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/

Hospitality: A few reflections

“Welcome is one of the signs that a community is alive. To invite others to live with us is a sign that we aren't afraid, that we have a treasure of truth and of peace to share.” (Jean Vanier)

Hospitality is a central component to the way of life at Koinonia., and, in retrospect, was a greater aspect of Mission Year than I had realized. As we've studied and lived out hospitality, I've been reflecting on hospitality in the context of both Mission Year and Koinonia.

I believe that recognizing common humanity in one another is the essence of hospitality:

“Besides sharing food and drink with someone, which is central to almost every act of hospitality, the most important part of welcome is giving a person our full attention...It means we view individuals as human beings rather than as embodied needs or interruptions.” (Christine Pohl, “Hospitality, a practice and a way of life”)

In Mission Year, it didn't occur to us until the end of the year to encourage people to bring food to our community dinners, although they often did. Offering a place for people to contribute creates a space for relationships to develop. My favorite evenings were when our neighbors taught us how to make something. It wasn't about us serving them; it was about all of us coming together to share fellowship and food as equals. I've seen how seeking to serve others can ironically cultivate pride. If my service stems from privilege – cultural, financial, social, etc. - it is crippled. The greatest service we can do for others places us both on equal ground, which I think begins to get to the heart of humility; recognizing and responding to the image of God we see in others. Sometimes it takes humility to offer service, and sometimes it takes humility to receive service from others.

Koinonia takes hospitality seriously. The Dining Hall is appropriately located at the center of campus, and care is taken to prepare delicious, hearty meals, good for the body and soul, for anyone and everyone on campus that day. And Sunday night potlucks offer a chance for people to literally bring their own contribution to the table. These are my favorite moments because there is something deeply spiritual about coming together to have our physical needs met. Plus, at each meal we read Scripture and pray together. At Koinonia, hospitality also means giving people a place to stay, which we could not do during Mission Year. And visitors are encouraged to step into our daily rhythm of life and prayer, and to work alongside us, which is also beautiful. More often than not, visitors jump at opportunities to contribute and participate, which allows us to get to know each other on a deeper level.

Hospitality as a way of life: Faithfulness“Because hospitality is a way of life, it must be cultivated over a lifetime. We do not become good at hospitality in an instant; we learn it in small increments of daily faithfulness.” (Christine Pohl)

In retrospect, I see how much hospitality during Mission Year challenged and grew me. The size of our campus and the number of communities we were invested in meant BIG community dinners for our Mission Year team. There were times when I reached my social capacity and had to bow out for the night. It was often my favorite night of the week, but I could only handle it for so long. Hospitality doesn't have to take the form of huge community dinners and gatherings, but the image of the Kingdom was so evident during those times: people of all backgrounds, ages, and faiths coming together to share food, music, and soccer at our very own home! I treasure those memories. I deeply value that hospitality was something established in our schedule; a habit we practiced every week; not just on Saturday nights but in our daily interactions with people as well, especially kids. And now I value that hospitality is at the heart of daily life at Koinonia. I believe cultivating hospitality over a lifetime means developing an attitude of welcome toward people, whether that's in the context of a literal home or simply in everyday interactions; “creating space for someone to feel seen and heard and loved,” as Shauna Niequist puts it.

To be continued :)

Latest newsletter:
http://eepurl.com/LmfET

Ora et Labora: A glimpse of the morning

6:42am. Alarm goes off. It's still dark out. Hit snooze. 6:46am. Alarm goes off again. Turn on the light and wake myself up with a shower. Put on some water for tea and make a breakfast of oatmeal with fresh milk and pecans that fell at our door. Reach for my Bible to read today's devotion passages. The tea kettle whistles and soon I am walking through the dew-drenched grass into the rising sun, steaming mug in hand. Red clay clings to my boots. Fresh light cuts through the majestic pecan orchards. My heart swells and I slow my pace to take it in. I enter into the sacred silence of the chapel. Two candles burn at the front and the community gradually fills the pews. We sit facing one another, as in a Quaker meeting I once attended. To me it's a reminder that we're all in this together. Readings aloud from the Old Testament prophets and Elizabeth starts us on a hymn or spiritual. Voices join in as we recognize or learn the song, most in unison, some in harmony. I love the harmonies. We stand for a reading from the Gospel and someone shares some thoughts and words of encouragement from the readings. We sing again and file out into a circle on the grass. The sun is now even brighter, illuminating the beautiful faces around the circle, and I stand where I can face it even though I must shield my eyes. Who can help but smile in the presence of such beauty?
I step into the day with a heart full of gratitude.

“The unity of prayer and work, the unity of the day, is found because finding [God] behind the day’s work is what Paul means by his admonition to “pray without ceasing” (1 Thess 5:17). The prayer of the Christian reaches, therefore, beyond the time allocated to it and extends into the midst of the work. It surrounds the whole day, and in so doing, it does not hinder the work; it promotes work, affirms work, gives work great significance and joyfulness. Thus every word, every deed, every piece of work of the Christian becomes a prayer... “And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus” (Col 3:17).” Bonhoeffer, Life Together

(Ora et labora = Latin, "pray and work")

Guest Post: Vanessa

Had to share this poem by my fellow intern, Lindsay, about the day we went to the Prisoner Family Lunch:

http://thegrandfarmventure.wordpress.com/2013/11/30/vanessa/

Enjoy your weekend, friends

“A tree brings glory to God by being a tree.” - Thomas Merton

The Glory of the Garden - Rudyard Kipling

Then seek your job with thankfulness and work til further orders,
If it's only netting strawberries or killing slugs on borders;
And when your back stops aching and your hands begin to harden,
You will find yourself a partner in the Glory of the Garden.
Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God who made him sees
That half a proper garden's work is done upon his knees,
So when your wok is finished, you can wash your hands and pray
For the Glory of the Garden, that it may not pass away!
And the Glory of the Garden, it shall not pass away!

“In the West we have a tendency to be profit-oriented, where everything is measured according to the results and we get caught up in being more and more active to generate results. In the East – especially in India – I find that people are more content to just be, to just sit around under a banyan tree for half a day chatting to each other. We Westerners would probably call that wasting time. But there is value to it. Being with someone, listening without a clock and without anticipation of results, teaches us about love. The success of love is in the loving – it is not in the result of loving.” - Mother Teresa

“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