"What are the disciples to do when they encounter opposition and cannot penetrate the hearts of men? They must admit that in no circumstances do they possess any rights or powers over others, and that they have no direct access to them. The only way to reach others is through him in whose hands they are themselves like all other men. The disciples are taught to pray, and so they learn that the only way to reach others is by praying to God. Judgement and forgiveness are always in the hands of God. He closes and he opens. But the disciples must ask, they must seek and knock, and then God will hear them. They have to learn that thier anxiety and concern for others must drive them to intercession."
Dietrich Bonhoeffer--The Cost of Discipleship--p.167
I read these words this morning with a sense of de ja vu, the morning before, our friend expounded that we as the church often have "outreach/evangelism" wrong. We admire the strong leader who has a strong vision and the church follows to create more churches (and more buildings or bigger ones) and inevitably the focus becomes on programs and the "to do" list so many needs require. As we look closer to Scripture and Jesus's example, we see the opposite happening: Jesus through his Holy Spirit disciples his followers, they become transformed and committed to Him and each other, form a spiritual commuity and move outward to touch others in His name. No need for bigger or better church facilities, the emphasis is on relationship and prayer, small groups of believers keeping the sacraments and their love God and for neighbors front and center. Bonhoeffer points out that we cannot force or manipulate people into the kingdom, that our present frantic acitivity must be turned into intimate intercession. A realization that we are in the same hands that our unbelieving neighbor is, and the need for the same grace, same forgiveness, same need for spiritual closeness and community. We need to bring people to Jesus, not to church. Our inner witness and life-change will naturally overflow its banks into tea times, movie theatres, Superstore line-ups, playgrounds and hospital waiting rooms. Let us remind ourselves why we are here on this planet and how deep our lives are planted into Christ, in intercession, in the fact that God has judgement and forgiveness in His hands. Ask, seek, knock!
Monday, January 16, 2012
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Stubble and Hay
Charlie, Juno, Delta and Echo....I scanned the names of the units noticing this may be the most creative thing in this whole building, besides the Winnipeg Jets logo painted on the inside walls. Peeled paint, solid steel doors, huge windows with guys in grey sweaters and orange baggy pants staring at the odd assortment of ladies (us). One with a guitar (me), others with Christmas carol sheets and a man with a box of bagged treats. We were armed with music of the season and smarties, entering the common area of the "gang unit", the "mentally challenged unit" and other disignations down the hallway. I noticed they are definately NOT built for privacy, showers, toilets, tv's and phones open and usable for those locked and living within.
Indeed, I had chosen to come with the Salvation Army group to sing and hand out "sunshine bags", smile and take requests like "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer", "Jingle Bells", and "Little Drummer Boy". I knew what I might experience, gaffawing, a little mocking, snickers and the range of looks that you know that it seems a little cheesy to sing christmas carols with inmates that rape, pillage, murder, steal your purse and other nasty things. But I didn't expect the look of one native guy, sitting quietly listening with a far away look in his eye and a soft smile on his lips. What I wouldn't give to know what he was thinking about, a distant memory of a past Christmas of peace and contentment? Love of a family member or the future wish of hope, freedom? I don't think it was smuggled drugs coursing through his veins or a vacant lot "nobody is home" space of mind.
So, we pack up and leave...say goodbye and get into our cars to escape the winter wind. Wire, bars, institution, locks and doors left behind as I turned off the gravel road onto the highway. To go pick up my kids, to make supper, to relax in a warm house and read the novel I left on the bed. The phone rings, and its a friend that has spent 15 years in the prison system. He's inviting us out for a Christmas meal, I thank him and I say, "Guess where I was today?". An hour later, he says it was the best present I could've given him, the story of my visit and how it impacted me. "What you did was go into the darkness to give these brothers a bit of light, thank you.....for them, for me". To me, a drop in the bucket, two hours, sore fingers and a chance to sing Jingle Bells. For them, its a word they are not forgotten, there is such a thing as dignity, humans treating them as human and a touch of some reality in a cement world.
When I read this poem this morning from muscian Steve Bell's website, I knew it was for our brothers in Lock Down...staring out the windows, eyes cast on life in the pen, life behind bars. May this day be one of hope and prayer released for them.
POEM: Stubble & Hay
by Gerry Atwell
Take the dusty trek across the barren field
Down those old till rows, never met no seeds
Find a place to lay as the sun gives way
To the dusk falling gently, fall away
And the echoes of your day subside
As you breathe again deep inside…
The crickets muse and the owl regards
As you slip away
Dream a dream of folly
Of other places where the night glows bright
With the painted faces and danger laughs
Of the ones who dance
All eye to eye all hand in hand
And only look to the sky when the glass comes by
And they never need to worry and they never need to cry
And you dream about the love you want to love you to want to love you
And you dream about the life you want to live you want live
And there are prizes for the biggest winners
There are roses and rubies and perfumes from far away
Bright young smiles line the banquet room
Beg you come inside and whistle them a tune
Eat all you want and pay the bill after
Every drop has been guzzled and there’s no more laughter
You look inside but you dare not enter
You back away and let yourself set
Back by the fire and the stubble and the hay
As the sun rises gently
Such a gift is one more day
Indeed, I had chosen to come with the Salvation Army group to sing and hand out "sunshine bags", smile and take requests like "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer", "Jingle Bells", and "Little Drummer Boy". I knew what I might experience, gaffawing, a little mocking, snickers and the range of looks that you know that it seems a little cheesy to sing christmas carols with inmates that rape, pillage, murder, steal your purse and other nasty things. But I didn't expect the look of one native guy, sitting quietly listening with a far away look in his eye and a soft smile on his lips. What I wouldn't give to know what he was thinking about, a distant memory of a past Christmas of peace and contentment? Love of a family member or the future wish of hope, freedom? I don't think it was smuggled drugs coursing through his veins or a vacant lot "nobody is home" space of mind.
So, we pack up and leave...say goodbye and get into our cars to escape the winter wind. Wire, bars, institution, locks and doors left behind as I turned off the gravel road onto the highway. To go pick up my kids, to make supper, to relax in a warm house and read the novel I left on the bed. The phone rings, and its a friend that has spent 15 years in the prison system. He's inviting us out for a Christmas meal, I thank him and I say, "Guess where I was today?". An hour later, he says it was the best present I could've given him, the story of my visit and how it impacted me. "What you did was go into the darkness to give these brothers a bit of light, thank you.....for them, for me". To me, a drop in the bucket, two hours, sore fingers and a chance to sing Jingle Bells. For them, its a word they are not forgotten, there is such a thing as dignity, humans treating them as human and a touch of some reality in a cement world.
When I read this poem this morning from muscian Steve Bell's website, I knew it was for our brothers in Lock Down...staring out the windows, eyes cast on life in the pen, life behind bars. May this day be one of hope and prayer released for them.
POEM: Stubble & Hay
by Gerry Atwell
Take the dusty trek across the barren field
Down those old till rows, never met no seeds
Find a place to lay as the sun gives way
To the dusk falling gently, fall away
And the echoes of your day subside
As you breathe again deep inside…
The crickets muse and the owl regards
As you slip away
Dream a dream of folly
Of other places where the night glows bright
With the painted faces and danger laughs
Of the ones who dance
All eye to eye all hand in hand
And only look to the sky when the glass comes by
And they never need to worry and they never need to cry
And you dream about the love you want to love you to want to love you
And you dream about the life you want to live you want live
And there are prizes for the biggest winners
There are roses and rubies and perfumes from far away
Bright young smiles line the banquet room
Beg you come inside and whistle them a tune
Eat all you want and pay the bill after
Every drop has been guzzled and there’s no more laughter
You look inside but you dare not enter
You back away and let yourself set
Back by the fire and the stubble and the hay
As the sun rises gently
Such a gift is one more day
Friday, October 7, 2011
Would you speak up?
This was a question my "soon-to-be-11" year old asked me on the way home today from school. He asked was it right for the Christian private school they are going to, to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on a new wing when so many are poor and suffering in Myanmar. They had a chapel this morning on the theme "Thanksgiving" where the host related that when so many are underpriviledged in this world, they are blessed to have the money to build this new wing to accomidate their growth. To at least 2 of my sons, this sounded contradictory and for my part, it did to me too. So launching into hollow-sounding reasons they may have for a new wing....I seemed to be painting myself into a corner. I finally said, perhaps they could've helped others reach a better standard first, and then think about expanding themselves. Nate piped up again, would you have told them that it was wrong to spend all that money on themselves? Honestly????? Would I? He was expecting an answer, so as I said that seeing all those people (many are very well to do) may make my courage find the first exit out of there! I said I would hope I would voice this hard question, and that staying in God's word and prayer would build me up to confront in the hard places.
I'm not sure if you all have kept up with the "Occupy New York" movement the past three weeks. These people, 700 now, are speaking up along with many thousands across the States and now Canada. We are the 99%!! The decisions on Wall Street and in tucked away board rooms are now coming home and sweeping jobs, life savings and struggling people off in a financial tsunami. I have a hard question for the church in this all, how much have we become part of this problem? How many off-base and selfish or neglectful "deals" have we cut to keep up the status quo and show to people a sucessful and progressing side of Christianity? While many go hungry, ignored and struggle in life and death issues. Something I want to see is a "Occupy Christian Church", sitting on the steps of the churches..."Wake Up"...don't let money make zombies out of you! Jesus even said, we choose what controls us money or God. Let's take the coin out of the fish's mouth and pay our obligations and get on with the real work of trusting God, serving the poor and speaking out the Truth of the Gospel of peace and justice.
I'm not sure if you all have kept up with the "Occupy New York" movement the past three weeks. These people, 700 now, are speaking up along with many thousands across the States and now Canada. We are the 99%!! The decisions on Wall Street and in tucked away board rooms are now coming home and sweeping jobs, life savings and struggling people off in a financial tsunami. I have a hard question for the church in this all, how much have we become part of this problem? How many off-base and selfish or neglectful "deals" have we cut to keep up the status quo and show to people a sucessful and progressing side of Christianity? While many go hungry, ignored and struggle in life and death issues. Something I want to see is a "Occupy Christian Church", sitting on the steps of the churches..."Wake Up"...don't let money make zombies out of you! Jesus even said, we choose what controls us money or God. Let's take the coin out of the fish's mouth and pay our obligations and get on with the real work of trusting God, serving the poor and speaking out the Truth of the Gospel of peace and justice.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Who Am I?
Who am I? They often tell me
I stepped from my cell's confinement
calmly, cheerfully, firmly
like a Squire from his country house.
Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
freely and friendly and clearly,
as though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
equably, smilingly, proudly,
like one accustomed to win.
Am I then really which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick like a bird in a cage,
struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat,
yearning for colours, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
tossing in expectation of great events,
powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
faint, and ready to say farewell to it all.
Who am I? This or the Other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
and before myself a contemptible woeboegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army
fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am thine!
dietrich bonhoeffer--tegel prison--1944
I stepped from my cell's confinement
calmly, cheerfully, firmly
like a Squire from his country house.
Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
freely and friendly and clearly,
as though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
equably, smilingly, proudly,
like one accustomed to win.
Am I then really which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick like a bird in a cage,
struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat,
yearning for colours, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
tossing in expectation of great events,
powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
faint, and ready to say farewell to it all.
Who am I? This or the Other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
and before myself a contemptible woeboegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army
fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am thine!
dietrich bonhoeffer--tegel prison--1944
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Discipleship for Dummies
On the cover of the book the face is passive and almost looks stern. Full lips, round wire-rimmed glasses with eyes that are firmly fixed foward, as if seeing a hard future. Hard it was, the story of one man who stood and with humility conquered the evil of a madman. Dietrich Bonhoeffer vs. Hilter of the Third Riech. An exercise of dangerous, risky, Christ following in the wake of the most horrendous agenda in history. I recently finished the HUGE biography (541 pages) and through snickers, hard thinking and tears felt like I had gone back in time and become friends with this incredible teacher and disciple. His passion was for each Christian and especially Christian leaders to come under the yoke of Christ, to learn of Him the practical theology and love for the world, for people. To learn "when Christ calls a man, he bids him to come and die" (taken from one of his books, The Cost of Discipleship).
"To come and die"...ouch. That led Dietrich to the gallows, with 4,999 of his fellow conspirators who for 10 years had worked hard to assisinate that madman. The guy that led a Sunday School for inner-city kids that no one would touch and turned it around to the best attended event for these kids in their week. The guy who loved writing alone in his wilderness cottage, who patiently took his Bible College students for walks and talks and hikes and showed them a practical Christianity that fell in love with people and offered truth and courage. The German guy who found Jesus in a black church in Harlem and fought racism in his home country. The guy who, in conviction of his hate for injustice and love for the Jews, become a double agent and plotted Hitlers demise and ended up in jail. This man who, when the Allies started bombing Berlin, got in a rickety van with sixteen other prisoners and thier luggage. Hundreds of miles later and three days before the camps were in Allies hands, hung on a gallows with peace and prayer on his lips.
Do we know of this kind of Jesus disciple in our Crispy Chip Christianity today? He was pressed, he made decisions, he prayed, he taught, he argued, the world was falling in around his shoulders, he despaired and yet he chose what God called him to do. The Christian church at that time opened their arms to their political saviour, Adolf Hilter. Only a few knew his real agenda, his deep evil puposes. No one could guess that many Christians were Hilter's arms and legs and voice that massacred millions and plunged Germany into a shame that would last generations. Lulled into pride, false theology, an illusion of security and rightness....this smacks of our Christian world today while the world falls around our shoulders and we (I) remain numb and distracted. Dummies that you could take for a car ride and they would bounce all over the car if it crashed. The Jesus disciple that our Father is calling us to be is one that is called out to die....there are many ways of dying, but may it be with the name of Christ on our lips and a steady hand out to the proud, the bruised, the empty. That is Nachfolge, The Cost of Discipleship.
"To come and die"...ouch. That led Dietrich to the gallows, with 4,999 of his fellow conspirators who for 10 years had worked hard to assisinate that madman. The guy that led a Sunday School for inner-city kids that no one would touch and turned it around to the best attended event for these kids in their week. The guy who loved writing alone in his wilderness cottage, who patiently took his Bible College students for walks and talks and hikes and showed them a practical Christianity that fell in love with people and offered truth and courage. The German guy who found Jesus in a black church in Harlem and fought racism in his home country. The guy who, in conviction of his hate for injustice and love for the Jews, become a double agent and plotted Hitlers demise and ended up in jail. This man who, when the Allies started bombing Berlin, got in a rickety van with sixteen other prisoners and thier luggage. Hundreds of miles later and three days before the camps were in Allies hands, hung on a gallows with peace and prayer on his lips.
Do we know of this kind of Jesus disciple in our Crispy Chip Christianity today? He was pressed, he made decisions, he prayed, he taught, he argued, the world was falling in around his shoulders, he despaired and yet he chose what God called him to do. The Christian church at that time opened their arms to their political saviour, Adolf Hilter. Only a few knew his real agenda, his deep evil puposes. No one could guess that many Christians were Hilter's arms and legs and voice that massacred millions and plunged Germany into a shame that would last generations. Lulled into pride, false theology, an illusion of security and rightness....this smacks of our Christian world today while the world falls around our shoulders and we (I) remain numb and distracted. Dummies that you could take for a car ride and they would bounce all over the car if it crashed. The Jesus disciple that our Father is calling us to be is one that is called out to die....there are many ways of dying, but may it be with the name of Christ on our lips and a steady hand out to the proud, the bruised, the empty. That is Nachfolge, The Cost of Discipleship.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Crazy Nights
It was around 11:30 pm, Thursday night that Steve and I heard the crackling. Sounded like rain on the roof, but it wasn't raining when we looked outside our bedroom window. I saw orange flames reflected off a neighbors house window down the alley and looked at Steve, "that's got to be fire!". We threw something appropriate on over our pajamas and took off down the stairs, Cyclone barking behind us. In the alley, a fire truck screamed by and stopped at a garbage bin about 4 houses down. Flames were reaching up the telephone pole and was climbing the neighbors fence. It was all over in about 10 minutes, but the remains of a discarded mattress smoldered. Steve saw a lady standing nearby, we found out she was a "alley neighbor" across from us and had just returned from a late choir practise at her church (believer? of course!). We stood chatting for awhile and went back to bed. We were up twice more that night with gang activity across the street and phone calls to the police. I allowed myself to sleep in that morning!
Last night, again up at 3 am with someone being chased down the street and sounds of a fight brewing. Police action broke that up, but as some members ran away and were hiding between the houses opposite of us, Steve called the police and again with their location. Then (as he described) four police cars, with search lights when up and down our street and alley way trying to find the guys hiding. Steve could see them, but the cops couldn't and he said it was almost comical the way they kept passing each other on the road, searching. They never found them.
7:15 am, Saturday morning.....more sirens scream down our street and stop at the "gang house" across from us. Hoses, axes, windows smashing, smoke rising from top floor. 2 hours later, boards go up and the door is nailed shut. Burned out, dumped and now left derelict....this small house endured a parting gift of the evicted gang members. And now peace. We can hear the rain, smell the fresh air of spring dripping off new leaves. Birds looking for worms and our new flowers looking pretty in our yard. It was two busy nights, alot of fear and tension, alot of great talks with neighbors. so many questions in creating a safe and fruitful neighborhood. Meanwhile, I'm hoping to get a good rest tonight. We pray for peace.
Last night, again up at 3 am with someone being chased down the street and sounds of a fight brewing. Police action broke that up, but as some members ran away and were hiding between the houses opposite of us, Steve called the police and again with their location. Then (as he described) four police cars, with search lights when up and down our street and alley way trying to find the guys hiding. Steve could see them, but the cops couldn't and he said it was almost comical the way they kept passing each other on the road, searching. They never found them.
7:15 am, Saturday morning.....more sirens scream down our street and stop at the "gang house" across from us. Hoses, axes, windows smashing, smoke rising from top floor. 2 hours later, boards go up and the door is nailed shut. Burned out, dumped and now left derelict....this small house endured a parting gift of the evicted gang members. And now peace. We can hear the rain, smell the fresh air of spring dripping off new leaves. Birds looking for worms and our new flowers looking pretty in our yard. It was two busy nights, alot of fear and tension, alot of great talks with neighbors. so many questions in creating a safe and fruitful neighborhood. Meanwhile, I'm hoping to get a good rest tonight. We pray for peace.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
That's Smashing!
It's Wednesday afternoon, about 4:30 pm. The boys are chatting and enjoying thier Wii game downstairs and I'm catching up on some email from a friend in the States. He writes that he missed his flight and appointment at a meeting and wondered why he was delayed....to avoid a plane crash on the one he was supposed to catch? To talk to someone needing help, or who will end their life if he wasn't there at the airport waiting...but he intervenes? Nope, nothing dramatic happens...but he does have a potential life changing talk with another believer on his next flight. "Cool", I was thinking half-way into the letter....neat way of thinking of upsetting circumstances! An opportunity, if we wait for it, not getting upset or bent out of shape.
SMASH! SMASH! I looked out my 2nd floor bedroom window and 4 boys (Grade 5-6) dressed in black seemed to be having a great time smashing glass bottles into smithereens in the alley way. After a couple times, I thought they were done, but I heard more and a bit ticked off, went downstairs to let Cyclone out to bark at them and see if I could get them to stop. Cyclone did a fine tyrade of barking and I went out the gate. The alley way was empty (those boys are fast!) except for a long line of smashed glass, jagged and raw. A car tried to inch past it, the lady smiled at me. I went for the kitchen broom. My ticked-offness was increasing as I swept pile by pile, wondering what the heck I was going to do to these kids as an encore.
A bike rode past. Then I moved for another car, the man gave me an angry glare as he tried to navigate around the huge shards. "Yah, wad 'up dude", I thought. He glares at ME? The nerve of some people.
I hear another broom sweeping down the way. The guy on the bike lives right there, he had got out his broom and was doing a clean up too. "Cool", I thought. My mind went to the kids again. I knew one of them from the kids class last year. Maybe next time I see them, I'll tell them that was not nice to smash bottles in our alley and their pictures will be up on the police wanted wall. Maybe I'll just get to know their names and give them ice pops.
Throwing the last bucket of glass into the bin, I went over to talk to my neighbor. He's a believer, has a 9-month old little one and seems like a nice guy. "We'll see you again!" he said, as I headed back to my gate. "You can count on it, with kids like that around!", I commented back. We were both smiling. Funny how the wierdest things can create a tad more community. Divine appointments? Yep, after I finish reading my friends letter, I think I'll grab the ice pops and meet some kids......
SMASH! SMASH! I looked out my 2nd floor bedroom window and 4 boys (Grade 5-6) dressed in black seemed to be having a great time smashing glass bottles into smithereens in the alley way. After a couple times, I thought they were done, but I heard more and a bit ticked off, went downstairs to let Cyclone out to bark at them and see if I could get them to stop. Cyclone did a fine tyrade of barking and I went out the gate. The alley way was empty (those boys are fast!) except for a long line of smashed glass, jagged and raw. A car tried to inch past it, the lady smiled at me. I went for the kitchen broom. My ticked-offness was increasing as I swept pile by pile, wondering what the heck I was going to do to these kids as an encore.
A bike rode past. Then I moved for another car, the man gave me an angry glare as he tried to navigate around the huge shards. "Yah, wad 'up dude", I thought. He glares at ME? The nerve of some people.
I hear another broom sweeping down the way. The guy on the bike lives right there, he had got out his broom and was doing a clean up too. "Cool", I thought. My mind went to the kids again. I knew one of them from the kids class last year. Maybe next time I see them, I'll tell them that was not nice to smash bottles in our alley and their pictures will be up on the police wanted wall. Maybe I'll just get to know their names and give them ice pops.
Throwing the last bucket of glass into the bin, I went over to talk to my neighbor. He's a believer, has a 9-month old little one and seems like a nice guy. "We'll see you again!" he said, as I headed back to my gate. "You can count on it, with kids like that around!", I commented back. We were both smiling. Funny how the wierdest things can create a tad more community. Divine appointments? Yep, after I finish reading my friends letter, I think I'll grab the ice pops and meet some kids......
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