Wisdom of this World

Isn't it crazy that in a world where performance is highlighted above everything else--God is interested in the messy process of forming us to the image of Jesus?

Isn't it amazing that He doesn't care what we can do--but that He longs for us to "be?"

Isn't it extraordinary that God is not in the business of answering our questions--but that He is in the business of being eternally present?

Don't be conformed to the wisdom of this world--

Wait: Further reflections

Could it be that waiting is the most active thing that we can do?

Could it be that waiting cultivates a hunger and thirst for God inside of us?

Could it be that waiting pulls us into the present moment (the place God calls us to live)?

It seems like waiting must be accompanied by hope and expectation--by faith that God will show up.

Wait.

I was at a retreat last weekend where 10 of us found ourselves in a cabin learning to listen to each other and to what the Spirit was up to.

He spoke through silence...
He spoke through prayer...
He spoke through meals...
He spoke through laughter...
He spoke through late night pipe smokes...
He spoke through Scripture...
He spoke through walks...
He spoke through stories...

He spoke, "Wait."
We listened.

I invited a friend of mine to come and teach at the community that I am involved with that Sunday night. This friend happens to be a provocative prophet in my life and in the lives of many others. I get the impression that because of that, people don't like him--especially church people. He speaks an "other" language.

The gist of his teaching was how our righteousness can potentially kill Christ. Using Matthew 1 as the guide, we examined how the "righteous" thing for Joseph to do when he found out that Mary was with child (not his) was to stone her. To stone her would have been to eliminate Jesus.

Is it possible that God cares less if we're righteous than if we are obedient? Could it be that obedience sometimes involves that which is isn't righteous?

He closed with Matthew 1:25: "But he had no union with her until she gave birth to a son. And he gave him the name Jesus." That is--Joseph didn't have sex with Mary (his wife!) until Jesus was born.
God closed with these marching orders: "Don't spread your seed on what I AM doing."

I haven't been able to get by that.

It seems that we don't error on the side of waiting, but that we error on the side of "spreading our own seed." Perhaps we need to quit masturbating on what God is doing. Masturbation--although an intense term here--takes that which is holy and sacred and intended for worship and defames it. Masturbation is all about instant gratification--self-gratification.

Maybe when we "spread our seed" this way--all we do is make a huge, gross mess!

Orthodoxy vs. Orthopraxis

I'm reading The Irresistible Revolution by Shane Claiborne right now. If you haven't read this yet--get a copy, read it and then pass it along so others can too.

In chapter six he refers to a paradigm enlargening that needs to happen--from orthodoxy (right thinking, right believing) to orthopraxis (right living, right practices). So often we are caught up in telling people what we believe but lack any discussion about how we live based on those beliefs.

I wrote these words a couple of months ago with hopes that I would be able to finish it with the same line of thinking that I began it with. I'll close similarily, but not quite in same rhythm...

Perhaps what we need is not a change from one thing to the other. I have a growing allergic reaction to the "reactionary" way in which young leaders so frequently choose to respond. It's as though we go through cycle after cycle of generations where the younger generation flips off the older generation and the older generation pegs the younger one as arrogant and care-free.

I had a conversation with a friend the other day. We were discussing how perhaps what the world needs is not another "flavor" or "style" or "brand" of "worship" but for the younger generation to see itself as a Joshua/Caleb and the older generation to see itself as a Moses. It is unlikely that Joshua and Caleb flipped off Moses and told him that he was doing everything wrong. Furthermore, it is unlikely that Moses wrote Joshua and Caleb off as arrogant and care-free. Instead and most likely, Joshua and Caleb sought to learn from Moses and Moses sought to learn from Joshua and Caleb.

We have got to stop swining from one side of the pendulum to the other. To give up orthodoxy for orthopraxis would be destructive. To hold on to orthodoxy with no orthopraxis would be legalistic. To ignore those that have gone before us would be so unwise. For them to peg us as arrogant and care-free would be counter-productive.

To learn from each other--to greet each other with a kiss--to serve each other--to forgive each other--to submit to one another--to bear each other's burdens--to listen to each other--to learn from each other--to love each other--to not react--but to really listen for the rhythm of Jesus. That may be the form that obedience takes right now.

Cosmetics and Preservatives

This post is random....

I was talking to a friend today and we were discussing what it would be like if we took Jesus literally when He said things like, "Lose your life." or "Sell everything." or "Take care of the hurting (orphans and widows)."

Today I question if that is even possible in the American suburb.
(I mean today literally because on most days, I have more hope. Today has been difficult.)

When did the "American Dream" become a better dream than God's? I italicized "better" because we live lives that make that question legitimate. We have chosen to let ourselves become deceived into believing that a way outside of the Father's is better. This means that we don't dream about people coming to know and follow Jesus at any price anymore, but instead dream of bigger homes, nicer cars, and if plastic surgery were an option--where we had have some work done. Instead of envisioning ourselves courageously and communally walking in obedience to the rhythm of Jesus, we dream of great vacations, the best clothes and the latest home theater systems. Instead of desiring to be a part of a community of people who care about what is happening in our world and being part of God's solution, we dream of owning condos in the mountains and cabins next to freshwater lakes where we can create our "safe havens" away from it all.

I'll admit, these are the frustrated musings of a man who has spent the last two weeks reading Scripture, the newspaper, and a great book occassionally interrupted by brief news updates on what is happening in our world (here and abroad). These are the frustrated musings of a man who spent part of his morning praying for God to intercede in Lebenon and talking with a community of friends about how we as the Church can respond to the violence and senseless death of countless people in Iraq, Palestine and Israel.

After that invigorating, life-giving, solution-based conversation where talk wasn't of writing a check, but of taking Jesus' words literally and living compassionately, with costly love, at any price for the sake of hurting--I went to a meeting where we talked about how we thought worship time went at a particular church.

Something doesn't sit right with me if church is all about performance and production and how we thought "worship" went. We seem to spend a lot more time talking about cosmetic enhancement and the preservation of the "church people" than we do what is happening in the world around us and what God might have us do or be a part of to bring healing.

Doesn't it seem ironic to you that the Church cries out for the U.N. to respond to those who are hurting?

I have a dream for the Church were we take Jesus' words literally--where we respond first.

Huh--maybe this isn't my dream--maybe it's God's....

Incognito: Listening and Prayer

This isn't my style.

I believe in the power of relationships and how God designed us to be avenues through which his love and grace and forgiveness and freedom flow. I believe that relationships are the number one way in which people step into the rhythm of Jesus. I believe this because this is my experience.

Don't you find that a bit limiting?

We sat at the two fountains in our city. These particluar fountains are strategically located in the most consumeristic districts. We sat down with a sign that said "Listening and Prayer Available" and waited and prayed and waited and prayed....

It was a two hour wrestling match between me and God.
"This is stupid!" I would say.
"Be still!" He would say.
"No one is going to come and share anything with me. This isn't how You work!" I would say.
"So you know how I work?" He would say.
"People are looking at us and laughing!" I would say.
"Keep watching." He would say.
"Watching what?" I would say.
"My people--my kids--me Beloved." He would say.
"Yeah, but this isn't going to change anything for them!" I would say.
"This isn't about them!" He would say.
"Oh--" I said....

And then I was still--
And then I realized that I don't have the foggiest idea how God chooses to work--
And then I watched--
And then I began to see His Beloved--
And then my heart began to change--

Incognito: Free Car Wash (No Donations Accepted)

What do you think when you drive down the main drag of your hometown and see this or that organization offering a "Free Carwash."

I'll tell you what I think--
If I pull over, then I am going to have to give them something. It's really not free--in reality they are hoping that at the end of their semi-good exterior cleansing of my vehicle, I will roll down my window--give them a 10-spot and drive away. If I don't give them anything, then I feel like a total cheap-skate and know that they will talk about the jerk in the maroon American car for the next three minutes.

As an experiment, we had signs made that literally said, "Free Carwash--No Donations Accepted."

We should have had signs made that said $2.00 Carwash because we would have washed more cars (I think).

I chose to be the one standing alongside the road that I drive almost daily holding one of the signs. I'm not good at this kind of thing. I would rather be at the gas station participating in the washing instead of putting myself out there to "market" what we're doing. I chose to do this, however, because I wanted to learn about myself by observing the reactions of my neighbors who drove past at high speeds.

People Group #1:
The majority of people paid little to no attention to me nor my sign. These people were the ones who were in a hurry to get from point A to point B and had no time, nor need to get a washed up.

People Group #2:
These were the ones who would look at my sign, then look at me and smile. It was as if I could hear their brains through the sound of the traffic, "Ah, isn't that cute. There is a grown man holding up a sign for a free car wash. Get a job bro!"

People Group #3:
The Double Takers. These were the ones who would look my direction, look away, and then strain their necks and eyeballs re-reading the sign. "Could it be that there is a group of people doing a carwash that is actually free? No--there has to be some catch. Nobody would waste their time to do something for free without expecting anything in return."

People Group #4:
I need to get washed up! We actually did have a long line of cars at one point. Surprisingly, people took us up on our offer and let us wash their vehicles (very well I might add!). The washing was usually accompanied by questions such as, "Why are you guys doing this?" "Where are you from?" "You mean I really don't have to give you anything?"

People Group #5:
The washed (but not for free). We had a lady get into an argument with us because we wouldn't take her money. Once her car was washed she pretended to drive away and then got out quickly and left a pile of money on the fence next to our washing supplies.

We had a guy who wouldn't take no for an answer as he offered money. So instead, he pulled out a tin of cookies and made sure that everyone was offered as many as they wanted.

Another guy pulled up to me as asked if he could see the sign up close. I held it up for him to see. After he read it he said, "So I really don't have to give you anything?" I told me that he didn't. He said that it sounded like a great deal and then pulled up next to the long line, inserted a Jazz CD into his CD player and cranked music for us. Before long, he had a sponge in his hand and was scrubbing cars right next to us. When I asked him was he was doing he said, "I've got to do something!"

Two women saw our sign and went home to pick up their "really dirty car" and brought it back to be washed. After questioning us about why we were doing it and finding out that we were about being a blessing and extending grace to our city they said, "You must be from a church." I told them that we all happened to go to the same church but that we had committed the week to loving our community. One of the two was from LA and was thinking about moving to our community. When she heard what I said she replied, "When I move back up here, I'm coming to your church. I've never heard of a church that just blesses people before."

Isn't that sad?

The carwash is an example of God's grace to you. What people group do you resonate with most?

Incognito: Come Like Children

We arrived at a low-income housing district in a city next to ours to find that the majority of families living there were single parent and had a two-week to six-month lease. Once their lease was up, it was time to move on. During their stay, social workers would spend time assessing the family, determining the needs, and helping to teach and/or train the parent occupationally. This meant that little to no time was spent working with the children, most of whom were under the age of six.

So we started playing baseball....

Before long we had ten or twelve little ones taking turns swinging at pitches. We soon realized that for many of them, this was their first time ever holding a baseball bat. They didn't know how to hold it, much less how to swing and actually hit a ball.

I don't remember a time when I didn't know how to hold or swing a baseball bat. But I wasn't constantly moving from house to house, shelter to shelter, wondering where my next meal or warm bed was going to be. These little ones have already experience more pain, confusion, abandonment, and hurt in their short lives than many of us will in a lifetime.

The highlight of the morning was when that started playing a game called "tackle the crazy loud guy." One of my friends decided to start it by running around and screaming like a mad man. The natural response of every child in the vicinity was to run as fast as they could and attempt to tackle him. Much to their delight, he would eventually go down and they would pile on him and hug him and tickle him until he got up and they would do it all over again.

It reminds me of a time in Luke 10 when little children were trying to get to Jesus and these big manly 13-15 year-old body gaurds stood in the way. Jesus responded by saying, "Let them come to me--as a matter of fact--you come to me like them!"

And then I picture Jesus playing a game of "tackle the crazy loud guy."

Incognito: Washing Doors

We met at 5:00am equipped with towels, window washing supplies, sleepy eyes, and a heart to see our city redeemed by Christ. In five teams we journeyed up both sides of our two main streets. The objective of the experience was to metaphorically wash the feet of our local businesses by washing their front glass doors and by praying for each business by name, including the business owners, employees, and those who would venture in to shop, talk, receive services, etc.

A friend of mine and I began on the left side of Main St. Ironically, our first door was to City Hall. I figured that if we were going to raise any suspicion, it would be here. Reason being, the window washing solution that we were using came from a spray can and applied as white foam. In other words, if you were watching us from a distance, you would have seen us shaking a can in a similar way that you would shake a spray paint can and spraying a white streak on each and every glass door that we came to. Turned out to be no problem whatsoever. What a neat opportunity to begin by washing the feet of the police officers and city leaders and to pray for many of them by name.

We washed doors for nearly two hours which got us to the complete opposite side of the city. One of our friends made little red cards that we tied to each door handle which said, "Be blessed today--You are loved."

We all ended up at a restaurant for breakfast and proceeded to tell the stories of what this was like and what we learned from it. One girl expressed how at first she saw this as a complete waste of time. No one would ever know that we had done it. As a matter of fact, someone's job was probably to wash the door again that day. Then she realized something incredibly important: "Who cares if anyone notices." She later discovered that the feet of Jesus' disciples would just get dirty again. He wasn't doing this just because it happened to be a need, but rather He did it because it was way of life that He longs for us to live in. She also made the discovery that the most powerful part of the entire experience was being able to pray for each business and for people that she would never know.

Another friend made several comparisons between the experience and following in the Way of Jesus. He commented on how neat it was to do this together with a community of people. Everyone had a different role to enable it to happen. Next he realized that no matter how clean we got the outside of the window, if the inside was still dirty the door was still a mess. What a keen observation of what the church has become--a spiritual country club that focuses on cosmetic alterations of the exterior. O that we would be a Church that is about the heart of people!

I personally was struck by how my city began to look differently to me. Our particular downtown is rated in the top ten in America due to the high-end retail and up-scale restaurants. It has always been a bit difficult for me, but realized that this is the place where God has called me to. Perhaps a heart of compassion for me city began to blossom inside of me?

My personal favorite moment of the experience was when something specific would catch my eye inside of the store or restaurant. Whatever it was that got my attention, the Spirit would use to inform my prayers for that particular establishment. What a joy to be able to pray specifically but unknowingly for people of my community that God is relentlessly pursuing.

After breakfast, we began our walk home. My heart was overwhelmed as I walked by squeeky clean (exterior only of course) glass doors with incognito messages of blessing tied to them.

God would you keep redeeming our city!

Incognito

Don't you love it when plans fall through and you have to listen and let the Spirit help you reimagine what He has in store?

This just happened to my community.

We had plans to go serve for a week with developmentally disabled adults. We were all geared up and ready to go when we received a phone call that the week-long experience had been cancelled. My immediate response (fleshly, I know) was to say, "Who messed this one up?!?" And then the Spirit got ahold of my team and began to lead us in His Way for our upcoming week.

A week-long experience called Incognito emerged.

The purpose of this week is to live in the Way of Jesus in Community for the good of our immediate world. Each unique experience will be done in small teams and will end with a meal together to process what we’re learning.

I will attempt to blog what we are experiencing and learning as a community as we go. Please pray for us as we live in the controversial Way of Jesus.

The daily schedule is as follows:

Tuesday, July 27: Incognito: Door Washing
We will metaphorically wash the feet of and pray for the local businesses on the two main streets of our city.
Meeting at 5:00am; washing and praying until 7:00am.
Breakfast to follow.

Wednesday, July 28: Incognito: Come Like Children
We will spend our morning at a lower income district in our community loving the children through games, crafts, fingernail painting, etc.
Meeting at 8:00am; playing and loving until 12:00pm.
Lunch to follow in the park!

Thursday, July 29: Incognito: Free Car Wash (No Donations Accepted)
We will metaphorically wash the feet of, pray for, and extend grace to the people of our city.
Meeting at 10:00am; washing and praying until 2:00pm.
Bring a sack lunch! Yogurt to follow.

Friday, July 30: Incognito: Listening and Prayer
We will be available to the people of our city during the lunch hours to listen to and pray for anyone and everyone.
Meeting at 10:00am; listening and praying until 1:00pm.
Lunch to follow.

Three Stories from New Orleans

I'm in New Orleans right now with a team of students. We're here doing Hurricane Relief which means we could be doing anything from cleaning out a house of every single possession (mudding out), or tearing down sheet rock and plaster to the original studs (gutting out). Here are four short stories from our first day that I want to remember and to share with you:

1. I was assigned to a team that headed New Orleans Teen Challenge. I had no idea what was in store for us, other than a bunch of sheet rock needed to be hung. We got there earlier than the Teen Mission Staff so my team of five decided to walk around the block to take in the whole scene. Littered throughout the abandoned streets are countless flooded cars, mostly which have been stripped of valuable parts. There was one particular car with a 2x6 pried under the hood and smashed through the windshield due to the force of the flood waters. I walked right into several homes to see what it would be like. All of them were completely gutted-out except for the last one. It was filled with every belonging of a family. The water in this neighborhood was 11-18 feet high which meant that couches, refrigerators, beds, bookshelves, televisions, were floating in tepid, polluted flood water as it slowly settled out in the ocean. This took weeks and weeks to happen which meant that the entire house, floor to ceiling, was covered with mold; the smell was unthinkable. What's worse--this was someone's home, someone's possessions. Everything that they owned was destroyed.

2. My first job was to clean off a brick cutter. This is a huge rolling table saw with dried cement all over it. At first I thought, "No problem, I'll have this baby sparkling in no time!" and then I began. After two hours of scrubbing with a wire brush in 90 degree heat and 90% humidity, I began to question if I would ever get this thing clean. I began to tell myself--this is good enough! No one will care if there is a little grime left on it.

And then I saw a picture of my heart and Jesus lovingly cleaning it.

What if He said that? What if He just decided to stop because He got sick of cleaning? What about the fact that He never has and never will?

I scrubbed for two more hours.

3. As far as the eye can see, there are abandoned homes with mutilple water level stains visible in a brownish yellow tint. There aren't that many people around in New Orleans yet, only the determined few who are giving every waking moment to rebuild their lives here. I noticed that no one was doing anything with the outside of their homes. All of the work is starting in the inside.

Consider this: What good would it do if people spent all of their time painting fences, mowing lawns, redoing their siding and there trim, and never spending any time on the inside. The outside would be beautiful but the inside would still smell that musty, dank, putrid smell and there would still be crap growing up the walls.

How often do we pay all of our attention to the our outside--painting and doing maintenance--wanting everyone to think that we have it all put together? What good does it do if we still smell like that musty, dank, putrid smell and there is still crap growing up the walls of our heart?

Aren't you glad that God doesn't look at the outside--He probably doesn't even care that much. Aren't you relieved that he is constantly "mudding out" and "gutting out" our hearts?

4. A junior named Kevin was telling his story of how ironic it felt to be destroying the inside of a home. He did say that this was one of his biggest highlights because, "Let's face it, who doesn't want to thrash the inside of a home?" (His words). As he was talking about this experience, I was overcome by the reality that destruction has to happen first. The only way that anything is going to heal here in New Orleans is if the destruction is completed so that people can rebuild.

This isn't a new concept--it's THE concept.

My faith is built upon a God who chose to come and live here so that I could understand an unthinkable love. He was completely and totally destroyed so that healing could be possible. He was "thrashed" as Kevin said, eluding to the inside of a home, so that a relationship with Him could be possible.

We just celebrated the power of His ressurection yesterday.

Total destruction leads to complete restoration.

Pakistan Journal: Meet Farooq

He was the oldest of the five and knew the least amount of English. Farooq was the only soldier (a first lieutenant) that I didn't get the opportunity to know well, however I loved being around him and I could tell that the feeling was mutual.

Farooq was an observer. His posture was usually one of leaning on a wall or a tree or a rock with a cigarette in his mouth. I would always observe him watching intently as life happened all around him. It was as though he was taking EVERYTHING in and processing it in a way that only he understood. He was a man of very few words altogether, yet when he spoke, people listened.

On the work site, he would quietly listen and lead and men of the various villages would follow his instructions. It was hard for him to sit back and watch when it came to work being done--however. It was as though he had a sensitivity to and an urgency about what was going on in the mountains for these tribal people. From time to time--especially as it got colder--Farooq would frequently look up to the sky or to the top of the mountains. I always wondered if he was estimating how much time these people had left

Multiple times a day he would, in his Farooq way, acknowledge me and let me know that I was doing a good job or that he approved by holding his hand up--palm towards me and slowly exclaim (while blowing smoke out of his mouth and nose) "J e r e m i a."

We never spoke the same language but we understood each other....

Bumper Sticker Theology

I've had enough with "Christian" bumper stickers! If you sport one of these--do God and Jesus-followers a favor and take a razor blade and some hot soapy water and get rid of it.

Today's bumper sticker read:
God doesn't believe in Athiests.

What a message of hope huh?

Gimme some more Body!

Story #1: I was at a conference a couple of years ago where we were participating in the Lord's Supper (communion)--an ancient experience started by Jesus on the night before He was betrayed and arrested where you eat bread (representing Jesus' body) and drink wine or grape juice (representing Jesus' blood shed) in rememberance of His sacrifice for you and me. During this one particular experience one of the pastors at my church was offering the bread to a whole bunch of high school students. In the mix was her daughter, a fifth grader at that time, who took a huge hunk of the bread, dipped the entire handful in the grape juice and proceeded to have a full meal of the Body. Not two minutes later, when the line was still quite long, this little girl taught me a very valuable lesson. She ran up next to her mom, still offering the Body, and stood there trying her best to get her mom's attention. Finally, mom looked down at daughter (disapprovingly) and asked her what she wanted.

"I want some more bread!" she innocently exclaimed.

When was the last time you ran to the front of any line to get more of Jesus?

Story #2: Yesterday was communion Sunday for our fifth and sixth grade students. This was to be their first experience with the Lord's Table which is a pretty big deal for students and families at my church. I was talking with a couple of the fifth grade girls afterwards about what they thought about the whole experience.

In unison and with eyes rolling back in their heads they said, "The bread was SOOOOOO good!"

When was the last time you were overwhelmed with how good Jesus tastes?

Story #3: Last night we were participating in the Lord's Table at a community called Open Door. Once the evening was over and we were cleaning up, I noticed that there was a stack of bread loaf pieces left over. (Usually there isn't any left over because my friend's two kids will chow down on whats left of the bread after the experience is over.) There are a couple of homeless guys who call Open Door their church--which I love! One of them came up to me and mentioned that that bread looked awfully good. I asked him if he would like to take some with him. "Would that be okay?" he wondered.

"Not only is it okay--take all the bread you can get!" I answered.

When was the last time you were hungry for more of Jesus?

Is the "Emerging Church" Reactionary?

I'm reading a great book right now called Emerging Churches by Eddie Gibbs and Ryan Bloger. Through vast research in the U.S. and the U.K., they have defined 9 characteristics that are shared by "emerging churches." Read the book to discover what they are...

Here are some of my intitial thoughts--

I wonder about the "emerging church." What is it really? I am a part of what some would call an "emerging" church or an "emerging community", but I have no idea why. Frankly, I am a bit confused about why this new movement is here and what they/we (whoever they/we are) stand for.

If we are an emerging church--are we a church? To me, the word "emerging" would imply that it hasn't arrived quite yet. Perhaps there is truth in that. (This point is discussed in the book).

Recently, I have been in on several conversations where the "emerging church" has been defined as a response to the church not doing its job or becoming irrelevant. I don't like the thought of any flavor of the church being a reaction to anything. There will always be an new fad--a way of doing church. My fear is that we all get so caught up in the conversation of how to do church that we lose sight of what it means to BE the church. The title of "The Emerging Church" potentially spells more alienation or division.

As I tap more into this book (which is very helpful) I would love to be able to dialogue with you about the "emerging church."

My second question: Can you paint a picture from the Text of what the Church was originally designed as and for?
My first question: What is your definition of the "emerging church?"

Pakistan Journal: Meet Afzal

In order for the rest of this story to make any sense, you are going to have to get to know who the main characters are. In my next five posts, I will paint pictures for you of the men that I was privileged to serve side by side with. These Pakistani men went from unknown to me to friends--from friends to brothers (More to come on this in the future).

Known by his friends as "Baby Sparrow" Afzal represtented youth on the military team that welcomed us to Jabba on that cold November day. He is currently 19 years-old, a 2nd-year private in the Army, and engaged to be married this year. Afzal was that "little man" with a huge heart who thought that he was "bigger" than he actually was. Being that he was in the military, he held his head high with pride seeing his role as a virtuous, honorable position. Afzal considered himself the best at everything that he did, but was often shot down by his elder teammates who would quickly remind him that they frequently finished ahead of him in athletics and other military games. (They would put him in his place by shaking their heads and saying, "OOOOH Baby Sparrow but do you remember when...."and they would tell a story of when they beat him badly in a competition.)

After spending a couple of days with Afzal I discovered that he would take every opportunity to have tea prepared so that he could sit out for a while. He would frequently invite me to such tea breaks which I couldn't turn down (because I wasn't allowed to). Tea breaks with Afzal, although tastey, were difficult and a bit awkward because he thought that he could speak better English than he acutally could. The only thing that he said that I could ever really understand was, "Jeremia--I AM FULL-TIME HAPPY!" He would exclaim this with great joy and with a huge smile on his face. My response to such a statement was always the same--"Afzal--you are the only one that I know that is full-time happy!" He seemed to love this because it set him apart from anyone else.

One time I was having tea in the military's quarter with Afzal and he decided to put on a bit of a show for me. He was shirtless and thought that I would be excited about seeing how strong he was. He would flex and grunt and pose and check the status of his wee-bicept and then look to me for a response. I would go on and on about how strong he was--which of course he loved. I noticed that he had an interesting scar on his chest so I decided to ask about it.

He came closer and I realized that it wasn't just a scar, it was actually a brand. I learned, after many misunderstandings, that this was the name of his fiancee Janet. I wish you could have heard the way that he spoke of his wife to be. Every time he would mention her name he would touch his heart (under the brand) and close his eyes.

He assured me that this marriage was an arranged/love marriage. This means that the marriage was set up between the two families, but that their arrangement had blossomed into love. I asked him why He had her name branded on his chest. I'll never forget his response:

"So that when I close my eyes, I can see her in my heart."

Pakistan Journal: Surprised by Friendship--Why?

How do you function when you "land" in a new community? Does the thought of not knowing anyone intimidate you or get you excited?

What about "landing" in the tribal areas of Northern Pakistan where you have no idea what you're going to see, what you're going to experience nor who you're going to meet? How do you prepare yourself for something like that?

When we arrived in Jabba we were surprised to find five Pakistani Army personel stationed there. We were told beforehand that Jabba, being a tribal area, had no military presence. Reason being, in the tribal areas, they are their own government and their own military. This meant that the villagers served as soldiers. However, due to the earthquake, the government deployed the military to help head the relief effort.

Shortly after the greeting of Mumtaz (more to come later) we were quickly introduced to the four other Army personel along with the three Americans that we were replacing. There was already a strong friendship between these three (all from Minnesota) and the military which was exciting yet caused a bit of anxiety as well. What was it going to be like when the three Minnesotans left the next morning? Is the friendship that I saw existing between them going to form between us--a new team--and them? Will they know our names like they knew the names of this first team?

Wait a second...I picked up on FRIENDSHIP existing between three random Americans and Pakistani Military personel. I watched laughter--I saw hugs. They KNEW each other's names.

Why did something so simple catch me so off guard? What was I expecting to find? Perhaps I was hoping that relationships would form but was pessimistic about it actually happening. Can Muslims and Christians actually get along. Can FRIENDSHIP really exist between these two worlds?

What about your friends? Do you have FRIENDS that don't believe the same thing you do? Do you have FRIENDS that look differently than you?

If you don't--WHY NOT?

Pakistan Journal: Jabba

Our first glimpse reminded me of Machu Picchu--a Peruvian mystery community--in its landscaping. Jabba (pronounced not like Jabba-the-Hut but the emphasis on the second syllable) was a village built right into the sides of two mountains with a babbling brook trickling through its relatively insignificant valley. These weren't your typical mountains with a gradual incline; these mountains went straight up. Thus, the villages had learned (a couple of thousand years ago) how to landscape in such a way that levels or tiers were created to support not only their homes but their corn fields as well. I was suprised to discover that this was an agricultural people who survived on the corn and wheat that they were able to grow and harvest before the winter set in.

Jabba was a village of 1500 people and 120 homes. Due to the earthquake, I later discovered that over 300 of their people had died and they had lost 100 of their homes, leaving several hundred people homeless. Many of them were living in donated tents, the old school buildings, or barns that had not fallen. Every building that was left standing was significantly damaged, however, and will likely be torn down and rebuilt once the spring comes.

Imagine this....You have never seen an American before. What's more, you likely have never seen anything outside of your small village or valley. All of a sudden, a huge flying machine lands in your most spacious corn field. What do you think that must have been like for the people of Jabba?

By the time we landed, there were about 100 men and boys squatting just out of reach of the helicopter blades watching with wide-eyes as this "thing" hovered above them before landing gently into the ice-cold mud below. They must have thought the world was coming to an end--and then the "thing" opened and out came four Americans dressed in colorful jackets.

We were greeted with a wave of ice-cold air, confusion, anxiety, and the warm welcome of Mumtaz--a Pakistani Army Commander who was stationed in Jabba.

An Honest Word...

What was God teaching me in Pakistan? Why did He have me go? These are the questions that have plagued me over and over and over and over....

It's funny how often we think that life is supposed to be filled with book after book after book of experiences that we live, learn and understand. It's as though we are to look at what life offers us as a set of scenes that we live (or watch based on your ability to really live) as nice, neat, tidy little things that we will understand soon after they are over. Like when you read a book, you know? You read cover to cover and understand--there was conflict; there were characters; there was love; there was hatred; there was a moral. You learn the lesson of the book, close the cover, and put the book back on the shelf--likely to never look at it again. Why would you right? You already read that one!

Nice--Neat--Tidy.

These are words that do not describe my life nor my faith journey. Why, then, am I expecting this experience to process in a nice--neat--tidy way? It simply is not!

Here are a couple of ways God is meeting me, though--

He is illuminating the wilderness--the course sand under my feet and the hot sun on my face. He is reassuring me that life isn't necessarily only about the "Promised Land" but that he is using the sand and the sun to build my faith.

He is awakening me to the fact that life and the experiences that lie within it are not supposed to be book cover-to-book cover experiences. I will be processing what happened in Pakistan for a very long time. Perhaps the last two-plus months for me have been that cover page that introduces a new chapter into my life instead of a different book altogether. Thus, God holds the future and what I will discover within the pages to follow.

How does this help?

I don't have to figure everything out. I can be broken and confused. I can wonder and hurt. I can grow callouses on my feet from the hot sand beneath. I can pray and trust. I can believe that God is building my faith. I can believe that He is working all things out for the good.

There is a really great picture of this in Exodus 15. The Israelites are walking (miserably) in the wilderness. They are confused, hurting, broken, not knowing how to live, etc. Just when they think they can't go one more step, God brings them into an oasis with 70 palm trees and 12 fresh water springs.

Awaken to the God of the oases!

Now I can keep telling the story---

Pakistan Journal: My First Helicopter Ride...Ever!

I had a dream last night that Jeff, Ben, and I caught a chopper to the top of a mountain. I couldn't have imagined that dream coming true until we were sitting at the helipad watching a UN helicopter appear in a valley between two massive mountains. We heard the sounds before we saw the machine--my heart was pounding louder than the props!

We packed our bags and followed a Pakistani officer to his Jeep out in the street. He instructed us to throw our bags in the back and get in (not before a couple of pictures of course!) We were off--a five minute ride to the helipad which happened to be a clearing between a whole bunch of rocks on somewhat level ground. When we arrived, there was game of Cricket going on--Cricket is huge in Pakistan. There were also piles of supplies--bent pipe, rolls of foam, tin, bars--everything that we would need to make several shelters.

If only we knew where we were going (Not that it mattered I guess).

After an hour of waiting and hoping that a chopper would come we heard the soft rhythm of blades echoing through the valley. It was actually coming to get us! According to our director, it wasn't always the case. Sometimes he could count on the UN, other times he couldn't. He was on a day-to-day, flight-by-flight regiment with them. This particular day, we just happend to get lucky!

Instead of us jumping on the first chopper that landed, we waited and watched as several locals began to fill the cargo bay with supplies. Being that the wind was usually high up in the mountains, there were only a certain number of pipes, foams, tin sheets, and bars that were allowed on each flight. After they had it full, they would it up and sent it back up the mountain. This happened twice--by the time the second load was in the air, it was already 2:00pm. Were we going to make it up the mountain that day? Questionable at best.

While we were hoping and praying that another chopper would come, Jeff realized that he hadn't grabbed the stove that we had bartered hard for and gotten in Manserah. He asked us to watch his stuff as he was going to head back to the base to get it. If we bought it, we were going to use it! He caught a taxi and headed back while Ben and I continued to watch the horizon for the helicopter to come back.

Here's the thing. We had to get to the top of the mountain that day because the team of three that was currently up there needed to get back down to catch a flight back to America. The reason we were selected and sent was because we needed to get any information from them that would help us for our stay. We were talking about this very thing, wondering if we should go if Jeff wasn't back yet when we heard the chopper returning.

Decision time: Do we leave our leader here and go (providing a good transition with the team already on the mountain) or do we stay without certainty that there would be another one that day?

We went--easy decision. However--we did stall the pilots (much to their angst) for an additional five minutes.

The door closed--no Jeff. It was just Ben and I and our two other teammates that joined us at the helipad: Sean and Josh. The adventure was soon to officially begin.

We had no idea where we were going, what we would find when we got there, or how long we would be staying. None of that mattered--we were on our way--the helicopter had left the ground.

Pakistan Journal: Instant Deployment (Again!)

We awoke the next morning to find that we were in the foothills of the Himalayas. Being a mountain lover, I thought that I had seen some amazing mountains in my lifetime. Granted, the Rockies are incredible and Yosemite is almost undescribable. The Himalayas, however, are real mountains! They're old, they're huge, they're breathtaking--and those were only the foothills.

Jeff, Ben and I were still riding the excitement from the night before coupled with the first really good night's sleep that any of us had had. We were ready to get to work! I must admit that I was a little unsettled at this point. My hope was to spend time with locals, getting to know them and learning how to help them. I would be lying if I were to say that I didn't have a little of the "hero-mentality" floating around inside me at that point. The hard part for me is that when I woke up, I discovered that the eight additional Americans that were at the Bisham base all had really strong personalities with eight different ideas of how do pull off the job of bending 1000 pipes.

A quick word about the pipes. The shelters that we were building looked like mini-car ports made out of tin. The supplies needed were 8 rebar stakes, 4 bent pipe, 1 roll of foam insulation, 10 pieces of tin (secured together), and 8 metal straps. All of the pipe in Pakistan came straight--for obvious reasons--meaning that we needed to bend it; thus the pipe benders that we brought over with us. By the time we would run the pipe through the hand-cranked machine, it would come out in a perfect arc. The problem was, the pipe-bending machines weren't cooperating well and kept on breaking down. The men there had been trying several different solutions the day before but hadn't come up with a good one. 1000 pipes needed to be bent by 8 strong American personalities and a couple of men from Peshawar, Pakistan and all we had were four broken down pipe-bending machines.

Now does my angst make a little more sense?

I was there to serve though, and was prepared to do whatever it was that I needed to do.

Jeff, Ben and I spent some time that morning praying together and then had breakfast (naan and eggs--delicious!). While were were eating, the director approached us at the table and said, "We need at team of three to get to the top of the mountain sometime today to trade out with a team of three that have been up there for a day and a half."

At this, everyone in the room began to bubble with excitement. At last, what we had all dreamt about was becoming reality. Everyone in the room (except for Jeff, Ben and I it seemed) began to plead there case of why their team was ready to head up the mountain. I watched the entire interaction confuse and stress out the director so I mentioned that maybe it would be easier if he talked with the three team leaders that were in the room and make the decision that way.

Ten minutes later, Jeff came up to me and asked if I had warm gloves. I was a little confused by the question, but answered that I did.
"Good," he said. "Put 'em on because were heading up the mountain in a half hour!"
And again, we were the team that got the go-ahead to move on.

Here's what happened in the leader conversation. All three of the leaders determined that it would be best to send my team because we were the only three that hadn't been orientated into the pipe bending. Because so many pipes needed to be bent, it made sense to keep the men there that had already been working on them. Thus--our team got the green light.

Within one half hour, we had our bags packed and were sitting in the back of a Pakistani army jeep on our way to the helipad....

Pakistan Journal: Our Welcome to Bisham

Upon arriving in Bisham, our first order of business was locating the hospital where the rest of our team was. All we knew is that there were eight other Americans in Bisham at a Christian hospital that had been shut down. Ready--set--go!

Our first stop was the Cuban Military camp. I'm not sure what the Cuban military was up to in Pakistan--most likely the same thing we were. Obviously this wasn't the correct place so we were on the road again. The Cubans must have given our taxi driver directions to the hospital because the next door that we knocked opened to a large Pakistani man with a big smile and eyes that said, "You've made it to the correct place!"

We dumped off our gear, checked in with the director at that base camp and took off with Faizel to grab some dinner. He was so pleased that we had accepted his invitation for dinner. He thought he was pleased! I was so excited. I make it a point, everywhere that I go, to eat the food of that particular area (as you could no doubt tell from my chai encounter). The thought of eating more authentic Pakistani cuisine was certainly an enticing one, especially as we hadn't eaten now in some time. No doubt Jeff was hungry!

Faizel led us right to his favorite restaurant--a simple place with a pleasant smell and a welcoming host. I looked around to find nine other men seated around several small tables eating chicken and rice and drinking chai or water. Faizel took the liberty to order for all of us which I was fine with because none of us could read the menu anyway.

We were talking about food that we had eaten up until that point when IT began to happen.

I live in a place where earthquakes happen and happen frequently. San Francisco has had its fair share of intense earthquakes--nothing like the 7.6 that shook Pakistan. I will admit that in my two-plus years of living on the West Coast, I can't say with certainty that I have ever experienced one of these frequent little tremors.

I did experience one that night in a little restaurant in northern Pakistan and I wouldn't mind if I never had to ever again!

It started with the sound of thunder under my feet that slowly worked its way up my body into my very soul. My mind was trying to understand that sensation when all of a sudden I felt that thunder begin to shake my body. It all happened so suddenly that it seemed like it was going in slow motion. As soon as I realized that we were experiencing an earthquake--and a fairly significant one at that--I began to look to the other men in the restaurant to see what they would do. I figured that I would do exactly what I saw them do. Before I knew it, they were throwing their tables and chairs out of the way and sprinting out of the restaurant. I did likewise while Jeff (older and more experienced with earthquakes than I) decided to look for a support beam. Faizel told him not to trust it and to run instead.

I can honestly say that I have never seen terror in someone's eyes before. Fear--yes. Terror--no. I now know what terror looks like. When this 5.6 earthquake hit, it reminded these men of the quake exactly two months to the night prior that had destroyed northern Pakistan. They also knew that the reason 88,000 people died was because buildings crashed down on people inside. We were now those people inside and the building we were in wasn't necessarily earthquake-proof!

Let me try to explain what the earthquake felt like. The 7.6 and the 5.6 that we rode out that night were verticle earthquakes meaning that the earth rises up and crashes back down to normal serveral times in a row. The 7.6 forced the earth up six to seven feet in some places before it crashed back down and lasted one minute and two seconds. That must have felt like a lifetime! The best way that I can describe the feeling is by explaining something from my past.

When I was a little boy, I had a swingset in my backyard. This swingset was one of those metal pipe structures that sat on top of the sod. After years of use, the ends of the pipe would settle three to four inches below the surface. My favorite swinging experience was to pump as hard as I could until the entire structure would lift up out of their impressions and thump back down into them. As I swung, I would feel the rise and the thump of that swingset. Perhaps you had a similar experience as you were growing up. The 5.6 quake that we rode out that night felt like the rise and thump of my swingset years prior for five or six seconds (just enough to lose our appetites).

We thanked Faizel for dinner and made the walk back to our new headquarters. None of us really wanted to eat anything and we were all too freaked out to talk much more. Bisham was our team's headquarters for pipe-bending and we were told that we would need to have 1,000 pipes bent by the end of the next day. To bed we went!

Oh--did I mention that Bisham was also the headquarters for Pakistan's Al Queda training camps?

Pakistan Journal: Deployed

Three of us were leaving; Thirty-seven of us weren't. What do you think that felt like?

At first I didn't think anything of it. I was too busy packing my bag, getting rid of things that I wouldn't need and acquiring the supplies that I would. Then I heard the comments begin--"Why are they going and not us? We're a team of three too!" It wasn't that people were unhappy for us, they were unhappy for themselves. The truth was, 37 men wanted to be in our place and weren't.

We jumped into a taxi that took us to the bus station. Once there, our taxi driver helped to negotiate eight seats in a van for us and our luggage so that we wouldn't have to store our gear on top. This particular taxi was already quite full with ramdom men heading to Bisham. Once we were packed in and sitting in the back we waited for another twenty minutes before we left, meaning that we had lost feeling in our legs before our three hour journey began.

At last, one more person crammed into our van bringing the grand total to 14 people (the vehicle was designed for 10). It was on this taxi ride that we began to see the effects of the 7.6 quake. We began to notice tent villages stretched as far as the eye could see, as well as destroyed buildings and homes. We were commenting on what we were seeing and realized that no one else in the vehicle was talking at all. I thought this was strange, especially because we were all in such close proximity to everyone else. Obviously taxis are not social vehicles because we were the only ones to carry any converstation the entire trip.

We were an hour and a half into the journey to Bisham when all of a sudden our driver pulled us over and everyone filed out of the taxi. Jeff, Ben, and I were all pretty confused until we watched what was happening. One by one, the men crossed over the road, washed their hands, feet, and face and proceeded to line up for prayer time. While they were praying, we met a man from our taxi named Faizel who heard us asking questions of what was going on.

"Prayer," he said in perfect English, "It is time for them to pray."

My first reaction to hearing English coming out of this man was, "I really hope we hadn't said anything wrong or offensive while we were talking in the van!"

He introduced himself and told us that he had been listening to our conversation for the past hour and that he hoped that was okay. Of course it was and so we began to ask him questions about why some men were praying and he wasn't. He told us that he wasn't praying because he wasn't wearing the correct type of clothing and it would be disrespectful to pray dressed as he was. I'm not sure why this was. The only thing that made sense to me about it was that he was wearing Western-style clothing (jeans and a button down shirt) and everyone praying were wearing the traditional Pakistani-style clothing.

We jumped back into the taxi and were on our way again. This time it was the four of us talking. We learned several things about Faizel and about the city (Bisham) that we were heading to.

And then it got dark.

Keep in mind what I described about the way that they drive. Now, imagine that happening over earthquake disrupted roads with oncoming headlights weaving, bouncing, and veering this way and that. Luckily I was doing the "head-bobby because I'm really sleepy" thing again. As I was sitting on the far right side of the vehicle, my head bounced off of Jeff and the back of the seat in front of me. I would have been fine like this for hours, but Jeff decided that it was time to wake me up. He didn't wake me up because he was sick of my bouncing off his shoulder. Rather, he woke me up because he needed to get to the window as soon as possible. In other words--Jeff was about to blow!

My initial thought was, "Ain't no way he's leaning over me to puke out the window!" So I offered the following suggestion.
"Why don't we switch spots?"
This would work fine in a typical vehicle. This was no typical vehicle--this one happened to have no room for a switch of this magnitude to take place. Somehow, we (both measuring over 6-feet tall) managed to dance some weird dance so that we could switch spots. No sooner had Jeff gotten into my old seat then he threw open the window and got rid of everything inside of him.

The journey to Bisham was coming to a painful end when Faizel spoke back up.
"You are in my city--let me take you out for dinner."

"Fantastic!" was my response. We knew nothing about Bisham or what was in store for us within the hour.

Pakistan Journal: Four become Three

Before we arrived at that Bazaar, I noticed what would soon become the one familiar spot that I would look for in every big city we were in: The Chai Shop.

It is a well known fact that my favorite past time is spending time in a coffee shop sipping a cappuccino and talking with a friend. Just because I was in a different country didn't mean that I was going to stop that tradition--the only difference was that I was going to be drinking sweetened chai instead of my typical capp.

It was a little obscure at first. I wasn't quite sure what it was that I was looking at. There was a little open-air room off to my right with a huge steaming culdron of something and a flat plate that appeared to be used for cooking something. It wasn't the sight of these things that grabbed my attention though, it was the four Pakistani men sitting inside the shop sipping liquid out of little off-white tea-cups, seemingly having a pleasant conversation. Those were all of the signs that I needed to know that this was what I was looking for.

I called to Jeff, Justin, and Ben and asked if they were hungry or thirsty. We hadn't eaten anything since the naan several hours earlier, so all four of us decided that, since we needed to kill time, we would spend some time sipping chai.

Picture this:
You have never seen anyone in your life who looks differently than yourself. Your typical day is spent peddling goods in the downtown Bazaar of Manserah with intermittant tea breaks which you take in the exact same chai shop in the exact same chairs, with the exact same group of friends. You've done this for years and years without any change or disruption. Then, one day as you're sitting there having a typical, "How's your day going?" conversation, in walks four big foreigners smiling at you and taking a seat at a table next to you.

Let's just say that we were show stoppers! Business came to a standstill in this little shop to the point that I was wondering if we had done something wrong. Suddenly, realization set in for the host and he ran to our table to try and figure out what it was that we wanted from him. I communicated (using the international sign-language for, "Can we have four cups of Chai please?") that we were interested in a beverage.

Where I'm from, eating establishments are graded with a letter grade (A-F) for criteria such as cleanliness, service, food quality, etc. Almost everywhere you go, you'll see an "A" posted in the window. This might seem ridiculous, but it helps to keep the quality high. You don't want to be the establishment with a "B" posted in your window. You simply won't get any business.

Also--we were told to be very careful when eating to drink filtered water only and to drink from clean cups.

All of that went out the window within our first couple of hours in Pakistan. I'm not sure what letter grade this particular shop would have gotten--who cares really? First of all, they dipped our used tea cups in dirty dishwater and then, without drying them off, filled them with our chai and delivered them to our table. We all looked at each other and smiled, "Bottoms up fellas!"

Let me tell you about the chai in Pakistan. You may have experienced this drink in your local coffee shop. If not, sweetened chai tastes simliar to what a cinnamony pumpkin pie would taste like (without the crust of course) as a drink. I thought that I had experienced good chai in my life here in America. Was I ever wrong. Compared to the chai in Pakistan, chai in America is like lukewarm, dirty bathwater! This particular cinnamon flavored beverage was so tastey that we all ordered seconds along with what the four guys sitting next to us were eating. It looked good, we were hungry--so I ordered us a plate-full. A bit risky--sure--but I'm glad that we did because it was our last experience with meat for the next several days.

It was in this coffee shop that I realized something very important. People of different cultures like it when you attempt to do things their way. You might feel out of place trying, but it is certainly worth it. I had noticed that our new friends sitting next to us would tear their naan and use it as a dipping device to scoop up their stew. I followed suit and instantly new that it was a good move as I heard laughs of encouragement coming from next door.

Our next job was to locate a gas stove so that we could become self-sufficient and have the ability to rough it wherever we might end up. Upon paying and leaving our chai shop, I went across the street because I thought that I had seen propane tanks in a shop. As soon as I walked in, I was surrounded by nearly 50 men who wanted to see why I had stepped inside. Suprisingly, the shop keeper spoke a touch of English and I was able to explain to him exactly what it was that we were looking for. Once he understood and realized that he didn't have it, he shocked my be offering to walk us downtown to find exactly what we needed.

When was the last time that happened to you in America?

Before we knew it, we had a tour guide to the heart of the city who knew a little bit of our language and all of his, including his way around the Bazaar. Sure enough, he brought us directly to a store that carried the stoves and helped me to explain and barter for the correct one. Again, while we were standing there, we were surrounded by curious passerbys trying to get a look at the goings-on inside (much to the this shop-keeper's delight).

As soon as we had our stove secured and filled with propane we were on our way back to headquarters. Upon returning, Justin informed us that he thought it would be a good idea if he bounced off of our team because he was going to be staying in Pakistan a couple of days longer than us. He figured that he would find a team of guys that had the same timeline as him. We thought it sounded like a good idea, but were a little bummed to be a man down--suddenly we were a team of three.

Five minutes later, the director came out and announced that he needed a team of three to be packed and ready to go in fifteen minutes. Jeff looked up and said, "I'm the leader of a team of three--we could go."

Ben and I weren't around when this was happening. We had gone over to our packs and were beginning to get settled in, thinking that we were there for a couple of days. I noticed Jeff with a smile on his face walking toward us. "Pack your bags fellas." he said, "We leave in ten minutes."