Living into the Tension

Because we got back after the end of chapel services on campus, the General Conference 2012 class from Drew Theological School planned a worship service around the experience of General Conference for the fall. I spoke with my friend and fellow Drewid Joe Samalenge at the service about living into the tension of General Conference. I spoke about the importance of finding life-giving communities when living in ugliness. Joe spoke powerfully of his experience as a translator, the struggle between where he is now (Drew) and where he came from (Democratic Republic of Congo and Zimbabwe). What follows is the video of the worship service and a taste of how we grabbed a hold of hope after GC2012.

We now have the summer between us and General Conference 2012. How have you continued to reflect on the experience, either of being there or watching it or hearing about it? How are you imagining General Conference 2016? What are you doing now to live into your vision for the church?
Opening Worship and my witness


Joe's testimony and communion

Closing in song

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Shannon Sullivan is a graduate of Drew Theological School in Madison, New Jersey. She serves the Deer Creek Charge, a two-point charge in the Baltimore-Washington Conference. She blogs at You'll Never Guess What the Heathens Did Today.

The Daya Center for Peace in Hyderabad, India

by Zach Kerzee

It was about six o’clock in the evening and I didn't have much time left before the sun set on my first and only day in Agra – home of the Taj Mahal. I decided it best to walk into town and see what I can see, so I wandered around near aimlessly for the better part of an hour. A hostel/restaurant with a yellow sign boasting a "Taj" view caught my eye, so I walked up the narrow stairs to the third floor to ask for a menu. The place was deserted. And dusty. And it looked like no one had been inside for years, so I made for a quick retreat. Before I could get down the stairs, though, a man with a fantastic mustache and a sweaty undershirt ran up to me and asked, out of breath, "Sir, would you like to eat at the restaurant." I reluctantly said yes and he walked me back up the stairs to the roof. He guided me up to the top of a yellow concrete water tower, and I asked for a menu.

"Sorry, sir, but no menu," he said.

Instead he handed me a chair and a big stick. "Sit, sit," he said, and then he handed me the stick.

"What's the stick for," I said.

And he replied off-handedly, "Oh, to fight the monkey."

The potential for monkey battle conveyed, my host left me to a beautiful view of the Taj Mahal as a gentle rain began to fall and the sun began set behind my back.

Most travelers that I met in my summer in India have at least one monkey story, so I thought I would begin my small contribution with mine. I came to India not as a tourist, however, but on the Greeley International Internship Grant; a summer program designed for Harvard Divinity Students who want to do international interfaith work. I worked primarily with an organization called The Daya Center for Peace in Hyderabad, India – an organization which trains children, youth, and adults in the art of peaceful conflict resolution and peace building practices.

Aside from being exposed to monkeys for the first time, my summer in India afforded me an opportunity to do real, substantive, interfaith work for the first time in my life. I have been shaking my head in fervent agreement with my fellow progressives who stress the need for interfaith dialog and interfaith social action since college, but never before had I had the opportunity to be immersed in a truly interfaith culture.

India has felt the sting of interfaith conflict for countless decades, but Daya (which means compassion in Sanskrit) believes that a world without violent conflict is possible. Daya doesn't preach the antiquated interfaith credo that "all religions are the same," because they're not. Instead we work to educate children about how to exist fruitfully and compassionately amidst the vast differences.

If you'd like more information about The Daya Center for Peace, or would like to know how you can help them create a world free from violent conflict, please visit:

friendsofdaya.org


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Zach Kerzee is a Master of Divinity Student at Harvard Divinity School from Abilene, Texas.

An Announcement from OnFire

In the wake of General Conference, many United Methodist groups are in transition, trying to find where the Spirit leads in this new quadrennium. The leadership team of OnFire has discerned that our justice work can best be done by better working with MFSA and other United Methodist organizations and current partners like UM Kairos Response, Reconciling Ministries Network, as well as a myriad of other justice-oriented organizations in our own local communities that need the leadership of passionate young people.

This means that OnFire will no longer be a separate chapter of MFSA for young adults. We still support groups like Drew University OnFire's Java and Justice, but we seek to foster a movement of justice-minded folks coming together to talk about and act on diverse issues and working in coalition rather than creating competing voices.

Our blog will remain a resource for young people, and a place of connection. We believe in the transforming work that young people are doing all over the world, particularly young United Methodists, and we want this blog to continue to serve as a platform to showcase that work and inspire further work. We have found it powerful to hear from United Methodist Young Adult missionaries, from justice workers in Haiti, from local pastors and organizers, about issues ranging from the death penalty, divestment, interfaith solidarity, Occupy Wall Street, and so many others. We are always open to new posts, so please email if you have something to share. Young adult voices need to be heard, especially in this church, and especially in this new quadrennium.

We encourage young people to become involved in (or start!) local MFSA chapters to engage with local issues, local churches, and local networks. Many local chapters are seeking more involvement from young people and through participating on a local level connections can be made that foster encouragement and support. While an online presence through the blog is beneficial, the face-to-face meetings in a local setting able to form friendships that empower young people to advocate on local issues and assume leadership roles within their local chapters and churches.

As we come away from General Conference, we see that, though national and global organizing are still needed, it is in our local communities that we see important justice work happening.

Mourning with My Family in Wisconsin

by Audrey Krumbach

On Sunday, my brothers and sisters in Wisconsin were terrorized, shot and seven were killed. MY brothers and sisters, people who are part of MY family. Why do I say they are part of My family when I am not related by genetics, or geography or faith or even culture to the temple or individuals who were present? Because they are human beings, created by God. It's that simple.

But when I think a little deeper, I can speak more clearly - Interfaith solidarity is important because God calls us to love and respect ALL people, and the only way we can truly obey is to appreciate where people come from and our differences – even our faith differences. Interfaith solidarity demands that we act as I believe Christ did with people who are different than I am. Sometimes I 1 realize that I am like the woman Jesus met at a well in Samaria, and Jesus promised me living water which would mean that I will never thirst again, but it first means that I have to talk to this man who is quite odd, and very unlike me.

But this is not only about generic Christian principles of loving the stranger. Actually, my passion for pluralism began the summer before my senior year in high school.

That summer, I visited a non-Christian place of worship for the very first time; in fact, I got to visit a Buddhist temple, a Mosque, a synagogue, and Two Sikh temples. These two radically different trips to the Sikh temples are what I want to tell you about.

These two trips were not different because they were on opposite sides of a continent, one in Vancouver Canada and the other in Atlanta Georgia, or because the experiences within the temples were a little different, No, they were different because of the difference in each of the Christians groups which whom I was traveling.

Vancouver, BC, Canada: The first visit was in Vancouver on a mission trip with my youth group. We visited a Sikh temple in order to "learn about competing faiths" and "educate ourselves against them." But that hostile agenda did not prevent our leaders from arriving at the temple around 11:30 in the morning, just in time for a free lunch. We not only were fed generously with delicious curry which, sadly, American Teenagers did not much appreciate, but the temple leaders set aside an hour to explain the basic tenets of Sikh faith to us. About how the Sikh Guru's arose in a time of great strife in India and how imperatives hospitality and peacekeeping were central to Sikh ethics. And how their Holy Book was called the Guru Granth Sahib because it keep the words of the six historical Gurus, and the book itself is treated today with the respect that one would offer to any leading person of faith. Their respect for the Guru is so great, that every evening the book is placed gently in a place like a bed, and every morning. You can imagine my horror as our youth group leaders giggled audibly and disrespectfully at the Sikh practices.

But our host was kind and patient, and even made time for questions and answers. After we had exhausted our question, the group got back in the vans and drove away. As we did, the same Adult leaders who had laughed and a few of the students began making fun of the Sikhs' for their reverence to the Guru Granth Sahib – I sat silently in the back, not understanding why we would visit a temple, eat their food, take advantage of their hospitality just to ridicule their faith later. I don't remember ANYWHERE in the gospels where Jesus or the disciples made fun of anyone or demeaned their culture and faith.

Atlanta, GA: Less than a month later I was back in Atlanta GA, and I was asked to again visit a Sikh temple, this time with a different group of Christians, now part of a study group led by seminary students from Emory university.

That morning as we left for the temple, I was almost sick to my stomach with worry, because my only experience of Christians and Sikh’s had been so humiliating. I did not know how I was supposed to act- would we again receive the food and kindness from these generous Sikhs just to walk away and hear followers of Christ make fun of them heartlessly?

But this time was different from the start. This time, our leaders talked to us beforehand about "important ways to be respectful" like making sure our feet were clean so that we would be ready to take off our shoes when asked. And rather than just showing up for a meal, we were invited to join the community in a time of song and prayers. We sat with the community in the main worshipping room and listened to their English and Punjabi songs. And when we joined in the Sikh prayer service, our leaders did not smirk and giggle at the Guru Granth Sahib, but quietly and respectfully listened. When the food was passed to us, not a single teenager complained about the exotic food, and some even asked for seconds!

And as we left, I watched our leader bow to our host and thank him profusely for the delicious food and "allowing us to experience God with you." Our ride home was not filled with rude laughter, but quiet words of admiration for these generous and kind people who sang with such beauty.

I realized that day that the Jesus who talked about loving the poor, who met a disgraced woman at the well and treated her with love, would not sit in the van and make fun of another person's faith, no, Jesus would be the leader bowing respectfully to the Sikh host, thanking him for sharing the hospitality, compassion and peace which we share.

And I knew that I wanted to follow that Jesus, the one who calls me to respect and love and to genuine encounters with my brothers and sisters who are different and who come from different places and traditions, with Indian Sikh’s and Arab Muslims. I want to get to know the Jesus Christ who was an Arabic Galilean Jewish man who would risk his reputation to speak with a disgraced women, a woman not that unlike myself.

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Audrey is young United Methodist living in Atlanta, Georgia.

35 Ballots

What makes a good bishop? Is it natural leadership capability? The depth of one's own spiritual disciplines?  The ability to answer questions about the inclusion of LGBT persons in the church? How about issues of systemic change? Or the ability and willingness to listen to the voices of young people? 


At the Northeast Jurisdictional Conference, it took 35 ballots--a conference record--to determine what makes for a good bishop-elect. 35 ballots to decide what makes for a good leader, what qualities and attributes and foci are desirable in episcopal leadership.

I think this reflects a region that remains deeply divided about what we expect and desire in our leadership. About whether we value leadership in the arena of justice. About whether we are willing to work for racial, ethnic, and gender diversity in our episcopal leadership. And perhaps more importantly, whether we have the capability and willingness to nurture such diversity.

I won't comment here on what I see as the varying strengths and weaknesses of the three episcopal candidates elected. I will note that it is a hopeful sign that the Conference's adopted a Statement of Principles to the effect that LGBT persons should benefit from full civil AND ecclesiastical rights and that pastors who seek to extend these rights to LGBT persons should not be condemned. I pray that this decision--which was passed by a large margin of 61%--echoes in the College of Bishops. As one friend pointed out, however, this Statement of Principles was not necessarily echoed in our candidates for bishop.

I'm indicted in this post. There is nothing that I can point to as having done to nurture candidates or to encourage a certain set of values in the candidates that we had. A few questions here and there, that's all. A few notes on yellow lined paper. But in four years, these questions will follow me, and I hope they will follow others: What makes a good candidate? What do we value in a bishop? What sort of diversity do we desire to see on the Council of Bishops? How can we nurture leaders?

What do we hope for in our church?

Eleven Things I'm Tired of Hearing You Say in Haiti

by Lee Rainboth

Crossposted at The Green Mango Blog

This post was a suggestion by a friend on Facebook in response to my first post about fashion. I'm not sure if this is what she meant. I was going to call it "Eleven Things You Should Never Say as a Foreigner in Haiti" but I decided to put the Judgy McJudger pants aside a bit and be upfront about the fact that these are my opinions of things that I'm tired of hearing people say in reference to Haiti and her people. If you want to say these things in Haiti, you have every right to. But before you do, please read my perspectives on them. Most of these statements are born out of good intentions and the purest of motives, but when spouted into a culture not your own, a culture that has already been so damaged by the world’s words, these statements can become offensive without you being aware.

1. Any phrase including the words "those less fortunate," "the least of these," or even "the poor"

I hate the use of any words that draw unnecessary lines between "us" and "them." Anyone who uses these types of phrases clearly has a point of view that says that the people being served and the ones providing the service could never exist within the same category. It is outright degrading to imply that the people you have come to help are somehow less than you. Some higher power that allegedly equals love has deemed you "greater than" somewhere along the way and now whether it is your own savior complex, or guilt, that drives you, you come with a disconnected sense of pity that leaves no lasting impression on Haiti or its people. It's typical to hear people use these phrases most often before they come to Haiti and are fundraising in the states, or after they have returned home and are talking about their trip. But I have heard foreign visitors use these phrases directly to the Haitians to describe why they've come here and it makes me ashamed to share the same skin color as them. I've even heard pastors come and preach messages in church to Haitians using these phrases. I wanted to throw rotten tomatoes at them. It’s just common sense, that for some reason we abandon in mission work, not to describe anyone as being lesser than you. I've always been mad at Jesus for saying what he said in Matthew 25:40. It’s been the source of so much cross cultural misunderstanding and walls being built, messing things up in the end. He should have known better.

2. We are so blessed in our country.

I guess it depends on how you define "blessed". But if the reason that you came to Haiti was to confirm how blessed you are in your country by witnessing the suffering of those in poverty first hand in this country, then you wasted your money. I could have told you that you have a lot more material possessions and modern conveniences in your country and then you could have just sent Living Media all of the money that you wasted on traveling here to see the deplorable conditions of people living in the "Western Hemisphere's poorest country." And the problem is that the Haitians you are interacting with can see this in the way you interact with them. The whole time that you are "helping" them, they are very well of the fact that you are more "blessed" than they are, otherwise you wouldn't have been able to pay for the plane ticket to come to their country or the guest house fees to eat better food than they do. When even the Haitians already know how blessed your country is, if you didn't already realize that before you came, then you’re really late to the party. And, even after you say this when returning to your country, you know darn well you're not going to change the way you live. So what's the point?

3. I received so much more than I gave.

Well than don't go home and tell everyone at your church that you went on a mission trip, let them know that you were on vacation, or a personal spiritual retreat to rediscover the meaning of life. Again, if that's what you got out of your trip, the fact that poor people can teach rich people valuable lessons, then you wasted your money again and you could have just stayed home and read The Prince and The Pauper and sent me the money that was intended to help the Haitians. We need people to come help carry out the work of developing this country by providing skills that the average Haitian cannot, but we do not need more people showing up just to learn the value of helping their fellow man while giving false hope to people who are in desperate need of something more.

4. They're so happy/beautiful/clean/welcoming.

Generalizations are dangerous even if they're positive ones. First of all, these statements can come off as offensive to the local people you are describing because they imply that you expected the opposite. Oh, just because I'm poor you thought that I'd be an angry, ugly, dirty, jerk? Obviously, I know that's not ever what you intend to say when you make one of these statements, but even a sincere complement can be taken the wrong way through translators and across cultural nuances. And secondly if you use any of these phrases when talking to someone outside of the culture to describe the entire culture, you've made a broad statement that doesn't describe the completeness of their humanity. There are lots of beautiful people in this country, but there are plenty of ugly ones too. They're human. And they also go through a range of emotions. At the moments that you encounter them they are most likely at their happiest, cleanest, most welcoming points. But every human goes through ups and down, so judging an entire population based on the momentary emotions of a few is unfair as well. And, in every society there will always be the angry, dirty, jerks too, but if you have a good host, they probably keep you away from those sorts of people anyway. Doesn't mean that they aren’t there. So, when you're describing the Haitians that you met on your trip, please try to steer away from generalizations and speak as specifically as possible. A personal story will always make a greater impact on those hearing your sharing anyway.

5. It's just like… (fill in name of another "3rd world" country)

Oye yoy yoy mezanmi! Yes, it's true, there are other countries that are materially poor and struggle with some of the same societal issues as Haiti. But comparing this country to any other country based on the problems that it faces is a tragic simplification of those issues. Looking at Haiti with this attitude will greatly reduce your effectiveness in serving the people here. Some of the symptoms of poverty in this country may resemble those of other countries, but the causes to the problems that this society faces are completely different than anywhere else in the world, and without understanding that, your generalizations will water down the depth and beauty of what this culture has to offer. I don't care if you have visited all 7 continents and you’ve been on more than 15 mission trips to countries all around the world, and you think that you’ve seen it all and dealt with people in situations like Haiti’s before, trust me, you have no idea. I recently heard a friend of mine, a Haitian-American who's lived in Jacmel for many years, say that you have to live here full time for at least 10 years just to understand a tiny bit of why this country's so screwed up before you can ever expect to make any kind of difference. If that's true, and you come in with your analysis after two days of it being just like wherever, than you’ve already failed at having a positive impact on the people.

6. "It’d sure be nice if…" "I wish we could…" "Maybe someday…"

You say these phrases and a Haitian hears, "It'll be great when…" "I promise that I will…" and "Tomorrow…" They've been so used to a complete lack of hope in their lives that if they sense even the smallest glimmer of hope in an innocent suggestion by a foreigner, it can quickly become interpreted as an absolute guarantee. So be very careful when suggesting that you would like to help them with something. In our culture it is just the polite way to let someone down easy, but if you’re speaking with a Haitian, if it is unlikely that the thing in question will happen, don’t try to be polite, be very clear. It is better to tell them no, and then later if it does work out, it can be a very pleasant surprise. But don't indicate even a desire to help if you know that it probably won't be possible. It just leads to confusion and disappointment.

7. Is that a voodoo thing?

Just because you don't understand it or it doesn't fit into your religious box, doesn't mean that it's voodoo. There are very few things in this culture that any Haitian would actually attach the "voodoo" label to, and even any of those things are very unlikely for you to see if you are spending a short time here or don’t speak the language or have trusted relationships with insiders in the voodoo culture. You may come across some unusual things in Haiti that are hard to explain, but most Haitians would not call them voodoo, although they might go as far as to call them mystical. But really, to Haitians, most of those things that you see as unusual are just things and if you try to attach a voodoo label to them, it will show your cultural ignorance more blatantly than your pasty white skin. Just saying that word has the potential to make the Haitians you are with uncomfortable, and even embarrassed. If you are interested in the voodoo culture of Haiti, I fully encourage making an effort to learn about it, but it must happen in the right context. Do not ask questions about it casually while in public to your Haitian hosts or translators. I recommend having an experienced expat or trusted local (not a pastor or priest) set up a meeting with a voodoo priest or priestess where they can explain their beliefs and practices to you or your group in person. Most of them are very open about their beliefs and would be happy to talk to you about them. They are the best ones to answer any questions you might have as long as you too go into it with an open mind and a desire to learn.

8. It was such a God moment.

This seems innocent enough right? Even kind of inspirational? But the reason that I include it on this list is not necessarily because it's offensive or annoying, but because I've heard a lot of mission teamers say this about wonderful incidences that they've experienced in Haiti and while I've tried to translate the phrase to Haitians involved in the moment, the Haitians always look at me like I'm crazy. "A God moment?" What the hell's that supposed to mean? Isn't God present in every moment? That's what the Haitian's eyes say to me as I'm trying to translate this very American phrase. I know you feel like God hand crafted a certain special experience that touched your heart in Haiti and you want to give him credit for that moment, but it seems like a strange thing to say to a Haitian. You have to realize that one of the moments where every Haitian felt God's presence more powerfully than ever was in the earthquake that killed over 300,000 of their neighbors, friends, and family members. They understand God's presence as being at work in not only the pleasant coincidences, but also in the unfortunate tragedies. God, to them permeates every single moment of their existence, so for you to point out one single moment blessed by God's design just seems a little silly to them.

9. I didn't choose Haiti, Haiti chose me.

In response to the question often asked to foreigners by other foreigners, "So, what made you choose to ever come to Haiti in the first place?" I've heard many people use this scapegoat of an answer, but one time that I heard it, that it particularly made me want to vomit all over the person saying it, was in the Port-au-Prince airport. I was on my way out of the country on my way back to the states and was sitting at the gate waiting for my plane. In the row of chairs behind me was a man talking very boldly to a group of attentive mission teamers who had struck up a conversation with him. He was a televangelist from Texas who worked for one of the big Christian TV networks and had spent the last two weeks apparently doing nothing in Haiti but working on his TV tan. He had the ridiculous silver gray slicked back hair that I would expect from a televangelist and the prominent voice that doesn’t have to necessarily speak loudly to assure that everyone will hear. When one of the eager mission teamers asked him the question, that was his "humble" response. "Oh, I didn't choose Haiti, Haiti chose me." And I thought to myself, I don't remember the people of this country ever convoking a special election to decide whether your slimy crispy religious self should come take up space in their land. And if they had, I can guarantee that they would have voted for your butt to stay in Texas. Now you're going to take your video and your photos back to put on the air of all of "the least of these" that you helped just by being there, but none of them ever volunteered to be extras in a movie where you're the star. The fact is, if you want to come to Haiti, come to Haiti, but don't pretend like it's some geographic or cultural destiny that supernaturally summoned you here. You made a decision to come because of some other reason, likely self-serving, but Haiti didn't choose you.

10. I just don't understand how they carry those buckets on their heads!

And they don't understand how you type so fast! It doesn't seem physically possible. But people in every culture have adapted physically to be able to carry out the tasks that their culture demands of them. It's really not that big of a deal.

11. It's probably the first time some of them have ever seen a camera.

It's not.

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Lee Rainboth is an artist, writer, and musician originally from Marcus, Iowa, who has lived in Mizak, Haiti, for the last 5 years. He originally went down to Haiti as an United Methodist Individual Volunteer in Mission to volunteer with a fair trade women's artisan cooperative. He know works as the Executive Director of Living Media International, an organization that he founded with 4 young Haitian adults to provide more creative education opportunities to the people of their rural Haitian community and to pursue new ways to discover the arts and use them for social development.