Seeds of violence

I was six years old, and our family was living in a low-cost housing development in central California—a group of duplexes arranged in a circle around a grassy area where the kids played.  I remember that our neighbors included a gang of older boys (they would have been between seven and ten years old).  They looked mean and scary.   I avoided them.

One afternoon I noticed this group of boys huddled in the common yard.  They were looking down at something, laughing and pushing.  I feared they might be tormenting some animal, so I cautiously approached.  One of the boys moved and I discovered that the object there in the middle was my little brother Tommy, who was lying on the ground and crying.  My fear instantly changed to fury, and I grabbed a board that just happened to be nearby and charged the group, yelling and swinging my weapon.

The boys reacted almost as quickly as I had and fled the scene.  I think I hit some of them before they got away, but the battle field cleared in a remarkably short time.  I helped Tommy to his feet and burst into tears myself.  Then we both ran for the safety of our house.  I don’t even remember my mother’s reaction.

I haven’t thought about this for years, but the memory is definitely vivid.  I learned a few things that day.  I learned that even though I was small, skinny and female, I had what it takes to confront obstacles larger and stronger and more numerous than me.  I also learned that violence works.

Obviously this requires deeper reflection.  Thanks to the grace of God, I did not develop the violent side of my nature as I grew up.  I am an active peacemaker today by choice.  But I still need to confront the seeds of violence that are part of my nature. (That’s probably why the memory is so vivid.) They spring up every once in a while, for example, in the presence of injustice.  Unfortunately, this is usually some violation of my own rights, rather than a reaction to the plight of the poor or oppressed.  I feel concern for the latter, but rarely fury.  I’ve learned to control the outward manifestations of my inner violence, but I have to admit its presence. 

I have lots of questions:  Did I do the right thing in rescuing Tommy in that way?  (Something in me likes this memory.)  Are there more sophisticated, “adult” ways that I still attack problems by swinging a big stick?  

Dear Lord, give understanding.  Have mercy. Show me the paths of peace.

A prayer I don't want answered

If I'm going to fail

let me fail gloriously

let the sun darken

and the sky fall

let the wind howl

let the crowds pelt me

with words hard as hammers

and sneers that shrivel the soul

let my failure be rich in texture

symphonic and full

grand enough for posterity

and generous enough to cover the shame

of the countless paltry victories

the small everyday triumphs

no one but me

ever sees

Windows on cross-cultural servanthood

I have the joy of announcing another new book. The complete title is Windows on cross-cultural servanthood: A tribute to Betty Sue Brewster, and the entire book is available online as the current issue of the journal, Global Missiology,Vol. 1, No 4. Edited by Jude Tiersma Watson and Georgia Grimes Shaw, this is a different kind of festshrift to honor Betty Sue Brewster upon her retirement from Fuller Theological Seminary. Like Betty Sue, it’s unconventional and practical, a narrative record of the experiences of fifteen women who have given their lives to cross-cultural ministry. I contributed one chapter, as well as the preface, which I will reproduce here:

Preface to Windows on cross-cultural servanthood: A tribute to Betty Sue Brewster

This is a green book.  We chopped down no trees in order to produce it. In fact, it’s not even a book, strictly speaking. In contrast to the traditional “festschrift,” the editors decided early on to publish these essays as part of an on-line journal, thus making them accessible worldwide. Generosity is a green virtue.

There is another reason why we call this collection of essays green. We offer it in honor of Betty Sue Brewster, whose maiden name just happens to be Green. In some way all the writers reflect the influence of Betty Sue’s life and contributions.

A deeper reason for calling this volume green runs beneath the surface, an underground stream feeding its roots. I’m reminded of a song Kermit the Frog used to sing: “It’s Not Easy Being Green.” Our family sang along with Kermit, partly because of a metaphor circulating in the missionary community, a teaching tool to help missionary kids understand and accept the tensions of living cross-culturally. David and Kristin found insight and comfort knowing that they were a unique combination of the culture they grew up in and called home (Bolivia) and the culture their parents came from (the USA) and drug them back to periodically on those unnatural vacations known as “furloughs.” It’s like what happens when you combine the primary colors, yellow and blue. You end up with green. Our kids came out neither totally Bolivian (yellow) or totally of the USA (blue).  They’re green. And while it may not be easy being green, it’s good. All pilgrims are green.

The metaphor doesn’t apply just to children of missionaries. All people who work incarnationally in cross-cultural mission become changed.  Incarnational mission is a concept and practice that Betty Sue and her husband Tom pioneered, practiced and passed on to following generations.  It’s a concept that is fleshed out in the essays in this collection.  It reflects the lives of people who have integrated home culture with the cultures of the world as they seek to live out Kingdom values in mission practice.  It reflects people who have become green.

There is yet another link to the color green.  You’ll notice that all the authors are women. This is intentional. Betty Sue championed women as leaders in mission. Granted, she did this in her own quiet, gentle manner.  But gentleness does not equate weakness. In the case of Betty Sue (and the writers of this collection), gentleness expresses itself in strength, identification, relationship, creativity, narrative and the deep values of the Kingdom of God. Some would say that these feminine traits are more naturally green—conducive to walking gently over the earth—than are the aggressive masculine traits sometimes associated with mission. These stereotypes bear more than a grain of truth (but are probably not fair to men).

At any rate, this is a green “book,” full of stories written by women in mission, encouraging us to walk gently, thoughtfully and respectfully as we journey cross-culturally. And it aptly honors one who showed us how.

Latin American Friends write

Bringing a new book to the light of day is similar to birthing a child. Both experiences spring from pleasure and pain, and both can involve intense labor. I labored with this book for three years, but it’s here and it’s beautiful. De encuentro a ministerio: la vida y fe de los Amigos latinoamericanos (From Encounter to Ministry: The Life and Faith of Latin American Friends) springs from a series of workshops on narrative writing jointly sponsored by the Friends World Committee on Consultation (Section of the Americas) and Northwest Yearly Meeting in 2009 and 2010.

Some 57 Quakers from Central and South America participated in the workshops, and 23 actually submitted their stories for publication in the book. These include women and men, pastors and lay persons, seasoned Friends and young people, experienced writers and some who are seeing their first publication in this book.  They come from Bolivia, Peru, Guatemala, El Salvador and Honduras, and all represent a Latin American Quaker perspective on life and faith.

The stories sparkle. Although they represent a variety of experiences, similar threads weave through the text: a vibrant faith in Jesus, a commitment to hear and obey the word of God, and a shared fellowship as Friends. Gaby Maita (Bolivia) writes about her experience of Christian conversion in an animistic and hostile context. Ricardo Jovel (El Salvador) shares his story of finding faith through a series of crisis situations that began with a car accident. David Bercian (Guatemala) writes of God’s protection during a time of political and civic unrest. Teodoro Alanquía (Peru), the oldest participant in the workshops, writes of his conversion and ministry experience as one of the early believers in the Peruvian Friends Church. María Carcomo (Honduras) shares fascinating details of a year in the life of a Friends minister. These are just samples.

Monday evening in Santa Cruz, Bolivia, we dedicated the book in a small worship service. Four of the authors were present, and it was so good to share in their delight and sense of accomplishment. Our prayer is that the book encourage Latin American Friends with the beauty of their heritage. I’ve already begun on an English translation. I want English-speaking Friends everywhere to know these people and to sense the contribution that they bring to the Quaker movement worldwide.

Meet Maud

Certain inconveniences of life in Bolivia have actually endeared themselves to us through the years. I write this tongue-in-cheek, but it’s true. The cobblestone streets, the rattle-trap busses, the heavy blankets that make going to bed seem more like being buried—the list goes on and on. These are life-style quirks that make us smile.

I put electric shower-heads on this list. We are currently staying at a hostel in the upper section of La Paz, near the New Jerusalem Friends Church. Like most hostels (and homes) this one does not have hot running water. Here is where the electric shower-head comes in. This device houses electric coils that heat up, allowing the water that flows through them to become somewhat hot. “Somewhat” is a key word here. When the water pressure is sufficient, the coils automatically switch on. When the pressure lowers, they switch off. This all happens quickly. In a hostel, water pressure varies depending on how and when other people in the building are turning water off or on.

I suppose one could consider it a rich sensual experience. In rapid succession, the water goes from tepid to cool, back to tepid and up to somewhat (that word again) warm. If the pressure gets too low, the coils switch off and you have to quickly turn the pressure up before the water becomes icy. This is tricky and you will most likely have to fiddle with the faucet before you reach a temperature that approaches lukewarm. And once you get there, someone in the next room turns on his faucet.

We’ve named our present shower Maud. Personalizing the thing helps us focus on the humor rather than the inconvenience. “Shower” in Spanish—“la ducha”—is a feminine noun, which helped us name her. But something else convinced us of her femininity. Maud is clearly going through menopause. While normally providing us with water ranging from cool to tepid, she occasionally has these glorious hot flashes. For a few seconds, I can actually imagine that I’m home in my own comfortable, convenient, and consistently hot shower in Newberg, Oregon. It never lasts long, but I’ll take what I can get. Way to go, Maud!