Mother's Shoes

There are 3 crippled people that I know of in Villarrica, because they sit outside the grocery store and beg. The one guy is about my parents’ age, I’d guess. He’s pretty good looking. He doesn’t seem at all ashamed. His upper body is very built because his legs are deformed and he gets around by walking with his arms. Then there’s a kid in a wheelchair who sits with his mom. I think he might have cerebral palsy, but I’m not sure. The third is a heavy set woman who crawls around the dirty sidewalks outside of my apartment. I’ve been around, a few times, as she’s crossed the street, and I get embarrassed by all of the traffic that has to stop and wait for her. I never know whether I should offer to help or ignore her. I mean, what would I do to help? It’s not like I can throw her over my shoulder. But it feels wrong to just pass her and do nothing.

Paraguayans have mixed reactions to beggars. I often feel twisted up, inside, because Jesus plainly said to give generously to all who ask. But that couldn’t have been what He meant, because we know that giving to the undeserving only perpetuates the cycle of poverty, right? One time I gave somebody money and one of my Paraguayan friends told me that it is only "los malos," the bad ones, who beg. She said that "los buenos," the good ones, find other ways of surviving. They would say that the adults could get desk jobs if they wanted them, and the crippled child is probably just being exploited so that his parents don’t have to work. In Asuncion there are a ton of kids that beg, as well as mothers with babies on their hips. People tell me that I shouldn’t give them money because the kids will just take everything home to their alcoholic, abusive, and lazy parents. They say that some women actually share babies to carry when begging, because they evoke more sympathy.

It’s like that in my home culture, too. I’m always torn when I go to Chicago. I want to drop my quarters into the Styrofoam cups of those sitting alone, but usually don’t because my head tells me that the money will likely be used on more booze. However, I also know that many people’s choices are directed by unjust systems, created by the privilaged minority, that don’t give poor people many good options. And this extends to the international poor. For years I've blamed the United States’ greed for the world’s poverty, and talked a lot about social justice and unfair trade barriers. As a rich American, then, I’ve always felt exceedingly guilty for my White, American Privilage, and the extent to which I was contributing to the oppression of the poor. This guilt persuaded me to give a lot of money to the poor, but for all the wrong reasons. I gave because I was afraid of being punished for my wealth, as opposed to giving out of generosity and love. Since I felt that it was my responsibility to give but didn’t want to perpetuate bad systems, I felt burdened to discern between those who were poor because of their own choices and those who were merely victims of injustice, so that I could direct my giving, accordingly. But lately, I’ve changed my mind. I no longer feel the burden to rightly judge, because I no longer feel obligated to give.


I no longer feel obligated to give because I’ve seen both sides, now. Warning: huge and unfair generalizations coming. You will either love me or hate me based on my next paragraph. Also, the situation in Paraguay is NOT representative of the entire world, so I still believe that corrupt systems are responsible for a lot of poverty and they need to be changed, despite what I'm about to say. Now, back to blogging. I know the lives of my supporters, back home. I know of their honesty, integrity, hard work, and generosity. I also know that these values are not part of Paraguayans’ cultural heritage. They are brave, warm, flexible, and tranquilo (relaxed and fun-loving). These character traits are admirable, but not exactly wealth creating. People make choices and choices have consequences. Some people chose to work their butts off and sacrifice relationships in the process. They are relationally poor, but materially rich. Others relax and drink a lot of terere. They are relationally rich, but materially poor. Neither group should necessarily be pitied and rescued. That’s belittling because each group must be allowed to make its own choices, and accept the consequences they bring. In addition to this natural propensity toward enjoying life (as opposed to working it to death), Paraguayan leaders have never been praised for their transparency. A lot of money (not to mention people) have gotten "lost" through the years. For these reasons, I can no longer blame the US for Paraguay’s problems, or obligate my friends, back home, to provide for my friends, here. One of my young friends to whom I’ve given a lot, laughs about the fact that she cannot save money. Whenever she has a little, she spends it before the day is out. A lot of my supporters, on the other hand, aren’t impulsive spenders and do save. I cannot claim that those who have become wealthy through hard work, frugality, wisdom, and honesty (whether individuals or governments) are morally obligated to share the fruit of their labor with those who are unhappily reaping what their own hands have sown. That’s not fair.

Yet neither was it fair that God had mercy on us and became a man. I’ve always struggled to receive His grace, probably because I’ve never really given it. But I am the lazy, greedy, insolent, crippled beggar who never learns and always comes back for more. Just like Paraguay, my human culture is headed for destruction by its own doing. He wasn’t obligated to do anything about it. It wasn’t His fault that we made poor choices. We brought it upon ourselves. I brought it upon myself. He wasn’t bound by some cold theology. He didn’t have to come. Obligation cancels out love. But although He didn’t have to, God loves me and so He came, anyway. And not only did He come that once, but He keeps coming. I screw up and He still comes back. I am the one who has nothing to offer. But God still loves me. What if the Father had said to the Son, "You know what? This whole ’I’ve come for the sick/salvation by grace through faith thing’ really doesn’t give people much of an incentive to clean up their acts. Let’s scrap it and create a system in which the consequences are more reflective of their choices." But He didn’t. Though it hasn’t fit into any kind of effective model for social change, God has continuously and freely shown me love and mercy. Mercy. Free. I am that crippled beggar. But my Father sends rain on the righteous and unrighteous. And my Father pours out blessings upon ungrateful men. I am that crippled beggar, but I have been adopted. He didn’t have to and neither do I. But I want to be like my Dad, and I know no greater joy than to stumble about extending mercy like a little girl playing dress up, clumsily parading through the house in her mother’s shoes.

tag

First of all, I had posted a new blog, earlier this week, and then removed it. I’m sorry to any of you who were confused by this move. It was called Shining Like Stars and dealt with the nature of missions, salvation, and spiritual fruit. If any of you would like to read it, let me know. Secondly, I’ve been virtually tagged by my sister in Elkhart, Indiana. Have any of you been tagged, yet? I didn’t get a very clear explanation of this game, but I think it means I get to tell you 10 things that you may not know about me and then tag 5 others. OK. Here goes...

1. I pretend to be deep and into making a difference in the world. I’ve been a missionary, a teacher, and a youth pastor, and I want to be a professor of theology, someday, but my favorite job was baristaing (being a professional coffee maker) at The Crossing.
2. I was once the youngest member of the Cleveland Little League’s All Star softball team.
3. I love my balcony, especially around sunrise and in the rain. I have a hammock and homemade compost bin under the roofed portion. Next week I’m hoping to plant a balcony vegetable/ herb garden with seeds from my wonderful sister-in-law, Kristin.
4. I don’t change my sheets nearly enough. I should make a chart to remind me.
5. My favorite (and only) pieces of furniture are my extension table and spice rack that my granddad made me for college graduation, a twin bed frame, dresser, and nightstand that he made for my mom when she was little, and the bookcase that I designed and built with my dad.
6. I got detention in the 7th grade for starting a riot in PE. Our teacher, Ms. Wesdorp, hated us slamming our locker doors so several of us did it over and over again just to make her mad. She came in and only caught one girl and gave her detention. I announced that wasn’t fair because there were obviously several involved and our teacher was obviously being discriminatory. She responded that if anybody else wanted to come forward she’d gladly write them up, as well. So, full of holy justice, idealism, and insufferable insubordination, I announced that I, too, would gladly suffer her fate.
7. This may not be news to anybody, but I also sat through one or two Saturday Schools in high school for having too many tardies.
8. I’ve come to LOVE helping kids learn, especially those to whom it doesn’t come easily. When we were dividing up the English classes, this year, I volunteered for the 3rd graders, a class that has had the reputation of being incontrollable since preschool. I acted like I was being a virtuous martyr, but really I was excited about the challenge of it all.
9. I just killed a fly by clapping my hands above it the way my grandpa taught me.
10. OK, I’m back. I just took a break to go wash my hands from the fly guts. I think I’ve always repressed my secret desire to be a cheerleader, and hidden it by making fun of them, instead (my sister receiving the brunt, of course). Yesterday I taught 10 girls, ages 7-22, the "We’re Dynamite" cheer that I’ve had so much practice mocking through the years.

Storytelling and Handholding

Picture yourself in a kitchen. Strip out all of the cupboards, shelves, counters, and food. Good. Now get rid of the table. You can leave a few chairs. Turn out all of the lights except for one. Turn off the hot water. Unplug the fridge and remove the door. Good, now it can be used as a storage unit for your random dishes. Did I mention that your dishes absolutely cannot match? Next, tear out the tile floor and cement foundation, so that you're down to packed earth. Replace your dog with 4 roaming chickens, 2 ducks, a rooster, and freshly hatched chicks. Your dog can keep the cow company, outside. Finally, build a little fire in a stone bowl, and set it on a stool in the middle of the room. Great. Now we're ready to bring in the chairs for our budding children's ministry! It was in this setting that I led the most fun Bible study of my life.


One of my goals was to help train 2 teenagers, so I got to discover my own creativity in finding memorable ways to teach without spending much money on resources. And God has been so good in giving me ideas. I know they were from Him because the best ones were usually last minute additions. For example, one evening I was planning to teach on Gomar and Hosea. I know that sounds crazy as a children's story, but prostitution is an accepted part of this culture. A mother once told me that drugs and prostitution were her greatest fears for her daughter. Girls often sleep with teachers to get good grades or pay their way through school, and fathers commonly pay for their sons' first visit as a right of passage. Anyway, we were going to talk about God's relentless love, that night. On the way out the door, I remembered that bridal shower game where you make a wedding gown out of toilet paper, so I asked my ride to hold on while I ran across the street to buy TP. Another thing I loved about God's inspiration, is that the ideas would often evolve with later lessons. It was that Hosea night, in fact, that I had the random idea of using different colors of water to represent different nations, and mixed them all together to show how Israel became dirty (like a prostitute) when she worshiped other gods. Then this last week, I thought to use Clorox bleach to restore the water to its original clarity. And I discovered that the Clorox took a minute to take effect, so if I worked fast I could dump some red food coloring in bleach (which the kids just assumed was water), say that it represented Jesus' blood, and pour it into Israel's dirty water to make them clean! Then, I had the idea of cutting hearts out of black fabric and having each of the kids baptize their heart in Jesus' blood, and they could see hearts could becoming clean, too! Anyway, that's what I mean by evolving. Back when I first thought to use water to symbolize Israel's impurity, Clorox wasn't even on my mind's horizon. But everything tied together so perfectly. Anyway, every week was a blast!

I decided to teach them the Story of the Bible, by teaching them a scene/ story every week, going in chronological order, beginning with Adam and Eve. For every story, we made up an action step and built a mime that takes us all the way through to Jesus. Paraguayans are story people. We finished up our series, this last week, with Jesus' life, death, and resurrection. I'd met, earlier, with a Guarani speaking member of our church, who talked with the kids about Jesus' desire to have a relationship with them and led them in "the sinners' prayer". Most weeks, I felt like I could get by with shoddy Spanish and a bunch of games/ dramas/ etc, but didn't want to risk confusion on this one. After they prayed, the believer in whose house we met prayed for all of the kids. I've had a lot of questions, recently, about the salvation process, especially with young children whose parents are not believers, themselves. But I do know that God loves these kids and on December 5, 2007, they invited Him to clean their dirty hearts and be their friend. And that's super exciting.

Besides it being a fun and challenging teaching experience, I also grew to love the kids. A few months ago, I noticed that Paraguayan little girls are always holding hands. I have nephews, so I don't know if this is true for little girls, across the board, or specifically in Paraguay. But I've noticed it, here. They're so sweet and honest in their invitations for friendship and connection. They run around the playground holding hands. They go to lunch holding hands. They chase boys holding hands. They do everything holding hands. When do they lose that instinct? A few months, ago, one of the Kapi-I girls took my hand as we ran out to play Hide-and-Seek. It was really uncomfortable for me. I mean, it's sweet to grab someone's hand, squeeze it a little to say "I care" and then let it go. But holding hands as you go from place to place? After a while, I casually pulled away. But then I remembered my hand-holding observations. What an honor! Immediately I reached for hers, again.

My mom always taught me that people don't care what you know until they know that you care. In Kapi-I, I learned that care equals play. Most nights, we'd finish before the adults and go out to play Hide-and-Seek. I hated it. These little kids were the descendants of forest dwelling Guarani warriors. They were quick, agile, and stealthy. I, on the other hand, felt like an overgrown white moron. I could have them cornered at only a meter away, and they'd somehow dodge my grasp. I was "it" every other round. "Why in the world did they want me to play?" I would always ask myself. It certainly wasn't because I offered good competition. But every week they'd eagerly take my hand, and with their shining eyes and radiant smiles they'd ask me, "Vamos a jugar?!" So every week I put my comfort and pride on the shelf and decided that so long as they wanted me, I could do nothing better with my evening than run around a muddy field in the dark with a bunch of little Guarani warriors.

By the way, grapes and watermelon are now in season. YUM!

Augustine Quotes

I just finished reading Augustine’s Confessions and it was incredible. Check out some of my favorite quotes:



What can any man say when he speaks of Thee? But woe to them that keep silence- since even those who say most are dumb (3).

[reflecting on his infancy] And when I was not satisfied… I grew indignant that my elders were not subject to me and that those on whom I actually had no claim did not wait on me as slaves- and I avenged myself on them by crying (5).

What is it to me if someone doesn’t understand this? Let him still rejoice and continue to ask, “What is this?” Let him also rejoice and prefer to seek Thee even if he fails to find an answer, rather than to seek an answer and not find Thee (6)!

For the tedium of learning a foreign language mingled gall into the sweetness of those Grecian myths (14).

Yet, by Thy ordinance, O God, discipline is given to restrain the excess of freedom; this ranges from the ferule of the schoolmaster to the trials of the martyr and has the effect of mingling for us a wholesome bitterness, which calls us back to Thee from the poisonous pleasures that first drew us from Thee (14).

Hear my prayer, O Lord; let not my soul faint under Thy discipline, nor let me faint in confessing unto Thee Thy mercies, whereby Thou hast saved me from all my most wicked ways til Thou shouldst become sweet to me beyond all the allurements that I used to follow. Let me come to love Thee wholly, and grasp Thy hand with my whole heart that Thou mayest deliver me from every temptation, even unto the last (14).

[reflecting on the value placed on rhetoric and being a persuasive speaker] I do not blame the words, for they are, as it were, choice and precious vessels, but I do deplore the wine of error which was poured out to us by teachers already drunk. And unless we also drank, we were beaten, without liberty of appeal to a sober judge (16).

[on the sins of his youth] What shall I render to the Lord for the fact that while my memory recalls these things my soul no longer fears them? I will love Thee, O Lord, and thank Thee, and confess to Thy name, because Thou hast put away from me such wicked and evil deeds. To Thy grace I attribute it and to Thy mercy, that Thou hast melted away my sin as if it were ice (28).

For I had my back toward the light, and my face toward the things on which the light falls, so that my face, which looked toward the illuminated things, was not itself illuminated (63).

And what kind of burden was it for Thy little ones to have a far slower wit, since they did not use it to depart from Thee, and since they remained in the nest of Thy Church to become safely fledged and to nourish the wings of love by the food of a sound faith (63).

For our stability, when it is in Thee, is stability indeed; but when it is in ourselves, then it is all unstable. Our good lives forever with Thee, and when we turn from Thee with aversion, we fall into our own perversion. Let us now, O Lord, return that we be not overturned, because with Thee our good lives without blemish- for our good is Thee Thyself. And we need not fear that we shall find no place to return to because we fell away from it. For, in our absence, our home- which is Thy eternity- does not fall away (64).

I was still eagerly aspiring to honors, money, and matrimony; and Thou dist mock me (90).

[regarding his philosophical/ theological questions] I continued to reflect upon these things, and Thou wast with me. I sighed, and Thou dist hear me. I vacillated, and Thou guidest me. I roamed the broad way of the world, and Thou didst not desert me (90).

Active efforts were made to get me a wife. I wooed; I was engaged; and my mother took the greatest pains in the matter (100).

[in the period following his conversion] The examples of Thy servants whom Thou hadst changed from black to shining white, and from death to life, crowded into the bosom of our thoughts and burned and consumed our sluggish temper, that we might not topple back into the abyss (149).

He is Thy best servant who does not look to hear from Thee what he himself wills, but who wills rather to will what he hears from Thee (194).

It is not the uncleanness of meat that I fear, but the uncleanness of my incontinent appetite. I know that permission was granted Noah to eat every kind of flesh that was good for food; that Elijah was fed with flesh; that Joh, blessed with a wonderful abstinence, was not polluted by the living creatures (that is, locusts) on which he fed. And I know that Esau was deceived by his hungering after lentils and that David blamed himself for desiring water, and that our King was tempted not by flesh but by bread. And thus, the people in the wilderness truly desired their reproof, not because they desired meat, but because in their desire for food they murmured against the Lord.
Set down, then, in the midst of these temptations, I strive daily against my appetite for food and drink. For it is not the kind of appetite that I am able to deal with by cutting it off once for all, and thereafter not touching it, as I was able to do with fornication. The bridle of the throat, therefore, must be held in the mean between slackness and tightness. And who, o Lord, is he who is not in some degree carried away beyond the bounds of necessity? Whoever hs is, he is great; let him magnify Thy name. But I am not such a one, ‘for I am a sinful man.’ Yet I too magnify Thy name, for he who hath ‘overcome the world’ intercedeth with Thee for my sins, numbering me among the weak members of His body; for Thy eyes did see what was imperfect in Him, and in Thy book all shall be written down (199).

How then, shall I respond to him who asks, ‘What was God doing before He made heaven and earth?’ I do not answer, as a certain one is reported to have done facetiously (shrugging off the force of the question), ‘He was preparing hell,’ he said, ‘for those who pry too deep.’ It is one thing to see the answer; it is another to laugh at the questioner- and for myself I do not answer these things thus. More willingly would I have answered, ‘I do not know what I do not know,’ than cause one who asked a deep question to be ridiculed- and by such tactics gain praise for a worthless answer (223).

This way of Thine is too far removed from my sight; it is too great for me. I cannot attain to it. But I shall be enabled by Thee, when Thou wilt grant it, O sweet Light of my secret eyes (228).

Thou, O Light and Truth, wilt show me (232).

[a refrain repeated about many subjects] All this, in Thy sight, is clear to me. Let it become clearer and clearer, I beseech Thee, and in that light let me abide soberly under Thy wings (246).

For they all have the same end, which is temporal and earthly happiness. This is their motive for doing everything, although they may fluctuate within an innumerable diversity of concerns (281).

Electricity Failures and Falling Walls

Usually we leave between 6:30 and 7. At 6:25, I still hadn't run off pictures of Joshua and the Battle of Jericho, so I called Josephina and asked her to pick me up at the Shell station, instead of my apartment, and ran down to make copies for the kids to color. By 6:35, I was waiting outside. Instead of the van pulling up, Mario Luis came bounding across the parking lot, thrilled to report a delay in our departure. The old van had finally had it and was being repaired in a garage a block away. I absentmindedly asked the Lord to heal our van. An hour later, we were off.

Instead of disembarking at Ramon's, like we normally do, we sardined ourselves together to make room for 10 more women and children, a third of whose breasts were nursing tiny babies. After about 7 minutes, we stopped in the middle of what appeared to be a vacant lot. I had thought we were to be going to the home of a new believer. She'd invited us to do the study there, that week, to include her "marido," the man with whom she´d been living but never married. I heard some murmurs about electricity, and then followed the others out of the van. In the 7 minutes between our departure and arrival, a storm had arisen. Thus, as soon as I climbed out, my eyes were violated by hundreds of particles of swirling earth. Upon opening them, again, I looked above to see trees' branches being violently whipped by the angry wind. It was an awesome night. Unfortunately, the wind had knocked out the house's 2 lights (which is why I hadn't noticed it, earlier), so we weren't sure how to proceed. After some time of huddling together to protect the babies from the beating earth, Augustine called us over to the house, where we joined hands to pray. The prayers of these young believers were as simple as the storm was ferocious. They recalled Jesus quieting the storm. They thanked God for forgiving their sins. They humbly committed their lives to proclaiming His glory. Then we began to sing songs of joyous praise and heartfelt adoration. Then the lights came on.

We thanked the Lord, and prepared for the study. The adults sat in a circle in the outdoor quincho, while the kids and I circled around a tiny folding table in the outdoor "kitchen." After setting it up, our hostess ceremoniously covered it with a table cloth. I noted the irony in this kind gesture, given the dirt floor, pots and utensils hanging randomly from the ceiling, and chickens running underfoot. But it was beautiful. Amidst the howling wind, I bent down and began asking my kids questions about our love story. We reviewed the love of God, independence and separation of man, and the story of the exodus, which demonstrated both God's faithful love and uncontested power. Then we acted out the story through the mime that we'd been building, each week. Upon discovering that none of my co-leaders had read the assigned story, I determined to tell it, myself, going heavy on action and light on words.

So we stood up and everyone "wandered" through the kitchen to symbolize Israel's 40 years in the desert. Then we all cut our throats to show the death of Moses and that entire generation. Then we were ready for Joshua. So we left the kitchen area and formed a circle around a large pile of bricks that were lying about 5 meters away. The bricks represented the walled city of mighty Jericho. I gave the instructions- we'd march around it in silence 6 times, and then when I gave the signal on the 7th vuelta, we'd all shout, "God is strong! God is strong!" and blow our pretend trumpets. They LOVED it! The little girl behind me couldn't stop giggling (during our 6 silent laps), so I kept turning around to shush her. That was a nice touch, I think. Finally, the seventh time came, and we shouted and trumpeted our little heads off. And do you know what happened next? The wall fell down! (not really. use your imagination), and we rushed into the city and killed everybody (not really. we just mentioned that that's what the Israelites did). The end. It was a little anticlimactic, but that's okJ So then we went back into our outdoor kitchen and I passed out crayons and pictures for everyone to color. Now, Paraguayan children aren't used to our North American classrooms with resources galore, so they are amazing improvisers. 4 or 5 kids used the little table. A few used their own laps. A few sat on the floor and used their chairs. And one used the back of her little brother, who sat on her lap. It was pretty amazing. I've come to love their lack of expectations and delight with whatever they are given. So they focused on their pictures while I looked over their shoulders and praised their choice of colors. They are always so proud of themselves; I love it! At one point, 2 of my favorite little girls wandered off to the side of the house. I found them squatting in the dark and went over to check out what they were doing. "Making pee!" they giggled. Oops. I probably shouldn't have interrupted. Anyway, when we were finished coloring, we stood and sang our Pharaoh song with motions, packed up the van, and headed home. Back in my apartment, I washed my hair two or three times to get all the sand out.

I love Kapi-I nights. I'm always exhausted, going into them, but return wired and fulfilled. It makes me think of how Jesus said that His "food" (or energy) comes from doing the will of His Father. Going to Kapi-I is the easy part of being a missionary. It's the fun part. It's the part that makes for good photos to be sent home. Therefore, it's that which starry-eyed idealists imagine when they're applying to serve overseas. And it is not disappointing. It's every bit as wonderful as the pictures and stories portray. Unfortunately, it only accounts for an hour of each (168 hour) week. But the other hours are for another time. As far as this one goes, I promise that it's every bit as romantic as the best of dreams.

Pride of the USA

Disclaimer: I am NOT a political scientist, sociologist, or economist, so I really don’t know what I’m talking about. I am a dabbler. And I’m a children’s Bible teacher… without technology. Anyone who knows anything about the above mentioned fields should proceed with huge amounts of grace. And please do tell me where I’m off base. Seriously.

The collective voice of the United States of America’s elite might be more like God’s than that of any powerful nation since Israel’s united kingdom under the great king David. Especially the democrats. Especially the ones on the coasts. Our founding fathers did a brilliant job of balancing power in the government and creating a constitution that provided its citizens the freedom of movement and creativity, thus promoting growth and maturity. Therefore, humanity in the United States is becoming more like the most perfect being we can imagine, which is God. Christians, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, Bahais, Pagans, Agnostics, and Atheists alike, are developing toward this ideal. Here’s how I see it…

A trillion years ago, God creates humankind to be a reflection of Him (oh, and I’m not a scientist, either). He created us in His image, and breathed His life into us, as stewards of His good world. We, however, didn’t want to be stewards. We wanted to be owners. We got it into our heads that we were capable of ruling ourselves. So we separated ourselves from the Creator-steward relationship we’d had with God. We’ve tried independence, and we’ve done a really sucky job. Sure, there have been bright lights of human goodness every now and again, but as a whole, we’ve bombed. I can think of very, very, very few exceptions to the rule that I learned in my political science classes: power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts, absolutely. Powerful groups of people exploit weaker groups to their own advantage. Almost always. Still, though, there’s something deep inside of us that knows this can’t be right. Like seedlings growing toward the sun, we reach toward goodness, selflessness, and love, despite our natural tendency to be selfish and tyrannical. We all desperately want to be good. And in the US, I think this acknowledgement of the evil of selfish power, and the desire to be good, to be the kinds of people that we somehow know we were meant to be, has somehow been able to grow.

Dressing down, producing good art, and theorizing about human goodness are all luxuries of the privileged. Dr. Richard Allen Farmer is the best dressed man I’ve ever known. He is also black. I remember him telling us that a white man is automatically taken seriously. But a black man always has to begin relationships by proving his legitimacy. I’ve noticed a similar phenomenon in Paraguay. Women tend to be very conscious of their appearance. They show their social standing through their make-up and dress. I, however, have nothing to prove. I’m a North American. I’m rich. Everyone knows it. So I can dress however I like while maintaining my respectability (I think… maybe not! J ). I think I might have been in a world history class when I learned that the level of cultural advancement can be measured by a people’s art. When they get beyond having to spend all of their energy on the necessities of life, time is freed up for creative pursuits. I wonder if a similar statement could be made about human goodness. When you know you don’t have to beat your neighbor to the store to get the last loaf of bread, you are a little more free to consider sharing as a means to making the world a better place. Typically, it’s not the poor peasants who have created the philosophical theories that have shaped political process. It’s been university students that have called for change. University students are among the privileged.

The balance of power, constitutional freedom, and material wealth have allowed citizens of the United States of America the luxury of thinking about, and growing toward their ideal. And I think they’re really close to achieving it. The universities in the US are calling for social change. They’re basically full of political lefties who think that we should use our power to help the less fortunate. They are championing the poor. I think this sentiment is from God. They reject power that exploits the masses for the benefit of a few, including them. They call for freedom. That’s from God, too. Jesus said that He came to provide freedom for the captives and good news for the oppressed. We want to care for the poor. So does God. We want to care for the environment. So does God. We want peace in the Middle East. So does God. We want freedom. And we realize that it’s not happening. We are trying to make it happen. We instinctively know that it should. We’re trying so hard. And we’re disillusioned because we see how messed up we still are. We oscellate between hope and despair. We all echo the cry of Ray Lamontagne, “How come? How come I can’t tell the free world from a living hell? How come?” We know that our freedom shouldn’t cause suffering on the other side of the world. “How come all I see is a child of God in misery? How come?” We know it shouldn’t be this way. And we’re committed to change. But how? Nothing is working. “It’s just man killing man killing man killing man killing man killing man. I don’t understand! How come?”

Sometimes we like to turn up Josh Ritter because there’s something in his anger that soothes our own. We join him in his accusations, “If God’s up there he’s in a cold dark room. The heavenly host are just the cold dark moons. He bent down and made the world in seven days. And since then He’s been walking away… if what’s loosed on earth will be loosed up on high, it’s a hell of a heaven we must go to when we die… ” We know something is wrong. Most of the suffering also know that something is wrong, but they’re not in the position to question it or consider affecting change. We, however, in the United States, know that something is wrong, and we feel responsibility to grow toward that light of our ideal, that all might live fulfilled and free. In this desire, we are a lot like God, minus the ability to bring it about, of course.

Our big Achiles’ heel, though, besides the roots that stubbornly dig down to secure our own comfort, pleasure, and position, is that age-old issue of independence. We were not created to be owners. We are not smart enough. We were created to be intelligent, but accountable stewards. None of us knows everything. Even the most intelligent of scientists study to discover that which they do not know. Through the middle ages, church leaders abused their power to manipulate and silence the masses. They intentionally kept them in ignorance. In response, we rose and claimed the right to direct our own destinies, rejecting submission to our human lords of knowledge. Like our commitment to securing a better future for collective humanity, this was like God. But we took it farther, submitting to no power, neither human nor divine, setting ourselves up as little individual gods of our own universe. And this has put us at odds with God, the Ideal with whom we have so much else in common. We have become like Him, because we were created to be like Him. But our insistence that we stand on equal footing will be our destruction. Throughout history, He has been faithful to His word, opposing the proud and giving grace to the humble. Let us take heed and submit ourselves to the benevolent but absolute authority of our God, the Creator and Owner of the heavens and the earth. If we refuse to acknowledge Him, we will bring our own destruction, no matter how godly we may become.

wealth, identity, and love

This morning I was reading Psalm 10, and it caused me to reflect on the idea of God as the defender of the poor, followed by questions about my own attitudes concerning the poor. The following were some of my conclusions.

I think the main reason why it is harder for a rich man to get into heaven than it is for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, is because of the way wealth insidiously affects the wealthy person’s identity. He tends to see himself as being capable, which affects both his relationships with and identity before others and the Lord. First, his wealth tends to lower his esteem of the poor. Unconsciously, he sees them as a group, instead of individuals, and assumes that they are content with their lot because it’s all they’ve known. He sees himself, in contrast, as being so different from them, that he looks past their pain. As an example, I draw attention to the way I don’t make as much of an effort to learn the names of people from the colonia, or market people, as I do professionals and students. I see professionals and students as individuals with an interesting story, while I view those from the compania only as members of a larger group, that is too different from me to understand. In this way, my view of the world is distorted and I am less likely to treat my poor neighbor with the unconditional love characteristic of those in God’s kingdom.

Secondly, his wealth tends to lower his dependence on God. Throughout the Hebrew Scriptures, the Israelites go through cycles of being desperate and crying out for deliverance, being rescued by the Lord, experiencing His blessing, growing self-sufficient and satisfied, and then coming to ruin, only to cry out again and begin the cycle, once more. This is one of the themes, in my opinion, of the story of God’s people. I’m also reminded, at this point of a (probably fictitious) story in Christian tradition of Augustine walking through the streets of Rome with another believer, who proudly reflected on the wealth surrounding them, “Well, we Christians can no longer say ‘Silver and gold have I not!” to which Augustine wisely responded, “True. And neither can we follow it with ‘Pick up your mat and walk.’” Similarly, I remember being struck by Amy Charmichael’s observation in A Chance to Die, “We claim to be strangers and aliens in this world, yet we settle down as if we’re right at home and plan on staying for quite some time. It’s no wonder that apostolic miracles have ceased. Apostolic living certainly has.” Wealth naturally blinds us to our dependence on God, because our reality is that we can meet all of our own needs. It is only by taking God’s word at face value, which requires a choice to live by faith rather than sight, that we will see the reality of our poverty before Him and rest in His provision, alone.

Finally, I’ve become aware of how, in our North American culture, at least, our wealth affects our identity by allowing us to be “with it”. If we have the money to do so, we’ll show that we’re all right, by hurriedly replacing our colored outdoor Christmas lights when white ones have come into vogue, stowing away our tapered Jeans and leg warmers until they show up to our complete horror 20 years later, replacing our dishes with each new season, and remodeling our homes every 10 years. If we don’t do these things, we are devalued in our own eyes, and in the eyes of our society. When we see a missionary who comes home on furlow and looks 20 years behind, we say “Oh, bless her heart (that stupid idiot)!” Now, we kinda give her a break, because her ignorance is explainable; we know she’s been gone. But when we see people in the street who aren’t with it, we turn them in to What Not to Wear, not just reflecting on their clothes. Our judgment of them penetrates to their ignorance or naiveté, as a person. Now, I’m not criticizing people for loving the latest styles. My sister-in-law is an interior designer and a VERY good dresser. She loves to express her creativity by putting together fashionable outfits off of 7 different sale racks. God created beauty, so this is wonderful, so long as it doesn’t become a measure of her, or others’, worth (which it doesn’t… because she loves me! J). When style turns into a means of determining “with-it-ness”, it becomes either a blinder or a burden, depending on which side of the fence we fall, thus distorting our reality and robbing us of peace.

So, what do we do about it? I am convinced that God is not opposed to material wealth and beauty. More and more, I see that He is the God of unlimited resources and abundant love who created this crazy amazing world in which we presently live, while He is busy building us heavenly mansions in which to spend eternity. Our God is the fountain of inexhaustible wealth and power. So I cannot see it fitting that He requires us, as His children, to live as powerless paupers in order to please Him and secure our places in heaven. Jesus follows His statement about it being harder for a rich man to get into heaven than for a camel to get through the eye of a needle by saying that what is impossible with men is possible with God. I think, then, that the 2 keys have to do with identity and love. As the natural consequence of wealth is to raise one’s confidence in himself, thus resulting in self-sufficiency, lack of dependence on God, and devaluation of the poor, we must resist this natural trajectory and seek humility before God and neighbor, alike. Secondly, once we see the relationships between ourselves, our God, and our neighbors as they really are according to the true reality of the unseen world, we must cultivate His love in our hearts, using our resources as a means of extending that love by giving generously, as we, ourselves, have so freely and abundantly received.