133)

I don't mean to come across presumptuous. My life is not perfect. But I have found several immeasurable gifts in this little pocket of the country. And I would welcome you to hold me accountable to continuing to practice those gifts in my life post-Koinonia. Gifts of growing my own food in good, healthy soil. Finding joy in the simple tasks of fermentation and creative preservation. Sustainable consumption. Sharing the abundance...

There is much I have learned in one year, and I look forward to what richness one more year on this good land holds. My self-confidence has grown in bounds. I've cultivated a spirit that finds joy in the harvest, creative cooking and use of natural resources. I've met a plethora of remarkable people who have touched my life. I've been introduced to authors and speakers and thinkers who shake the way I view the world and interact with Jesus.

Soaking up the sunshine of southern Georgia

I have learned new ways of measuring time

Candles and kittens

Paintings and potlucks

Pecans and prayer bells

Paper cranes and pressed flowers

Mosquito bites and worn-out jeans

Jars of pickles and homemade ginger ale

Exchanging letters with friends new and old

Dark chocolate and cups of coffee beneath the mulberry tree

Visitors and stories shared

Hymns and laughter echoing into the night

Postage stamps and boxes shipped

Peaches, blackberries, blueberries, figs, pears, tomatoes and grapes...

I measure seasons according to where the sun rises and sets, and where I find Orion in the night sky.

As Rilke says, there is no measuring with time itself, but being an artist (or perhaps a human being) means patiently ripening like a tree. I think I'm getting a better idea of what that means.

Peace and hope be yours in abundance

Behold a Tree

SEE FULL ALBUM HERE

“Behold a tree. Does it not speak to us thusly: 'Don't you see that God is not working himself into a frenzy in me? I am calmly, quietly, silently pouring forth my life and bringing forth fruit. Do thou likewise.'” Clarence Jordan


I love trees. I love painting trees. God speaks to me through trees.

It is difficult to explain how the idea for this project came about. Madeleine L'Engle describes a work of art as something that “comes to the artist and says, 'Here I am. Enflesh me. Give birth to me.' And the artist either says, 'My soul doth magnify the Lord,' and willingly becomes the bearer of the work, or refuses; but the obedient response is not necessarily a conscious one...'” (Walking on Water) The seed was planted in my mind one day early in my internship, watered by talking about it, and before I knew it all the pieces were falling into place. I did not even purchase one tube of paint or paintbrush. This typical occurrence in my life is to me God's way of saying, “You go paint, I'll take care of the rest.”

Thus I began work on the biggest canvas I have yet tackled. The limitations of the process, though frustrating at times, allowed me to listen to the work better. Had I been able to go at it more quickly, I may have missed out on the “dialogue,” so to speak. The texture of the ceiling (our coffee house is one of Habitat's early experiments with chicken wire and cement), the domed curve of the canvas, and the tricks of moving ladders, drop cloths, and scaffolding around slowed me down quite a bit. More than once the thought came to mind, “If only I could fly!”

It did not occur to me until part-way through that one of my prayers coming in to Koinonia was, “Lord, slow me down.” I moved hastily at the start, thrilled to begin and anxious to finish. As it became clear to me that I would not make the mark I had originally hoped for at one month, I was able to relax more and give in to the process. One of my college professors used to talk about “letting the process inform the work,” and that is a phrase that has stuck with me in art and in life.

And so I meditated upon patience during the process. If I could have reasonably fit a different quote around the border, it would be one by Rilke that speaks to me very much lately:

“There is here no measuring with time, no year matters, and ten years are nothing. Being an artist means, not reckoning and counting, but ripening like a tree which does not force its sap and stands confident in the storms of spring without the fear that after them may come no summer. It does come. But it only comes to the patient, who are there as though eternity lay before them, so unconcernedly still and wide. I learn it daily, learn it with pain to which I am grateful: patience is everything!” (Letters to a Young Poet)

I don't doubt that my creative itch will soon enough have me back up on the ladder to continue playing with this piece. But in the mean time I am learning that God calms the frenzy in my heart and invites me to patiently anticipate the harvest.

Follow-Up: A Look at Modern Israel and Palestine

It would be impossible to cover this entire topic in one post. I hesitate to write about it at all because it is such a convoluted issue and I don’t intend for this space to be a soapbox. And yet I believe the heart of the matter is simple and relevant. I write in the hope that the perspective I share will at least spark a conversation or challenge someone. Elias Chacour, a Palestinian Israeli priest, explains it better than anyone I know, with a rich understanding of the history and first-hand accounts. I must first direct you to his books if this topic captures your attention: Blood Brothers and We Belong to the Land.

I'm writing about this because before our study I was intimidated by the history and complexity of what has been happening in the Middle East. There are many layers to the present conflict. I don't claim to know how the land ought to be allocated today, but there are some obvious injustices taking place in which our own country has a hand, particularly against Palestinians. I believe the media uses propaganda to turn us against our own brothers and sisters with labels such as “terrorist” when in fact those so-called “terrorists” are themselves being terrorized.

I'm also writing because someone I've met this year, a Palestinian Christian, has suffered the loss of 1,500 fruit trees last month, bulldozed by the Israeli military. I'm not convinced that the members of the Israeli military truly want to hurt people like this, but, as has happened too often in history, they are “just following orders.” And the world looks the other way because they feel embarrassed about looking the other way when the Jews were oppressed. The cycle continues...

Just like the wall that went up at Berlin, like the wall at the Mexican border, we witness a concrete wall (“separation barrier”) going up to separate families, separate people from clean water, and separate farmers from their olive groves, which for generations has been their families' sole livelihood. In October 2003, a UN resolution declared the wall illegal where it cuts into the Palestinian territory and should be torn down in these places. The U.S. vetoed this resolution.

Between 1967 and mid-2010, Israel established 121 settlements, over 100 “outposts” (settlements built without official authorization but with support and assistance of Israeli government), and 12 neighborhoods – all in areas internationally recognized as Palestinian territory. Many settlers believe they have rights to all of the surrounding territory – well beyond Palestine – through God's covenant with their ancestor Abraham. They are known to be violent, sabotaging wells, killing livestock, and uprooting trees.

Israel controls more than 83% of the water within Palestine. Access to water is severely restricted for Palestinians, and where they do have access, they pay almost double what an Israeli does. They are forced to decide between watering their gardens or having water to drink, while Israeli settlers enjoy swimming pools less than a mile away.

Today there are an estimated 8-10 million Palestinian refugees around the world. An estimated 5 million live in the West Bank alone, half a million living in Gaza's eight refugee camps. Over 82,000 live in less than one square kilometer. These and other refugees in surrounding Arab countries cannot get good jobs or travel freely because they have no passports or citizenship papers.

Since 2000, more than 1,084 Israelis and 6,430 Palestinians have been killed. The U.S. is Israel's #1 supporter, giving $3 billion in military aid each year. What I see happening is an ethnic cleansing based on religious and cultural principles eerily similar to the oppression of the Jews themselves under Hitler, and Americans blindly allow their tax dollars to support the military efforts because they are misinformed.

There are of course not just two sides to this issue. I am not “for” the Palestinians and “against” the Israelis. I am for them both, and there are people from all “sides” coming together to work for peace.

So what am I doing for peace? Similar things to what I do to seek justice for those who are trafficked and enslaved: Spread the word, contact my Congressmen, and get to know the people behind the labels.

I'll leave it at that and close with a few selected words from Elias Chacour:

“If you become a true man of God – you will know how to reconcile enemies – how to turn hatred into peace. Only a true servant of God can do that.” (Blood Brothers)

“Come, let us be brothers and sisters together in this beautiful land in which all of us have history and roots. There is room enough for all of us. Aren't we the co-persecuted brothers and sisters?” (We Belong to the Land)

“I turn to you, my brothers and sisters in the West – in particular, those of you who might judge us – and I ask: How can you take on yourself the right to decide who is the terrorist? Was it a bad thing that Europe organized to liberate itself from savage occupation before and during WWII? Were the Boston Tea Party and the American Revolution 'acts of terrorism'? Who is the terrorist? Who is the fighter for liberty? How to you find it your right to judge?” (Blood Brothers)

“Jesus Christ teaches us today...that we are not to love people out of charity or for Jesus' sake, as if others were an instrument, a tool, or a tunnel to pass through to reach the goal. Rather, the other...is to be loved because that person is lovable as he or she is. We are to love as God loves. God's love is unconditional and sacrificed. God is love. All this I have understood from my father, who taught me to love myself and the other. Loving others, breaking the cycle of hatred and violence, does not mean passivity or inaction. On the contrary, this love is creative, resourceful, energetic, dynamic. This love looks for ways to restore and preserve people's worth, dignity, and joy.” (We Belong to the Land)

www.endtheoccupation.org; www.tolef.org; www.bdsmovement.net; www.arij.org; www.codepink.org

Three Things I Care About

LOVING THE ENSLAVED

June 10 is Lobby Day, where advocates from across the nation head to Capitol Hill as part of the annual IJM Advocacy Summit and meet with their Senators and Representatives in person in an effort to end modern-day slavery. Commit to call your Senator (especially my friends in NY) tomorrow: http://www.ijm.org/advocacy-summit/call-in-registration
Congress just set aside $5 million to fight slavery through the Child Protection Compact Act. On June 10, we’ll ask them to invest in two countries that are willing to stand up against slavery, but need additional support: The Philippines and Ghana. Read more here: https://www.ijm.org/be-force-freedom

Download a sample chapter of Gary Haugen's The Locust Effect here: http://www.thelocusteffect.com/ and sign the petition to urge the UN to protect the poor from violence.

LOVING THE OPPRESSED

Daoud Nasser and his family (friends of Koinonia whom we helped host a Tree of Life conference this past October in Americus) was recently featured at the Sojourners blog because early on May 19, military bulldozers destroyed 1,500 of the family's fruit trees nearly ready for harvest in the valley below the Nasser dwellings. In an upcoming post I'll write more about what my fellow interns and I have been researching about the conflict in Palestine/Israel, and ongoing peace efforts.  In the meantime, if you would like to join me in supporting the Nasser family, there are resources available here: http://maryknollogc.org/alerts/tent-nations-trees-terraces-destroyed-israeli-military

LOVING THE DETAINED

Learn more about America's $2 billion immigrant detention industry. A little-known federal law enacted in 2006 ensures that a minimum of 34,000 undocumented immigrants must be held on every single day. Private companies run most of the centers, among them Stewart Detention Center in Lumpkin, GA.

Learn more here: http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-26843600

and what people are doing here: http://elrefugiostewart.com/

"Injustice anywhere a threat to justice everywhere." -MLK

A Step Along the Way

A prayer by Oscar Romero that's been on my mind lately...

It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view.

The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,
it is even beyond our vision.

We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction
of the magnificent enterprise that is God's work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying
that the kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the church's mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.

This is what we are about.
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted,
knowing that they hold future promise.

We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.

We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation
in realizing that. This enables us to do something,
and to do it very well. It may be incomplete,
but it is a beginning, a step along the way,
an opportunity for the Lord's grace to enter and do the rest.

We may never see the end results, but that is the difference
between the master builder and the worker.

We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own.

An excerpt from Henri Nouwen's Show Me The Way: Readings for each day of Lent. This passage is from last Thursday, but I still want to share it:

I, Yahweh, search the heart,

test the motives,

to give each person what his conduct

and his actions deserve.

- Jer. 17:10

It is not so difficult to see that, in our particular world, we all have a strong desire to accomplish something. Some of us think in terms of great dramatic changes in the structure of our society. Others want at least to build a house, write a book, invent a machine, or win a trophy. And some of us seem to be content when we just do something worthwhile for someone. But practically all of us think about ourselves in terms of our contribution to life. And when we have become old, much of our feelings of happiness or sadness depends on our evaluation of this part we played in giving shape ot our world and its history...

When we start being too impressed by the results of our work, we slowly come to the erroneous conviction that life is one large scoreboard where someone is listing the points to measure our worth. And before we are fully aware of it, we have sold our soul to the many grade-givers. That means we are not only in the world, but also of the world. Then we become what the world makes us. We are intelligent because someone gives us a high grade. We are helpful because someone says thanks. We are likable because someone likes us. And we are important because someone considers us indispensable. In short, we are worthwhile because we have successes.

To live a Christian life means to live in the world without being of it. It is in solitude that this inner freedom can grow...

A life without a lonely place, that is, a life without a quiet center, easily becomes destructive. When we cling to the results of our actions as our only way of self-identification, then we become possessive and defensive and tend to look at our fellow human beings more as enemies to be kept at a distance than as friends with whom we share the gifts of life.

In solitude we can slowly unmask the illusion of our possessiveness and discover in the center of our own self that we are not what we can conquer, but what is given to us. In solitude we can listen to the voice of him who spoke to us before we could speak a word, who healed us before we could make any gesture to help, who set us free long before we could give love to anyone. It is in this solitude that we discover that being is more important than having, and that we are worth more than the result of our efforts. In solitude we discover that our life is not a possession to be defended, but a gift to be shared. It's there we recognize that the healing words we speak are not just our own, but are given to us; that the love we can express is part of a greater love; and that the new life we bring forth is not a property to cling to, but a gift to be received.

In solitude we become aware that our worth is not the same as our usefulness.

Clinging to Faithfulness

The phone felt large and awkward in my hand. I could see his lips moving as he talked to match the words coming through the line, and yet the glass created such a tangible barrier. Even though he sat right before me I would forget that we could make eye contact...or maybe it was just too awkward for us. We only met ten minutes ago.

“...¿Tu familia nació en los Estados?” (Your family was born in the U.S.?)
“Sí.” (Yes)
“Ah, puedes vivir tranquila, entonces. Qué bueno.” (Ah, you can live at ease, then. How good.)

Qué bueno. How good. The more he said that, the more uncomfortable I felt. Everything I shared seemed to reflect my privileged life. A life of freedom and security (or at least the illusion thereof). Gifts this young man was longing for. Only 22, snatched at the border and whisked far away to southern Georgia, where even fewer people spoke his native tongue, and he has no idea if or when he will be released. Welcome to America, my friend.

There was a mixture of sorrow and gratitude in his expression as we talked, a sense of quiet shame and defeat and the fatigue from wondering how much longer. But there was also a spark of pleasant surprise at my presence, this young visitor who showed up out of the blue, even if my life looks quite different from his. Though conversation was slow, he seemed eager to make the most of this unexpected visit.

I don't know the details of how he ended up here. We're not permitted to ask, and he wasn't very forth-coming with info about his life in general. He seemed more interested in hearing about life in Georgia outside the walls of this prison – I mean, detention center.

The Stewart Detention Center was not intended to be a place of punishment. But looking at the place, how would one know the difference? The building is surrounded by barbed wire, and it's as hard to get in as it is to get out.

The moments I feel dirty with privilege are the moments when I'm most likely to doubt what I have to offer the world, as a person and as an artist. The same day we visited SDC we viewed a documentary at Cafe Campesino on the artist Winfred Rembert. Here's an artist who has something to say to the world, a man who has faced unspeakable treatment because of the color of his skin and now uses art as a way of telling his story. Me? I paint trees and flowers. The thought strikes me that mine may not be the art the world needs to see, like Rembert's, but that mine is for those in my immediate community, to bring life to them. It's the personal connection that perhaps matters most in my role as an artist.

I continue to run back to my word for this season: faithfulness. Faithfulness means showing up day after day, whether or not I feel like it. Praying, painting, and striving for reconciliation whether or not I see immediate results or growth, or any at all. Practicing presence. Putting one foot in front of the other.

I have the potential “luxury” as it were, to choose to be a full-time artist. But my art must be “fed” by something. If I am fed by being in touch with the earth, should my art not grow out of that? If I am fed by life in community, should my art not grow out of that? I must find what feeds and sustains my spirit, and my art will grow accordingly. Art cannot survive on its own any more than raw talent can. It must be driven by something, and sustained by effort and persistent work.

As an artist, Madeleine L'Engle's words encourage me: “It's all been said better before. If I thought I had to say it better than anybody else, I'd never start. Better or worse is immaterial. The thing is that it has to be said; by me, ontologically. We each have to say it, to say it our own way. Not of our own will, but as it comes out through us. Good or bad, great or little: that isn't what human creation is about. It is that we have to try; to put it down in pigment, or words, or musical notations, or we die.” (A Circle of Quiet)

As someone striving to follow Christ, Clarence Jordan's words encourage me: “Faithfulness is of greater worth than success...Let us cling to faithfulness as the one and only responsibility of Jesus – not to save the world, not to save the church, not to usher in the Kingdom, but to be faithful, as Jesus himself had been in the face of what seemed to be absolute failure.” (Cotton Patch Evidence)

Shortly after my visit to SDC, I stumbled upon an article by a German artist that brought me hope. He was given the opportunity to paint the walls of a prison, which has served to uplift those who come to visit incarcerated friends and relatives. If I could I would paint murals all over SDC, to cover the walls of my lonely friend's cell, in hope that my physical mark might somehow remind him of his humanity. At the very least I can continue visiting, faithfully making contact with those our society has rejected. And I can continue advocating, through prayer and contact with my Congressmen, whether I see results or not, because I believe that this in itself is an act of love.

I pray that my detained friend finds hope and the support he needs, that this time will at least give him space for valuable contemplation. And I pray that privilege will not stand in the way of me doing something, even though I cannot do everything.

Overwhelmed by Hope

Visiting Houston five months out of Mission Year has been so hard and so beautiful. I am overcome with gratitude for the chance to spend a week here and be reunited with all seven of my teammates, not to mention so many other brothers and sisters I can't even count. I am most grateful for those who have spoken words of truth and encouragement into my life, who know me, see me, and recognize beauty in the life I am pursuing. Affirmation is so powerful! I am thankful for those who have had the courage to share and receive it.

The hardest part about being back has been recognizing that I am no longer a participant in the daily rhythm of life here. I'm home, but also on the outside looking in again. On one hand, this has brought closure that I've been praying for. To see that life is going on just fine without me, as absurdly selfish as that sounds, causes my heart to rejoice and to ache. Our home campus is continuing to develop. I still feel a sense of ownership over “our house,” as our team was the first to live there, so it's bittersweet to see things changing, even if it is for the better, because I'm no longer part of the daily rhythm.

I believe that community looks different for everyone. I also believe that daily presence is the key to community, to knowing and being known. I think community for me will continue to mean living with people. I value living with people because it facilitates intentionality. That's what's weird about being home (Rochester and Houston); it gets harder to pick up where we left off because our daily experiences are different and tricky to communicate. I'm still learning how to talk about Mission Year and Koinonia, but the best way to share it is for people to come and see, and I am so grateful for those who have made that effort.

I see hope in the eyes of children I love. I see hope in homeless men dancing on the sidewalk to keep warm. I see hope in roofs installed over bus stops once exposed to blistering sun and rain. I hear hope in the exchanging of vows and songs we used to sing. I hear hope in the words, "Yes, Miss Tracy, I'm still making art." I feel hope in hugs and the warmth of the sunshine. Hope is abounding!

Here's another beautiful post by Lindsay:
http://thegrandfarmventure.wordpress.com/2014/01/05/auld-lang-syne/