America 201: Tribalism, Gambling, Complexity, Jobs, and Grace

Three months into sabbatical, which is a full term of school, so we're moving from the 101-level of learning into the next level of advanced classes.  As insiders who became and outsiders and came back again, we continue to ponder, marvel, sigh, and puzzle over this place in all its diversity and luxury and pain.

So here are a few more observations, from this week.

First, America exhibits much of the same tribalism that drives fear and violence in Africa.  The conversation here has become so shrill and polarized.  Positions are entrenched, and offense is easily taken.  Perhaps this relates to an impending electoral season, or to the bombardment of opinions on social media.  But the tenor of the loudest voices seems to be the same old tribal fear: if we don't fight for ourselves, the other group will take what we need. There is a prickly defensiveness that makes dialogue very difficult.  Note this exchange between President Obama and Author Marilyn Robinson (Gilead, Lila):

Robinson:  But fear was very much—is on my mind, because I think that the basis of democracy is the willingness to assume well about other people.  You have to assume that basically people want to do the right thing. I think that you can look around society and see that basically people do the right thing. But when people begin to make these conspiracy theories and so on, that make it seem as if what is apparently good is in fact sinister, they never accept the argument that is made for a position that they don’t agree with—you know?

The President: Yes.

Robinson: Because [of] the idea of the “sinister other.” And I mean, that’s bad under all circumstances. But when it’s brought home, when it becomes part of our own political conversation about ourselves, I think that that really is about as dangerous a development as there could be in terms of whether we continue to be a democracy.

Secondly, we notice the pervasiveness of gambling.  When we left a couple decades ago gambling was a fringe activity, relegated to certain geographical enclaves (another story of complexity as corruption, how our country relegated this continents inhabitants to reservations then promoted drinking and gambling there).  Now we pass billboards announcing lottery totals, and see advertisements for fantasy football leagues not as a matter of pride or sports acumen, but as a temptation to gamble money.  A scandal broke last week when the employees of the company running one of them made off with the winnings.  Gambling would not be a great business if the average person really benefited.  It is a way of luring those who don't have the margin to lose.  Yet it is growing in availability and acceptability.

The next trend I am calling complexity as corruption.  In other words, many of our systems are so complicated that only the elite can afford the expertise to sort them to their advantage, which entrenches injustice for the average person.  Taxes, laws, finances, rules in general have so much fine print and differential application that the end result is that the silent majority over-pays to fund the advantage of those who can afford to game the system.  A certain person dear to our hearts, for instance, just received a surgical bill that is astronomically high.  A hundred-times-higher, or more, than where we work.  There will be a murky process now with the insurance company (thank God for Anita, as I said in an earlier post), and we won't know how much money actually exchanges hands between them, but we will be left with a deductible and a percentage based on the initial ridiculous total.  Meaning that our dear person will empty the savings we and he have accumulated to pay his school fees to THE SAME INSTITUTION.  It's legal, but it's not right.

The fourth observation I am not sure whether to categorize as a problem or a solution, but we've noticed the rise of self-serve and self-checkout and the decline of entry-level jobs.  Restaurants that would have had wait staff a decade ago have moved in a fast-food model, and expect you to order at the counter and clear your own table.  Grocery stores and home improvement stores (our two main go-to's) have lines where you scan and bag your own items.  At the gas station, you not only pump your own gas, you fill your own drinks.  If an interaction with a human can be replaced by a card swipe and a keyboard, it will be.  Efficient, yes.  But also, well, in a literal sense, dehumanizing, and I wonder what jobs teenagers can get.

Fear, injustice, betting, isolation . . sounds bleak.  So we turn to the best for last.  Here in this rural enclave, we are breathing in grace.  Our church averages an attendance of about 70; the pastor moves between several rural congregations so half the time the service is led by lay people.  This is a state with some of the highest levels of poverty in the country, and with high rates of alcoholism, addiction, and unemployment too.  But when we walk through those white wooden doors, we sense an incredible welcome.  As we are inevitably late, at least two or three people get up and come over and hug us.  For no reason.  We are smiled upon, drawn in.  I think being on the other side again, after years in leadership, gives us a new wonder at the power of simple kindness and inclusion.  Americans, deep down, are welcoming people and we sense the power of grace in the posture of this country church.

Which gives us hope.  Because if people who live in this town where everyone know everyone for generations can walk over and hug the peculiar missionaries from Africa, then there is always hope.  In 1 Timothy Paul warns against endless tedious disputes (1:4) and states "Now the purpose of the commandment is love from a pure heart".  The purpose is love.  Love is the only power stronger than fear, and the only platform that will build community.  Love breathes grace, and America at the street level is full of people who love.

My eyes to the (West Virginia) hills, or the paradox of sabbatical and the chipmunk's response

How can one post this blog about the suffering of our friends in South Sudan, and this one about the joys of having kids home for Fall Break, in the same week?

This is I suppose a microcosm of the paradox of living on sabbatical, or living most anywhere on this earth.  Sorrow and brokenness, so tangible and pervasive, yet beauty and redemption flood our souls too.

The juxtaposition at this particular moment tends to make me feel guilty.  I revel in the crisp sunshine, the palette of orange and gold, the wholeness of just standing in a kitchen flooded with light and watching a no-longer child study, the secret wonder of hiding a couple hundred daffodil and tulip bulbs all over the lawn and forest edge to surprise us in Spring.  Yet my heart also breaks for the people of Mundri as I imagine them slogging through rainy-season mud to find a place to camp for the night, distant gunfire, the frightening thud of a helicopter rising over the trees, while their government dissolves.  Or for the people of Burundi as  civilians are murdered, with conflicting reports blaming either the police or terrorists, and the African Union considering intervention. Or for our Sergers all over eastern and central Africa, bombarded by need and loneliness and ants and unrest, risking protests and poor roads and misunderstanding.  It's a rough world out there, and it feels disingenuous to sit out this year's crises.

A few weeks ago I was swimming in the river, alone.  This swimming hole is a stretch of deep water before the river bends, with a sandy bank. Boulders and circling hawks, freezing purity of the water like a repeated baptism.  As I crossed to the far side and paused to tread water, I saw a chipmunk twittering and scurrying on a branch overhanging the water.  Now you have to know that chipmunks remind me of my dad (as do so many things around here), because one time we went on a National Parks vacation out West and he took so many pictures of chipmunks (in the days when every photo was developed into a slide and projected), that he was teased about it, and it became a symbol of either wasted film or the simple delight he took in nature, depending on how you looked at it.  Anyway that moment, that chipmunk, that holy place, brought an epiphany of two truths.

First, I was marveling at the bittersweet truth that my dad would have been so happy to see us enjoying his West Virginia hills.  A huge part of his life poured into provision.  For my mom, my sister, and me.  And we are living in that now, on the acres he left us, in the house he began to rehab, in the town where he was born and grew up.  Nothing would have made him more deeply happy than to see us finishing the roof, planting fruit trees, living life in this spot.  As a father, his joy would rest in seeing US enjoy the place he made.

So the second truth that came from the chipmunk's chirp over the river was this:  if my dad would take such delight in us being here, then how much more does God revel in our grateful gulp of this slice of creation?  Surely God, as parent, provider, lover, friend, smiles on this time.

Somehow that glimpse of God taking joy in our joy helped me come to terms with the paradox of this season.  Yes, God calls us to take part in the restraining of evil where the poor bear the disproportionate burden.  But as today's Psalm, 121 (also my dad's favorite) says, we lift our eyes to the hills and remember that it is ultimately God's work of redemption, and as a parent and commander he can both support our courageous forays into the fray and smile upon our respite.

And we as the people of God can hold onto the polar points of this world, the gritty reality of evil and the wholesome goodness of beauty, both.  Not either/or . . . but both/and.  Not finding a compromise middle where we are mildly comfortable but never too hungry or too exuberant.  Not choosing one extreme and rejecting the other.  Holding onto disparate realities, both legitimate, and living in that mystery.

Celebrating Fall

The glories of October:  brilliant leaves, crisp sunshine, and kids home from college.  Sabbatical is about many things, thanking supporters, speaking, recruiting, rest.  But right up there in the list is the sacrament of the present moment, the grasping of grace in this one point in time which will not come again, when Julia turns 19, when Jack is half-way through his first semester, when Luke recovers from surgery while studying the same.  So we pause to celebrate Fall.  To be thankful for trees, for homework at the kitchen table, for friends from Africa stopping in, for baking, for full laundry lines.  For being part of the pay-it-forward as so many have welcomed our children in the past, so we could have kids from Istanbul (Turkey), Houston (Texas), Santa Cruz (California), and Scotland/Kenya all converging.  Hikes, card games, working on the pizza oven project, shooting skeet, driving the tractor, ATV's, writing papers, watching movies, making cookies, telling stories.  And even, on the long drive back, a stop at the longest or highest single arch bridge in the Western Hemisphere at New River Gorge (engineers on a field trip).  Well worth the nearly 800 mile round trip, twice, a 13-hour day for Scott and then another one for me to pick up and drop off our Dukies.  The glories of October.

Who does the REAL Work at Serge?

Last week we were asked to spend a day at the Serving Center, aka Sending Center, aka Home Office, so that we could interact with the Board.  Our Board time was scheduled later in the afternoon, so we had most of the day to greet and meet with the nerve center of our organization.  Since I rarely see them, I thought there might be others out there who would like to put faces to names and get a glimpse of the work that keeps us all alive and well.

First, we met with Meredith, the Member Care leader, and Sandi, at their home.  Many of those who work in the SC live nearby, and Meredith was kind enough to meet with us in spite of being about to leave for a family funeral.  He has help from Sarah, Debbie, Dianne, and Elizabeth, but not ENOUGH help to be the one keeping his finger on the pulse of the well-being of so many workers.  We are a team-based structure, so the primary member care comes from the interactions on the team, as our friendships lend each other support.  But we're grateful that Meredith lends his wisdom and attention particularly in areas of great struggle and need.  I forgot to snap a photo . . . until we went to the office.

This is the entrance to our building:  professional with a floral touch.

 Up to the third floor, and down a hall . . .

  . . and into the door, where Ginny is the face of Serge.  Welcoming, charming, warm, gracious, and probably the person who most knows what in the world is going on.

 Karen and Clare (below left), along with Caitlyn (below right), are the women behind-the-scenes.  They juggle schedules and communication for Bob, Josiah, and Marc, the executive leadership team.  Everything we take for granted, they actually DO.

Anita is the face of Human Resources, meaning she handles all the health care benefits, answers questions, looks over documents, and that particular day was letting her office be a playroom for a visiting kid.  She has been our hero this week getting kids' surgical bills paid.

Patric leads GRN, our publishing and discipling arm, creating resources for discipleship and managing a team that gets the Gospel into people's hands. I caught sightings of Lindsey, Stu, and Jeff but wasn't quick enough with my camera to capture much of this team.

But we did catch Lynnette, who is the newest team member, and will be key in making the GRN resources available as she works to administer this department.



With our goal of nearly doubling in size by 2020, it is not surprising that Mobilization buzzes with activity, taking up most of one of the three corridors.  Matt, pictured below left with Stephanie, exudes creativity and wisdom and the kind of confidence and flexibility (notice him holding a meeting from on top of a filing cabinet) that makes one believe this COULD actually happen.  Stephanie is also one of the newer hires, yet another competent woman who is serving all of us well.

 

Chrissy is a supervisor in the Mobilization department, but was once on the Bundi team, and our area had also contributed Phil and Joanna (who are not pictured as they work from home) to Mobilization. 

Recruitment, growth, Board meetings, health care, communication . . . none of that would happen without Dwight and Jerry, the finance department.  Here they are sorting out some sticky situations with students and tuition that we have thrown their way too many times.  These guys have our back, literally, and they are so cheerful about all the work we cause them.   I missed seeing Charlotte, who spends countless hours on expense reports too.

Now for the three you probably THINK of in the Serving Center.  Josiah, Marc, and Bob were all pretty busy with the Board's visit.  They are the executive leadership who pray and pursue the mission and vision of our organization, and draw us all along.

And because it was the Board meeting day, let me also encourage us to thank our Board.  These men and women take their own time and energy to travel, to listen, to pore over reports, to hold us accountable.  The relationship between Bob and the Board is one of our greatest strengths.  It was our privilege to present the Africa Area report to them, representing our field.

There we sat down and wept

By the waters of Babylon

there we sat down and wept

when we remembered Zion.

On the willows there

we hung up our lyres . . 

How shall we wing the LORD's song

in a foreign land?

This Psalm came to mind this morning as we life up the people of Mundri, South Sudan, in prayer.

For those who are following the story, four years ago the country gained independence from the Northern Khartoum government with celebration, hope, energy, expectation that after decades of war the people would at last know peace.  Our team was there, and redoubled efforts in training primary school teachers, theology students, agriculturalists, health workers.  Mundri is a cross-roads trading town, settled by industrious independent people who maintain gardens, care for their kids, offer hospitality, and worship God.  We work with the Episcopal Church of Sudan, the primary denomination in the area, sharing office space and a living compound with Bishop Bismarck's family.

Fast forward to six months ago when the fragile, oft-disturbed peace deteriorated precipitously.  Our team came out for our Africa Field Retreat and has not been able to return, except for a brief trip to bring aid and encourage friends.  People have intermittently fled from their homes then tentatively moved back.  The economy is crashing, tribalistic fears of annihilation or loss of territory lead to violence, and every time the elders scramble to try and bring people to the table for dialogue the process seems to be hijacked by the rash actions of local militias and the military both.

But even that uneasy balance has now plummeted into all-out internal disaster.  In the last week, all of the news has gone from bad to worse.  The local militia called the "arrow boys" and the SPLA state-sponsored-official-army have attacked not only each other, but also targeted civilians.  The town emptied into the vast territory of deserted scrub-land, walking, hobbling, sheltering under trees, searching for food and drinkable water.  This is rainy season, which means malaria explodes, particularly when people are sleeping outside, and are weak.  For the first few days people clustered within walking distance, contacting each other by cell phone, waiting for peace.  Then helicopters appeared opening fire, and tanks shot missiles into buildings.  Some civilians have now made their way to other towns, as far away as Yei.  One friend of the church delivered a baby under a tree on the second or third night.  Another was killed by the arrow boys as she was suspected of being an informer to the SPLA.  Our team got news of the church buildings being destroyed and looted, and everything being stolen from their homes.

Larissa (formerly a Serger in Mundri) sent out this photo from happier times, of Mama V and her family in happier days past, which particularly grabbed my heart because we have met her more than once on our own visits to Mundri.  They are one of the few groups we know made it to Yei.

A few days ago, another former Serger Scott sent this message out from one of his friends, before all the phone batteries died:  "He said two things: 1. Greet everyone. 2. Please tell everyone to keep on praying for us, the situation is very bad. Don't forget us. We can not forget you."

So yesterday as I prayed for these friends, I thought about the small taste of running-for-your-life-from-war we had many years ago.  I was pregnant (not that I knew it yet), carrying 9-month-old Julia,  while Scott had 2-year-old Caleb, and 4-year-old Luke alternated running on his own and being helped by a pre-med student who was a few days into a summer internship is now an academic physician working in Tanzania.  So here are some prayers from my heart, remembering those times and grieving for our Sudanese family:
1.  To meet kindness along the way.  Being given space over a cooking fire, and porridge, was huge.
2.  To get reliable information.  Rumors abound, no one knows what direction is safe.  People on the run need information to make decisions.
3.  To gain enough attention for life-sustaining aid.  We focused on that once we escaped long ago.  Our team has already raised some funds, and is in discussion for the best way to be a stop-gap quick-response link in the slower moving chain of international relief response.  This link takes you to the page for that fund.
4.  For the rest and nutrition they need to ward off disease.  Dysentery really wiped us out on the run. The people of Mundri will be very very vulnerable to malaria, measles, cholera, etc.
5.  For justice to return.  In our case, the army restored peace by chasing the rebels back over the border.  In Mundri, this is much more complex.  The lines between good and evil are not clearly associated with one group or the other.  So much fear. Opportunities for looting mean more and more loss.  Suspicion.  Gary Haugen writes in The Locust Effect that violence plagues the poor in cycles that make development almost impossible.  This book is one of the most influential ones I have read in the last year (thanks to LB).  Long term solutions in South Sudan seem very far away, and too many children will not live to see that day.
6.  For the displaced to find comfort in the reminder of Emmanuel, God with us.  Jesus ran for his life as a baby.  The people of God have been plagued by war, by looting, by displacement.  We have a high priest who has known our suffering.  Evil has been defeated but God mercifully allows for a subtle slow eradication, that many might choose life.  Pray for the people of Mundri to cry out honestly about their needs, and to meet the comfort of Jesus in their suffering.

A tale of two dogs, Or the beauty and pain of fostering

Words to live by from Deuteronomy:  You shall not see your brother's ox or his sheep going astray and ignore them.  You shall take them back to your brother.  And if he does not live near you and you do not know who he is, you shall bring it home to your house and it shall stay with you until your brother seeks it.  Then you shall restore it to him. . . (22:1-4)

Perhaps if we focused more on some of these laws the world would be a gentler place.

A couple of weeks ago, this happened to us, twice.  The first dog was a little female chihuahua/corgi-ish mix whom we termed an unlikely angel as she appeared just as my book was published, a peculiar life-imitates-art coincidence.  We called her Sparky (angels as flames of fire, and a literary reference to Roald Dahl), fed her, and let her get into our life and heart.  When no one responded to the notices we put up on lost pet sites, and no neighbors responded to our search for her owners, we took her to the vet to get dewormed and immunized and to confirm our suspicion that she was pregnant.  While there, we met the Claws and Whiskers Rescue service, who offered to keep her while we were out of town.  And when we returned four days later, lo and behold, she was the mother of two puppies, all healthy and settled into their new foster home.  The vet worker who took her in didn't want her moved again so soon, i.e. I think they were quite attached.  While we knew this was for the best, and knew we were traveling way too much to be responsible dog owners this year, we were pretty sad driving back to our house.


Until the next morning, when a second dog appeared in the very same porch chair.

A male this time, at least part-scottish-terrier looking dog.  We had seen him when Sparky first appeared, but he had hung back in the edges of the woods, run away when approached, and she had barked him off once. So we thought he may have found his way back or on, but there he was, looking bedraggled, weak, and defeated.  Scott coaxed him into eating a little bit, and we let him sleep, and fed him again, small increments like a malnourished baby.  In 48 hours he was coming back to life, scampering, following us around.  Maybe the father of Sparky's babies, we thought, maybe both were dumped out of a car by people who couldn't handle having pets anymore, or didn't want the puppies around.  We called our new rescue friends and they wanted us to bring him in right away.  Reluctantly, we brought him too, and this time it was just one loss too many.  We grieved out of proportion for a stray dog and a short acquaintance.

Because when you find something, you feel responsible.  When you watch life return, you get drawn in.  Helplessness calls out caring.  Response begins to spin cords of attachment.  Which works great when it's your newborn baby for whom you will lay down your life for the next few decades and beyond.  But it's a cruel stab when you are just a step along the way for someone else's pet, let alone child.  When you are called to foster and restore.

So this post is a shout-out to my cousin Sandy and our new friends Teri and Christy and all the solidly good and kind people out there who nurse animals back to health and find them homes.  And an even bigger shout-out to the people who foster children, you know who you are.  I hope this doesn't sound flippant to them, but dropping off those little dogs was just a tiny tiny inkling of the risk they take.  Bringing in children, loving them in all their skinny dirty wildness, adjusting patterns and bonding, only to possibly help them reunite with someone else must be the hardest job in the world.  Being a step along the way in someone else's story takes courage.  I suppose we taste it in the hospital too, pouring life into fragile beings, bonding, and saying goodbye, but having a baby in your home is a quantum-leap harder.

Sparky and Scotty gave us a chance to remember why we have had three dogs over the last 21-year-stretch, and to practice a little bit of Old Testament practical kindness.  We heard that Scotty already has a new family, and Sparky will when the puppies are ready.  That's good, and sad.