Friday, March 14, 2008
Run, Moksa, Run
On one of my weekly running routes, I have become the celebrity of the corner shopkeeper with the bullhorn. During a run last fall, it was hot. So, I stopped to buy a bottle of water and we got to chatting in Konglish. He asked and I told him, so now he calls me “Moksa” (Pastor). Anyway, he often stands out in front of the store on the sidewalk and “hawks his wares” with a bullhorn. Because the store is close to the bus stop, there is always a crowd of people around. I turn the corner and there he is, bullhorn in hand. He yells into it, “Run, Moksa, Run.” And then, he goes into this mantra of konglish with the crowd. The only thing I understand as I keep going, waving my hand, is “Run, like the devil, run towards heaven, run, moksa, run.” This last trip, he must have seen me a block before, because he had the crowd wound up. There they were, all chanting and waving as I waddled by. There are moments…
Immigrants in the Kingdom of God
Immigration is a significant political concern in American politics. Over a dozen years ago the discussion was framed this way:
“. . . Without immigration, John F. Kennedy might never have been president . . . his grandparents were immigrants . . .
Without immigration, Albert Einstein might have died in a concentration camp in Germany . . . he was an immigrant . . .
Without immigration, ice skater Kristi Yamaguchi would have won Olympic gold medals for Japan instead of the United States, . . . her parents are immigrants . . .
Without immigration, schoolchildren today might not be able to sing “God Bless America” . . .its author, Irving Berlin, was an immigrant . . .
Without immigration, the Israeli doctor who saved my mother’s life might have been killed fighting in the Gaza Strip . . he is an immigrant . . .
Without immigration, the Vietnamese nurse who held my mother’s hand during the most painful moments might have been wading thorough rice paddies in Kheson. . . she is an immigrant. . . .
Without immigration, the man who employs 45 people, including my father, in his tree farm in Florida City, might have been killed in the civil war in El Salvador . . . he is an immigrant.”
Without immigration, I might have been an illiterate peasant in Nicaragua, instead of a young man yearning to fight and work for this country. I am an immigrant.”
The writer of the above quote is Santos Alejandro Lagos, then a ninth-grader.
For Christians, I would hope that the discussion is located within the context of the Kingdom of God. Christians claim to be a resurrection people—which, of course, means anyone who would claim the name Christian is an immigrant. Christians supposedly have made, at some point in life, a conscious decision to become a citizen of God’s Kingdom. They have taken upon their shoulders the mantle of discipleship. Through variations of initiation rites of baptism, confirmation and membership in the body of Christ, a Christian chooses to serve in the shadow of the empty cross.
Thousands each year cross the borders, reach the shores, hit the tarmac, . . . in pursuit of the American dream. Some are attempting to escape the worst kind of hell on earth. Others are desiring to be united with loved ones. Many dream of wealth. Often there is a clinging to the hope of freedom . . .from injustice and inequality and tyranny, terrible living conditions and human degradation. . . and the hope of freedom to grow and develop as a human being, to be creative and imaginative, to become a productive, valued, whole person.
Christians are no different. Christians sing praise to God precisely because God, through Jesus, has freed them from sin and guilt and bondage. In the light of the resurrection, Christians claim to be forgiven, and made whole. As citizens of God’s Kingdom, Christians are filled with hope for the future and embrace the unknown with the assurance of God’s love. And Christians come to Easter grateful . . .
Grateful that in God’s Kingdom, the borders are open, the shores are unguarded and the runway always has room for one more flight. Not only that, their King welcomes all with open arms. This is the theological framework in which all Christians consider the political issues of immigration. . . or is it?
“. . . Without immigration, John F. Kennedy might never have been president . . . his grandparents were immigrants . . .
Without immigration, Albert Einstein might have died in a concentration camp in Germany . . . he was an immigrant . . .
Without immigration, ice skater Kristi Yamaguchi would have won Olympic gold medals for Japan instead of the United States, . . . her parents are immigrants . . .
Without immigration, schoolchildren today might not be able to sing “God Bless America” . . .its author, Irving Berlin, was an immigrant . . .
Without immigration, the Israeli doctor who saved my mother’s life might have been killed fighting in the Gaza Strip . . he is an immigrant . . .
Without immigration, the Vietnamese nurse who held my mother’s hand during the most painful moments might have been wading thorough rice paddies in Kheson. . . she is an immigrant. . . .
Without immigration, the man who employs 45 people, including my father, in his tree farm in Florida City, might have been killed in the civil war in El Salvador . . . he is an immigrant.”
Without immigration, I might have been an illiterate peasant in Nicaragua, instead of a young man yearning to fight and work for this country. I am an immigrant.”
The writer of the above quote is Santos Alejandro Lagos, then a ninth-grader.
For Christians, I would hope that the discussion is located within the context of the Kingdom of God. Christians claim to be a resurrection people—which, of course, means anyone who would claim the name Christian is an immigrant. Christians supposedly have made, at some point in life, a conscious decision to become a citizen of God’s Kingdom. They have taken upon their shoulders the mantle of discipleship. Through variations of initiation rites of baptism, confirmation and membership in the body of Christ, a Christian chooses to serve in the shadow of the empty cross.
Thousands each year cross the borders, reach the shores, hit the tarmac, . . . in pursuit of the American dream. Some are attempting to escape the worst kind of hell on earth. Others are desiring to be united with loved ones. Many dream of wealth. Often there is a clinging to the hope of freedom . . .from injustice and inequality and tyranny, terrible living conditions and human degradation. . . and the hope of freedom to grow and develop as a human being, to be creative and imaginative, to become a productive, valued, whole person.
Christians are no different. Christians sing praise to God precisely because God, through Jesus, has freed them from sin and guilt and bondage. In the light of the resurrection, Christians claim to be forgiven, and made whole. As citizens of God’s Kingdom, Christians are filled with hope for the future and embrace the unknown with the assurance of God’s love. And Christians come to Easter grateful . . .
Grateful that in God’s Kingdom, the borders are open, the shores are unguarded and the runway always has room for one more flight. Not only that, their King welcomes all with open arms. This is the theological framework in which all Christians consider the political issues of immigration. . . or is it?
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Numbers
I like numbers. Numbers give me a reality check when ideas take me beyond the horizon. Numbers tell stories. Numbers can hide the truth or expose the truth. The right set of numbers help me sleep at night. The wrong set--well, sleep doesn't come so easy. Here are some numbers. They are important. But what do they tell us? What are the stories behind the numbers? I am especially interested in how the first and last numbers were calculated.
126
Number of Christian missionaries murdered throughout the world since 1999
25
Christian missionaries killed in Columbia since 1999, making it the most dangerous country on earth for Christian ministers
16,600
Number of Korean missionaries stationed around the world in 173 countries since 2006
173,000
Estimated number of Christians killed for their beliefs around the world in 2006.
126
Number of Christian missionaries murdered throughout the world since 1999
25
Christian missionaries killed in Columbia since 1999, making it the most dangerous country on earth for Christian ministers
16,600
Number of Korean missionaries stationed around the world in 173 countries since 2006
173,000
Estimated number of Christians killed for their beliefs around the world in 2006.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
A Quiet Sunday Evening
Ok, kids, I’m going to fess up. You know how hard I work in Asia! And the hassle… the language problem, the Asian facination with the fat old white man the waaaay too long away from home syndrome, yada, yada.
Well, there are times that I wouldn’t trade this trippin’ for the powerball lottery—yes, we even heard about the big winner over here.
So, I’m in Tokyo with Richard Betts and we are trying to figure out the accounting system. In the middle of the financial foreplay with the accountant, Ikagami-san decides to call George, and then hands the phone to me. George want asks me if I want to go to a concert Sunday night. I said, “Sure, count us in.”
Now the last time I went to a “concert” with the Azumas, we wandered through a back neighborhood for an hour before we came upon a little church where we witnessed a lovely classical senior music major concert of their daughter who plays the cello.
Now before I go any further, hit http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.showvids&friendID=1000575362&n=1000575362&MyToken=81eba4e3-5f81-4880-b164-8bf0a29a829d and play the video, don’t read any further, go ahead.
If it doesn’t come up, try http://home.att.ne.jp/grape/georgeazuma/English/5Xmenu.html, click the My Space bar and then click My Videos
Hey, now let me continue. I hope you enjoyed that! George and Hiromi are active members of our little congregation. George is an Elder. Hiromi is the church organist. The worship service on Sunday is quiet, nice, typical Community of Christ worship. Sunday morning, we sang “Happy Birthday” to Hiromi.
Anyway, Richard and I spent the rest of the day in meetings and by 7:00 p.m. were on a train to Shin-juku, We considered McD’s and flopping on the bed in the hotel room for the evening, but decided we didn’t want to disappoint the Azumas (After, all, they may be saving us a seat on a church pew somewhere!) So, off we went. We gave the address to a taxi driver and watched as he GPSed us and then got lost.
Finally, we stop in front of a small neighborhood bookstore. We don’t see anything to indicate a concert, so wander off up the street. I ask for directions at the corner 7-11. They send us back to the bookstore. Sure enough, around the corner, down the stairs, through two sound proof doors, and we are in a little bar. We are escorted to a table on the front row of three rows, facing a stage the size of Bob Watkins’s pickup truck bed. However, on that stage were eleven Japanese men playing the hits of the ‘60’s and ‘70’s: a tribute to the Beatles, a taste of classic Motown, grooving to the Bee Gees…. They were as bald and grey as me. Their singing English was pretty good, but Richard and I both agreed they hadn’t a clue what they were singing. It was a hoot. It was a great set and I was groovin'--reliving the music of my youth.
Their music finished, the stage cleared for the next act. Richard leaned over and observed that this was no church concert. Out comes the new band—Moonrocks. Hiromi, as lead singer, captured the stage. George, with the lead guitar, danced all over everything. I kept trying to keep the picture in my mind of the morning show: sweet Hiromi at the organ patiently leading the congregation in singing, George presiding and translating my sermon. Didn’t work. Go to Hiromi’s website: http://www.geocities.jp/moon_rocks_hiromi/ to capture the flavor, the essence, the heart of Moonrocks. George kicks it up a notch with his band 5X ( http://home.att.ne.jp/grape/georgeazuma/ )
Well, of course it’s in Japanese, now you know as much as I do!
Around 10:00 p.m. Moonrocks left the stage and Richard and I were standing to call it a day—but, wait, there’s more! The band comes back on for an encore with Panta!!!!
Real name: Haruo Nakamura. He is a 50 year old “fabulously famous” "cult" rock star--singer/writer/composer in Japan. I cannot describe the energy—think Mick Jagger in his twenties. By the time he was done with the first number, I really thought he was going to have a heart attack. An hour later, we are being introduced to all the musicians, day jobs: insurance salesman, real estate, fire department, teacher.
I’m sure Richard was talking to me in the taxi on the way home, but I didn’t hear a thing. As the hearing slowly came back, I was trying to figure out how to get the kids in the brand new handbell choir I have started in Seoul to give me that kind of energy and enthusiasm. (Kids here, even on the music scene are taught to be quiet, reserved…so handbell choir so far has been about precision—technique—rather than music and emotion. And of course, being directed by Mr. Boredom in English doesn’t help!)
I love Asia. I love the diversity and inclusion that is at the core of the message and mission of the Community of Christ. And Moonrock Rocks!
Well, there are times that I wouldn’t trade this trippin’ for the powerball lottery—yes, we even heard about the big winner over here.
So, I’m in Tokyo with Richard Betts and we are trying to figure out the accounting system. In the middle of the financial foreplay with the accountant, Ikagami-san decides to call George, and then hands the phone to me. George want asks me if I want to go to a concert Sunday night. I said, “Sure, count us in.”
Now the last time I went to a “concert” with the Azumas, we wandered through a back neighborhood for an hour before we came upon a little church where we witnessed a lovely classical senior music major concert of their daughter who plays the cello.
Now before I go any further, hit http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.showvids&friendID=1000575362&n=1000575362&MyToken=81eba4e3-5f81-4880-b164-8bf0a29a829d and play the video, don’t read any further, go ahead.
If it doesn’t come up, try http://home.att.ne.jp/grape/georgeazuma/English/5Xmenu.html, click the My Space bar and then click My Videos
Hey, now let me continue. I hope you enjoyed that! George and Hiromi are active members of our little congregation. George is an Elder. Hiromi is the church organist. The worship service on Sunday is quiet, nice, typical Community of Christ worship. Sunday morning, we sang “Happy Birthday” to Hiromi.
Anyway, Richard and I spent the rest of the day in meetings and by 7:00 p.m. were on a train to Shin-juku, We considered McD’s and flopping on the bed in the hotel room for the evening, but decided we didn’t want to disappoint the Azumas (After, all, they may be saving us a seat on a church pew somewhere!) So, off we went. We gave the address to a taxi driver and watched as he GPSed us and then got lost.
Finally, we stop in front of a small neighborhood bookstore. We don’t see anything to indicate a concert, so wander off up the street. I ask for directions at the corner 7-11. They send us back to the bookstore. Sure enough, around the corner, down the stairs, through two sound proof doors, and we are in a little bar. We are escorted to a table on the front row of three rows, facing a stage the size of Bob Watkins’s pickup truck bed. However, on that stage were eleven Japanese men playing the hits of the ‘60’s and ‘70’s: a tribute to the Beatles, a taste of classic Motown, grooving to the Bee Gees…. They were as bald and grey as me. Their singing English was pretty good, but Richard and I both agreed they hadn’t a clue what they were singing. It was a hoot. It was a great set and I was groovin'--reliving the music of my youth.
Their music finished, the stage cleared for the next act. Richard leaned over and observed that this was no church concert. Out comes the new band—Moonrocks. Hiromi, as lead singer, captured the stage. George, with the lead guitar, danced all over everything. I kept trying to keep the picture in my mind of the morning show: sweet Hiromi at the organ patiently leading the congregation in singing, George presiding and translating my sermon. Didn’t work. Go to Hiromi’s website: http://www.geocities.jp/moon_rocks_hiromi/ to capture the flavor, the essence, the heart of Moonrocks. George kicks it up a notch with his band 5X ( http://home.att.ne.jp/grape/georgeazuma/ )
Well, of course it’s in Japanese, now you know as much as I do!
Around 10:00 p.m. Moonrocks left the stage and Richard and I were standing to call it a day—but, wait, there’s more! The band comes back on for an encore with Panta!!!!
Real name: Haruo Nakamura. He is a 50 year old “fabulously famous” "cult" rock star--singer/writer/composer in Japan. I cannot describe the energy—think Mick Jagger in his twenties. By the time he was done with the first number, I really thought he was going to have a heart attack. An hour later, we are being introduced to all the musicians, day jobs: insurance salesman, real estate, fire department, teacher.
I’m sure Richard was talking to me in the taxi on the way home, but I didn’t hear a thing. As the hearing slowly came back, I was trying to figure out how to get the kids in the brand new handbell choir I have started in Seoul to give me that kind of energy and enthusiasm. (Kids here, even on the music scene are taught to be quiet, reserved…so handbell choir so far has been about precision—technique—rather than music and emotion. And of course, being directed by Mr. Boredom in English doesn’t help!)
I love Asia. I love the diversity and inclusion that is at the core of the message and mission of the Community of Christ. And Moonrock Rocks!
Cookies
Greetings from Seoul, Korea where we live just 50 miles from a government that sends up missiles without knowing where they will come down and whether or not they will explode. The political commentary here goes from denial to full-scale war. Then we have Korean-American FTA talks threatening the rice farmers. Add these two plus the news that Korea has the fifth highest murder rate for women (Koreans very embarrassed, only way to "save face" is to point out to every American that U.S.A. is NO.1 on that list) to the monsoons, typhoons, and cyclones and the stew here is at boiling point. The U.S. Embassy last fall temporarily issued travel warnings for various parts of Seoul. What a fascinating time we live in.
I stopped in to eat a sandwich the other day in a little (one table for two, counter for eight) shop. I had baked some cookies--with chocolate chips from home, can't be found here--to share with the shop owner. She and I have become "friends" over the last few weeks, after I stopped in one night for coffee and wound up helping her eight year old daughter with her homework.
Now, chocolate chip cookies are treasured here in Korea and my wife Lynn's recipe is really quite good. I can only take so much kimchi and red bean paste and then I have to make something that reminds me of home. But, cookies are to be shared, right? So, I pull the cookies out of my computer bag, just as two "ahjimahs" enter (little old ladies with attitude--famous across Korea, feared by anyone across the counter from them, obeyed by government officials-bus drivers-traffic cops...).
There are two younger women sitting at the table. The Ahjimahs are not interested in sitting at the counter, so the ladies graciously move to the counter and the Ahjimahs settle at the table. They order a drink, that once delivered is not acceptable--never did catch why. I am sharing the cookies with the two gracious ladies and an ESL teacher at the counter.
Ahjimah 1 spies the cookies and says something to Ahjimah 2 who then says something to the owner. She responds and then asks me if they may have one. I pass them (about two dozen) along. Well, the cookies now stay at the table. Ahjimahs are laughing and having a great time--and eating one after the other. After visiting for a while with the ESL teacher, I realize that the cookies are no more. I might as well be on my way.
As I get up to leave, Ahjimah 1 slaps me on the back with a hearty #$%$#$@#@!;-) while Ahjimah 2 grins and jabbers. They yell something to the owner, who meets me at the door. She says they want to know when I am coming back with more cookies, they want to be sure and be there when I do.
Next: Apple Dumplings!
I stopped in to eat a sandwich the other day in a little (one table for two, counter for eight) shop. I had baked some cookies--with chocolate chips from home, can't be found here--to share with the shop owner. She and I have become "friends" over the last few weeks, after I stopped in one night for coffee and wound up helping her eight year old daughter with her homework.
Now, chocolate chip cookies are treasured here in Korea and my wife Lynn's recipe is really quite good. I can only take so much kimchi and red bean paste and then I have to make something that reminds me of home. But, cookies are to be shared, right? So, I pull the cookies out of my computer bag, just as two "ahjimahs" enter (little old ladies with attitude--famous across Korea, feared by anyone across the counter from them, obeyed by government officials-bus drivers-traffic cops...).
There are two younger women sitting at the table. The Ahjimahs are not interested in sitting at the counter, so the ladies graciously move to the counter and the Ahjimahs settle at the table. They order a drink, that once delivered is not acceptable--never did catch why. I am sharing the cookies with the two gracious ladies and an ESL teacher at the counter.
Ahjimah 1 spies the cookies and says something to Ahjimah 2 who then says something to the owner. She responds and then asks me if they may have one. I pass them (about two dozen) along. Well, the cookies now stay at the table. Ahjimahs are laughing and having a great time--and eating one after the other. After visiting for a while with the ESL teacher, I realize that the cookies are no more. I might as well be on my way.
As I get up to leave, Ahjimah 1 slaps me on the back with a hearty #$%$#$@#@!;-) while Ahjimah 2 grins and jabbers. They yell something to the owner, who meets me at the door. She says they want to know when I am coming back with more cookies, they want to be sure and be there when I do.
Next: Apple Dumplings!
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Stone Church Celebration
Congratulations to Stone Church in celebratation of a rich and vibrant past and a bright and challenging future.
My ministry is deeply rooted in the heritage of this great congregation and my passion for the gospel was forged in the profoundly spiritual flames of the hearts of our people. From times of sharing a hidden bottle of Coke in the furnace room with Arthur Oakman to pushing pre-schoolers on the swings at the playground, I came to know the cracks and crevices of Stone Church intimately.
I came from the Ozark hills to the big city as a young adult looking for work. Richard Hettrick challenged me to join the Center Stake Peace Corp and to stay a year with the Mesles—my mentor and inspiration in many ways. I met the love of my life in Independence and my wife, Lynn and I came to the Stone Church as young adults. Our daughter, Kelly, was born while we were serving as Associate Pastor and our son, Kyle was born while we served as Pastor. The Stone Church nurtured us, sustained us, formed us as a family, and set us on a path of discipleship which has been a true adventure in faith.
My familiarity with the baptismal fount in Luff Auditorium was the forerunner of baptisms in swimming pools in Taiwan, Sri Lanka rivers where we chased the alligators away, and Kim Chi pots in Korea (one reason why we are building a church here!—we need a baptismal fount.)
The primary church, Zioneer group and other youth activities of our days in Stone Church laid a solid foundation for the creation of bible study groups on college campuses in China, a handbell choir in Korea, youth activities and more.
The Sunday school classes and priesthood meetings all gave me solid footing for ministry in rural China, leadership development in Korea, teaching in Japan and Sri Lanka and India and Hong Kong and Taiwan.
The role of group pastor during the ‘70’s prepared me for pastoral ministry on tea plantations in South India, village visiting in rural China, hospital ministry in Korea, and hospitality everywhere.
The point is this: Stone Church celebrates, not just a presence in the Independence community of brick and mortar, but a living, vibrant presence of God’s love and power and presence through-out the world. The Stone church symbolizes the witness of Christ ALIVE! God’s Spirit moving in great waves across the global fields ready for harvest. The Stone Church is both the foundation and spire for a continuing call to ministry in our world.
I was very young when I served the Stone Church as Pastor. The congregation overlooked my inexperience, forgave my mistakes and challenged me and prepared me for a lifetime of ministry. And although I am having face the realities of the body growing old, the heart is still young, my faith is stronger than ever and my joy in service grows daily. My story is the story of countless who came before and after. Stone Church affects lives. Changes people, Forges dedicated response, Sends witness abroad. Brings faith home.
My ministry is deeply rooted in the heritage of this great congregation and my passion for the gospel was forged in the profoundly spiritual flames of the hearts of our people. From times of sharing a hidden bottle of Coke in the furnace room with Arthur Oakman to pushing pre-schoolers on the swings at the playground, I came to know the cracks and crevices of Stone Church intimately.
I came from the Ozark hills to the big city as a young adult looking for work. Richard Hettrick challenged me to join the Center Stake Peace Corp and to stay a year with the Mesles—my mentor and inspiration in many ways. I met the love of my life in Independence and my wife, Lynn and I came to the Stone Church as young adults. Our daughter, Kelly, was born while we were serving as Associate Pastor and our son, Kyle was born while we served as Pastor. The Stone Church nurtured us, sustained us, formed us as a family, and set us on a path of discipleship which has been a true adventure in faith.
My familiarity with the baptismal fount in Luff Auditorium was the forerunner of baptisms in swimming pools in Taiwan, Sri Lanka rivers where we chased the alligators away, and Kim Chi pots in Korea (one reason why we are building a church here!—we need a baptismal fount.)
The primary church, Zioneer group and other youth activities of our days in Stone Church laid a solid foundation for the creation of bible study groups on college campuses in China, a handbell choir in Korea, youth activities and more.
The Sunday school classes and priesthood meetings all gave me solid footing for ministry in rural China, leadership development in Korea, teaching in Japan and Sri Lanka and India and Hong Kong and Taiwan.
The role of group pastor during the ‘70’s prepared me for pastoral ministry on tea plantations in South India, village visiting in rural China, hospital ministry in Korea, and hospitality everywhere.
The point is this: Stone Church celebrates, not just a presence in the Independence community of brick and mortar, but a living, vibrant presence of God’s love and power and presence through-out the world. The Stone church symbolizes the witness of Christ ALIVE! God’s Spirit moving in great waves across the global fields ready for harvest. The Stone Church is both the foundation and spire for a continuing call to ministry in our world.
I was very young when I served the Stone Church as Pastor. The congregation overlooked my inexperience, forgave my mistakes and challenged me and prepared me for a lifetime of ministry. And although I am having face the realities of the body growing old, the heart is still young, my faith is stronger than ever and my joy in service grows daily. My story is the story of countless who came before and after. Stone Church affects lives. Changes people, Forges dedicated response, Sends witness abroad. Brings faith home.
Number 4
"I will order Number 4, please. Diet Coke. Arigato."
I've done it dozens of times. While I always prefer the local fare, some pastures are just too expensive to graze through, so the fast food joints that are taking over the global urban landscape, become the feeding trough of folks like me.
So, I am standing in a McD's in Shinjuku ordering the Number 4. I place my hand on the picture. I say the words. The girl takes my yen. The change doesn't look quite right, but I decide to wait for the order before saying anything.
I wait. Other orders pass by. I wait.
Ahh, here she comes---with 1,2,3,4--four drinks. She is smiling. "Diet Coke." she says sweetly. Now, I know I have a beer gut (moniker not deserved, since the gut comes from drinking diet cola, not beer, and spending too much time on my butt in front of a computer --but no one believes me, and who cares, anyway), but I cannot drink four in a row. What is she thinking? She stands smiling at me, obviously pleased that she has a satisfied customer.
"I am so sorry," I begin, " but I meant that I would like to order one set. One number four."
Confusion. She seeks the help of another. They confer. He and She look my way frequently as they discuss the situation. The manager is called over. All approach me with caution. Using my warmest smile and gentlest tone, I try once more.
"I would like ...to order... this." I point to the picture. "A cheeseburger..., fries..., and one... diet... coke. Set... (my finger draws a circle around the picture) number... four."
Understanding turns the girl's face into a shade of bright red. Her co-worker is laughing. The manager shrugs and takes the four drinks ... somewhere. She comes to the cash register. Again, confusion. The manager is called back. They punch keys on the register. It beeps vigorously. Nothing happens. The manager moves to another machine. Entries are made. Keys are punched. the drawer opens. He come back with change. My original investment.
"Please come again."
A few minutes later, in another restaurant, I ate sushi.
I've done it dozens of times. While I always prefer the local fare, some pastures are just too expensive to graze through, so the fast food joints that are taking over the global urban landscape, become the feeding trough of folks like me.
So, I am standing in a McD's in Shinjuku ordering the Number 4. I place my hand on the picture. I say the words. The girl takes my yen. The change doesn't look quite right, but I decide to wait for the order before saying anything.
I wait. Other orders pass by. I wait.
Ahh, here she comes---with 1,2,3,4--four drinks. She is smiling. "Diet Coke." she says sweetly. Now, I know I have a beer gut (moniker not deserved, since the gut comes from drinking diet cola, not beer, and spending too much time on my butt in front of a computer --but no one believes me, and who cares, anyway), but I cannot drink four in a row. What is she thinking? She stands smiling at me, obviously pleased that she has a satisfied customer.
"I am so sorry," I begin, " but I meant that I would like to order one set. One number four."
Confusion. She seeks the help of another. They confer. He and She look my way frequently as they discuss the situation. The manager is called over. All approach me with caution. Using my warmest smile and gentlest tone, I try once more.
"I would like ...to order... this." I point to the picture. "A cheeseburger..., fries..., and one... diet... coke. Set... (my finger draws a circle around the picture) number... four."
Understanding turns the girl's face into a shade of bright red. Her co-worker is laughing. The manager shrugs and takes the four drinks ... somewhere. She comes to the cash register. Again, confusion. The manager is called back. They punch keys on the register. It beeps vigorously. Nothing happens. The manager moves to another machine. Entries are made. Keys are punched. the drawer opens. He come back with change. My original investment.
"Please come again."
A few minutes later, in another restaurant, I ate sushi.
What did he say?
If we honor our ministry tradition, on any given Sunday, we will have bad sermons, lousy theology and boring speakers—that comes with the territory of bi-vocational clergy. Here’s the way I look at it (since you asked):
1. In the Community of Christ, we view worship as an ongoing expression of praise to God and support for one another. It is not a one shot deal.
2. This means that in the Community of Christ, we do not think of “Sunday Worship” as a single event, but as a series of weekly experiences in which we grow together in our understanding and sharing of our giftedness.
3. The leadership and ministry provided in our worship services are from people just like you and me. One of the powerful images of “priesthood” in the Community of Christ and "ministers" in the Christian church, is the idea that God calls persons from all walks of like to participate in a partnership with the Holy Spirit. Such persons serve on a ministry team with other disciples in bringing our best gifts to an “event” in which we together encounter the “holy.”
4. So, in worship, just as in real life, we bring a wide variety of understandings, prejudices, stories, faults and idiosyncrasies, unique perspectives, gifts, and talents into the presence of God and one another. In addition, we vary widely in our expression and understanding of our faith and belief. All of us are in different spaces on the disciple's' path. Our faith journey is as one, but it is uniquely expressed with each of us.
5. We recognize, that on Sunday morning, just as in real life, some worship experiences are going to be better, different, more creative, less challenging, longer, shorter, louder, softer, than others. That’s the spice of life! And the power of worship in the Community of Christ.
6. What holds us together in worship is love: our love for God, our love for one another, our love for God’s creation, our love for all of life. Love is tolerant, affirming, not prideful or puffed up. Without love we are just a clanging symbol—even if the theological pitch is perfect and the hermeneutical reverberation is commanding. Geez, I think that’s in Corinthians. Anyway,
7. As long as one who has accepted the call of ministry is willing to offer one's very best in worship ministry (Priesthood, ministry, clergy, lay ministers, volunteer leaders... should always strive for excellence, and if we don’t, then that’s a reason for Pastors to discreetly discriminate in worship assignments), I would always support and affirm the offering—even if the theology is lousy, the sermon is bad and the speaking is boring.
1. In the Community of Christ, we view worship as an ongoing expression of praise to God and support for one another. It is not a one shot deal.
2. This means that in the Community of Christ, we do not think of “Sunday Worship” as a single event, but as a series of weekly experiences in which we grow together in our understanding and sharing of our giftedness.
3. The leadership and ministry provided in our worship services are from people just like you and me. One of the powerful images of “priesthood” in the Community of Christ and "ministers" in the Christian church, is the idea that God calls persons from all walks of like to participate in a partnership with the Holy Spirit. Such persons serve on a ministry team with other disciples in bringing our best gifts to an “event” in which we together encounter the “holy.”
4. So, in worship, just as in real life, we bring a wide variety of understandings, prejudices, stories, faults and idiosyncrasies, unique perspectives, gifts, and talents into the presence of God and one another. In addition, we vary widely in our expression and understanding of our faith and belief. All of us are in different spaces on the disciple's' path. Our faith journey is as one, but it is uniquely expressed with each of us.
5. We recognize, that on Sunday morning, just as in real life, some worship experiences are going to be better, different, more creative, less challenging, longer, shorter, louder, softer, than others. That’s the spice of life! And the power of worship in the Community of Christ.
6. What holds us together in worship is love: our love for God, our love for one another, our love for God’s creation, our love for all of life. Love is tolerant, affirming, not prideful or puffed up. Without love we are just a clanging symbol—even if the theological pitch is perfect and the hermeneutical reverberation is commanding. Geez, I think that’s in Corinthians. Anyway,
7. As long as one who has accepted the call of ministry is willing to offer one's very best in worship ministry (Priesthood, ministry, clergy, lay ministers, volunteer leaders... should always strive for excellence, and if we don’t, then that’s a reason for Pastors to discreetly discriminate in worship assignments), I would always support and affirm the offering—even if the theology is lousy, the sermon is bad and the speaking is boring.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Wall of Homeland Security
My love for my work has taken me to places far from home. Currently I am residing in Seoul Korea where I love the people who are around me; I love the the culture and country, and I love the energy of the city! But... family, close friends, the familiar landscape of the Midwest, that is where my home is. So, what to do?
After experimenting with a number of ideas, I settled on posting my life and my family on a wall in the bedroom. Not very creative, I know. But it works. The wall is the first thing I see in the morning and my last image as I end my day.
My wall listens as I practice my sermons.
My wall mocks me as I attempt my push-ups and sit ups on the floor below.
My wall sings along to my butchered imitations of Willie and Johnny. My wall quietly observes my frantic pecking at the computer. My wall offers no criticism of my many faults and cracklines. The cards and photos are a constant source of joy and strength.
Each photo, each card, each written line stapled to the wall brings alive treasured people, places and experiences that provide a constant source of inspiration for my days in another world that has also become a world of joy and hope--but still another world.
There are many ways to define homeland security. For some of us, it is doing the things that ground us in our homeland where we are safe, protected, secure--yet propels us into the larger world where we offer, through our lives joy, hope, love and peace--making all secure.
After experimenting with a number of ideas, I settled on posting my life and my family on a wall in the bedroom. Not very creative, I know. But it works. The wall is the first thing I see in the morning and my last image as I end my day.
My wall listens as I practice my sermons.
My wall mocks me as I attempt my push-ups and sit ups on the floor below.
My wall sings along to my butchered imitations of Willie and Johnny. My wall quietly observes my frantic pecking at the computer. My wall offers no criticism of my many faults and cracklines. The cards and photos are a constant source of joy and strength.
Each photo, each card, each written line stapled to the wall brings alive treasured people, places and experiences that provide a constant source of inspiration for my days in another world that has also become a world of joy and hope--but still another world.
There are many ways to define homeland security. For some of us, it is doing the things that ground us in our homeland where we are safe, protected, secure--yet propels us into the larger world where we offer, through our lives joy, hope, love and peace--making all secure.
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