Last Sunday, Alan and I headed across the bridge to hear his awesome pastor mom preach the Christmas sermon. She did a great job opening up the Gospel of Luke, and we enjoyed spending time with the family. People who had known Alan since he was “this high” encouraged us on our new path, and shared recommendations for churches we could visit during our time off. Special musical programs (three!), cardamom bread and many a Christmas sweater only served to emphasize the Christmas feel.
At the same time we were both reaffirmed in our desire to plant in our neighborhood. Every neighborhood and city has its own ministry context, and ideally churches created in those areas are reflective of their makeup. Churches that address the challenges and utilize the strengths of their members. I felt uncomfortable at the suburban eastside church, but that’s okay. I’m not a suburban eastsider. I was welcomed and loved with warmth and affirmation, and felt the care of the community. The songs and scriptures reflected the gospel message and spoke to the imminent coming of Christ. The problem belongs to Alan and I: we are longing for our home. And I have a feeling that no matter how beautiful, innovative, edgy or amazing, while we have much to learn from the churches we are visiting, none of them will feel like home.
As Alan so eloquently noted on our other blog, as we are in the process of planting Sinners and Saints, visiting local churches on Sundays is our new hobby. Somehow, it has only been two Sundays since leaving Quest, and technically Sunday number one was spent at the Burke Museum with my dad. Sunday number two was a visit to a neighborhood big box church.
Sunday morning dawned cold and clear, so we bundled up and walked to the large University District church for the second of their five Sunday services. We were cheerfully greeted by two greeters with name badges, and ushered into the large stained glass sanctuary just in time for the first choir (of three!) to start the Christmas music. After all those years at Quest in a converted warehouse and a 1950’s era church building, a classically beautiful stained glass and stone sanctuary complete with concert organ was a bit jarring. As the service went on, we both felt lulled into a slight stupor. The space was warm, the decorations beautiful, singing on key, and nothing was asked of us. We were there, but we were not needed. It was a little too perfect. Don’t get me wrong, it was an amazing service and I’m sure that at a church that size, transitions and prayers need to be carefully planned and manged. But there was no room for us to see ourselves as part of that community or as part of that perfect service.
Over the next few weeks, we look forward to visiting more churches, and continuing to dream of creating a new church home. A community of folks who aren’t perfect, a place where visitors and regulars can see themselves in the story and worship God together, offering the gifts they have been given.
After having my own office, along with a convenient regular coffee hangout for the past zillion years at Q, it’s been interesting exploring new alternate office spaces. This morning, I chose a local coffee house for a meeting and to spend some time working on the agenda for Friday’s informational churchplanting meeting at Lounjin, from 7-9pm. And yes, that is a shameless plug for Friday’s meeting.
I have yet to find a new daytime office/coffeehouse hangout since Lounjin opens pretty late, and have noticed that my productivity level at home is less than desirable. Thus far, I’ve tried out a few of the usual suspects: Fuel, the Street Bean (for meeting people who work downtown), Irwin’s, and will probably check out just how busy Solstice is these days. With the exception of the Street Bean, I can walk to all the other coffee houses, something that works a little exercise into my daily routine. If you were looking for a friendly coffee house in the University District/Wallingford area, what would you choose?
It’s been all of four workdays since my last day at Quest, but in every conversation I get the same question: what are you doing with all your free time? Most people seem to be picturing a post work reality kind of like this:
Leah in Hawaii, 2009
In a perfect world, a beach in Hawaii would be wonderful. In reality, I’m at Swedish Medical Center on Cherry Hill, waiting for my dad. While this week has passed in a flurry of meetings with friends, people interested in hearing more about the churchplant, and the denomination powers that be, none of that has really been at the forefront. About three weeks ago, a few days before we left for the churchplanting assessment in Phoenix, my dad was diagnosed with a form of early onset Alzheimers. At 56, my dad is one of the most active people I know. After spending almost thirty years as a logger, he transitioned a few years ago to a safer job as a prison guard. He had hoped to retire from the prison, and enjoyed settling into his new career while continuing to do tree jobs on the weekends with my older brother. The day we received the diagnosis, my dad was also told he would not be able to return to work. Now, we’re in the process of paperwork, tests, and finalizing the diagnosis. Vacations, free time, relaxing on a tropical beach? All I want is my dad. Please remember my dad, mom, and family in prayer during this time of uncertainty and fear.
Dad and I two years ago, on my wedding day.
“every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” -semisonic, closing time
It’s cheesy and it’s 90’s, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Monday was my last day as a pastor at Quest Church in Seattle, after more than 8 years in life and ministry. The decision to leave was difficult for us; Alan and I both have tremendous respect for the church, and have both enjoyed investing in the community that has blessed us greatly. But over the past year, we have felt God’s call upon our lives, a call to leave the safety and security of my amazing job as Lead Associate Pastor and his work volunteering with Q Cafe, and a call into a new season. In mid-November, we were approved by our denomination, the Evangelical Covenant Church, to plant a new church in the city of Seattle. Over the past few weeks we’ve been fielding a variety of questions: Where will you be planting? What’s the church called? What’s your vision? We don’t have answers to all of these questions, and will be taking a month (mostly) off to rest, pray, and plan with the idea of launching weekly Bible studies in January. I’ll keep updating the blog on a regular basis from my new office in our living room, so keep checking back. To keep you updated in your medium of choice, you can fan our Facebook Page, follow us on Twitter @sinnersaintcc , or subscribe to the RSS feed for this blog.
For now, check out our website. I found out yesterday that our church name is still subject to approval by the denomination, so start thinking of alternatives just in case they aren’t ready for “Sinners and Saints” just yet. We’re having an informal coffee hour Friday, December 11 from 7-9pm at the fabulous Lounjin Cafe in the University District if you would like to dream and pray with us about what God is doing in our neighborhood.
We’ve been diving into Faith and Race at Quest lately, with the second in a three part class last night, and our conference quickly approaching. This past week, a situation with Christian publishers Zondervan and (white) authors Mike Foster and Jud Wilhite has lit up the blogosphere. Much of the initial attention came from Dr. Soong Chan Rah, the North Park prof and ECC minister who will be speaking in the upcoming conference.
So what’s the deal?
Mike and Jud have published a book and series of resources called “Deadly Viper Character Assassins” that use blatant Asian stereotypes and references to Asian culture to sell their materials. The materials themselves have to do with encouraging integrity and fighting against allowing sin to control your life. Somehow, Asian stereotypes including ninjas, sumo wrestlers, nonsensical Chinese characters, and even a white guy using a fake “asian” accent in a video have been used to market the materials. Huh? What’s okay about conflating all Asian cultures into a generic “Asian” theme, and using it to market Christian materials, thus incorporating offensive, racist sterotypes alongside the Gospel message. Dr. Rah said it so eloquently on his blog:
My contention is not about the content of the book itself (i.e. – the material that discusses integrity and character). It is with the way in which you choose to co-opt Asian culture in inappropriate ways. Let me cite Edward Said in Orientalism where he states: “Orientalism can be discussed and analyzed as the corporate institution for dealing with the Orient – dealing with it by making statements about it, authorizing views of it, describing it, by teaching it, settling it, ruling over it: in short, Orientalism as a Western style of dominating, restructuring, and having authority over the Orient.”
Mike and Jud, you are two white males who are inappropriately co-opting another culture and using it to further the marketing of your book. You are not from our cultural framework, yet you feel that you have the authority to represent our culture before others. In other words, you are using what are important and significant cultural symbols to make a sale or to make your point. It is an affront to those who are a part of that culture. You’ll notice that there are a number of individuals that take offense at the ways you misuse Chinese characters. You also confuse aspects of Japanese and Chinese cultures. These are two very distinct and ancient cultures that you did not take the time to understand before using those symbols as a fun way to market your products.
Here are some examples of the more glaring and egregious offenses:
This video clip is extremely offensive and portraying Asians in a cartoonish manner in order market your merchandise. Particularly offensive is the voiceover of a white person doing a faux Asian accent: http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=35881373178&ref=mf
This image presents Asian as sinister enemies: http://www.facebook.com/search/?q=deadly+viper&init=quick#/photo.php?pid=2233965&id=101311418670
This quote reveals an insensitivity to the Chinese language and mocks Chinese names: “There is a killer called Zi Qi Qi Ren. No, this is not some communicable disease, but it certainly is deadly. This funky Chinese word”
The use of Chinese characters and kanji in a non-sensical manner.
Other offenses:
The confusion and conflation of Chinese and Japanese cultures.
The use of Asian symbols, like a Japanese garden, kimonos, samurai swords in a non-essential manner that does not honor the heritage or culture of Asians.
You are taking a caricature of Asian culture (the martial arts warrior, the ninja, etc.) and furthering the caricature rather than engaging Asian culture in a way that honors it.
The bottom line. You are representing a culture that you do not know very well to thousands of people. You are using another culture to make your message more fun. That is offensive to those of us that are of that culture and seek to honor our culture.
In response to all of this, what can YOU, as a Christian, do in response to this situation?
1) Write to the Publishers. Zondervan is the Christian publishing house backing the materials. They’ve asked that protest emails be sent through their online forum at http://www.zondervan.com/Cultures/en-US/Company/FAQ.htm?QueryStringSite=Zondervan Click on the “contact us” tab, and type in your response.
2) Write to the Authors. Mike and Jud’s blog about the materials can be found at http://www.deadlyviper.org/blog/
3) Spread the word as a Facebook status or Twitter message. Here’s a sample message that can be cut and pasted into your status with the URL’s shrunk down for space: just sent my letter of protest to Zondervan. You can too: http://tinyurl.com/ykzte8q Make your voice heard! Wonder what I’m talking about? Click here: http://tinyurl.com/ygwjfwy
What are you waiting for, get online and ACT! Together, we can make a difference.
I’m white. I also live in the United States, a society that elevates upper middle class white culture as the normative ideal. I enjoy a number of advantages simply because of the color of my skin. I can choose to live in a predominantly white neighborhood, associate with mostly white people, worship at a white church, shop in majority white neighborhoods and bask in the insidious illusion that I deserve all that I have accomplished. I can pretend that my own intelligence and merit and hard work have brought me to the place I am today. The problem is, it’s all built on a lie. Once you stop to examine the institutional racism that pervades every aspect of our society and our world, the conclusion is clear: the deck has been stacked from the beginning in favor of those with white skin, money and power. But as a white person, what can I do about racism? As long as I don’t consider myself a racist, I’m okay, right?
Because I am part of the group favored by the lie, I can choose to pretend it doesn’t exist. In fact, media, culture and society all push me toward acceptance of the status quo with a matrix-like obsession with false fulfillment, so long as I buy into the system. Once you recognize the system and begin to challenge its ideals, you are no longer seen as a good citizen. In classes, I have challenged the selection of readings or pedagogical approaches, offended by the lily white course offerings, only to be asked why I would be offended by this, because usually only ‘those’ students complain. That I may take issue with the perpetuation of majority white viewpoints in classes intended to instill within future ministers the ability to draw congregations further into the reality of the Kingdom of God is puzzling, somehow, when coming from a white woman. Challenging racist practices in academia, church and society is sometimes seen by white people as a practice only undertaken by people of color. Why would I speak about racism when I myself might be called a racist, or accused of being the oppressor?
To be clear, I agree with Becky Thompson’s statement in A Promise and a Way of Life that “There would be no significant white antiracist struggle or cultural practices were it not for the resistance of people of color.” Power is at once seductive and blinding and without the critical lens of resistance, without relationship that allows both to see each other with the humanity of beings created equally in the image of God, why would one group choose to give up the privilege that dominance and oppression of another group brings? I would further state that the Gospel itself calls all who identify as followers of Christ to be the first to resist, the first to speak, the first to repent of privilege and oppression, and the first to advocate for a Kingdom equality that counters the cultural norms reinforced by our society and our world. Bluntly, white people who consider themselves Christians must embrace the identity of someone who “daily vigilantly resist[s] becoming reinvested in white supremacy.” (bell hooks in O’Brien, 2002)
Personally, I have felt called to participate in anti-racist work as a white person on a systemic level since college. Learning more deeply about issues of race, class and gender opened my heart and mind to the reality of our society and to my own complicity in creating and maintaining that reality. In the thirteen years since those classes, I have been personally compelled, again and again to repentance and turning away from complacency. I have failed many times in speaking out against those very systems that give me privilege and oppress others. I continue attempting to learn through action what it means to walk alongside as advocate and ally, knowing that my own liberation is inextricably entwined with that of my brothers and sisters. Like the rich young ruler of scripture I cannot approach the Kingdom, I cannot follow Christ, if I am unwilling to give up my own privilege for my own sake, and work toward the coming of the Kingdom “on earth as it is in heaven.” At times, the most difficult part of this journey has often been sharing the road with other white folks. Honestly, we are often defensive, indignant, ignorant and unwilling to acknowledge our own place in the system of racial injustice. White folks are likely to say things like “it’s so hard for me to do anything about racism, because it makes me feel bad.” And just as ridiculous, “I don’t get enough practice talking about race, so I feel like I can’t speak out about it.” White people need to stand up and take issue every time racism and racial injustice rear their ugly heads, we need to repent of our own apathy and complicity, and we need to recognize that it is a big deal for all of us. There will be times when it seems overwhelming, when it feels like you say the wrong thing, or you feel that you’re learning. Embrace the discomfort as a sign that you’re actually starting to see and experience the system, and step outside of the privilege that has constructed a comfortable society for you. Join with others who are on the same journey and never assume you have arrived, or finished your own heart work. Instead of always calling in a person of color to speak about diversity, how can white folks also speak about power and privilege in way that sends the message that racism is something white folks care about, stand up against, and will no longer practice.
This post is a very limited attempt at approaching a multifaceted and complex issue, and I will be addressing further thoughts in upcoming weeks. In the meantime, there are many white anti-racist leaders who have provided role models for the work we must be doing. If you’re reading this as a white person, look up Anne Braden, J. Waties Waring, Mab Segrest, Virginia Foster Durr, and Tim Wise. While their resistance has not been widely publicized, they are only a few of the white anti-racist leaders who have been active in speaking and acting against the systemic injustice of racism. What are you called to do?
I belong to a wonderful, tightly knit denomination. At our annual pastor’s gathering this year I was introduced to about a thousand new people, and remembered some of them. A few months ago, I received a follow-up email from one of the new faces, an editor for our denomination’s monthly magazine. Cathy asked me if I was willing to write something up for the denomination, and I obliged. Thanks to Cathy’s masterful editing, a briefer version of the article below will be posted in the November Companion magazine. For both of my blog readers, I thought I’d reward you with the extended version. The topic was “thanksgiving”.
My family used to have a wanagan. When I lived in Alaska, my family built an extra room—wanagan is an old logging term used to describe a shack or room to store goods–onto our trailer so that we could store food for the winter. Living on Kuiu Island, there were no grocery stores, telephones or paved roads and supplies arrived from the nearest towns via floatplane. In winter, brutal snowstorms often meant weeks or a month between deliveries, isolating us from the world. Necessities like toilet tissue were ordered by the case, milk came seven gallons at a time and joined the fish, deer, and in a good year, moose, in the chest freezer. Looking into that room, my mother could tell what we needed for our next order, if we were running low, or if she should send my brother or me to borrow from a neighbor before the next plane arrived. Our survival depended on our ability to prepare well for the coldest season, and when fishing or hunting was plentiful, we joyfully gave thanks. What can we learn from these patterns of harvest and rejoicing, storing up the means to sustain ourselves through the long cold seasons of life?
In any church, there is cause for great rejoicing, and cause for great mourning. This past year, we have grappled together with death, illness, unemployment, loss and disappointment. In the midst of such circumstances, how can we encourage one another to rejoice, give thanks, and know we are prepared for the arrival of our own winters? Praying for a parishioner this week, I was reminded of the wanagan. While storing up provisions in Alaska meant hunting, smoking fish and ordering ahead from the grocery store on the next island over, here at Quest storing up spiritual nourishment means gathering regularly for Sunday worship and community groups. Tucking away words of encouragement, scripture, song, and lessons learned in Biblical teaching, we fill the storerooms of our hearts. Hearing again each week the Gospel message of a God who “so loved the world”, we cannot help but respond to such news with hearts of thanksgiving. If we recognize the importance of storing up material provisions of food and necessities to make it through the long winters, how much more do we need to store up spiritual provisions to help us make it through the long, cold seasons of our lives?
During those winters in Alaska everything would shut down, drifts piled so deep the Alaska Pulp Corporation closed operations. With storerooms full, knowing we could borrow from one another when supplies ran short, the few families who wintered in the logging camp built a deep bond. As the Northern lights came, we would run from house to house, knocking on doors to let them know the show had begun. Together, we would trudge in our snow clothes to a clearing, and lay on our backs in the snow, staring up at the brilliant, living tapestry of light overhead. The kids would break out sleds, the adults would brew coffee, and together we rejoiced in the cold.
Just as preparing the bounty of a material harvest protected us from hunger and allowed us to enjoy the winter, the fruits of a spiritual harvest are critical to survival in community. Ministering to those in situations of deep heartache and need, we are called to remember those promises stored up in times of plenty, how God has spoken to us and showed Himself real in moments of crisis. Together each Sunday, and during our personal devotions, we mine the rich depths of scripture to learn of God’s character and promises. In Psalm 30 we are promised that “weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.” We are given the ultimate expression of God’s love in the person of Jesus Christ and the sacrifice made for us (John 3:16). In Revelation 7:9-17 we glimpse the final restoration of God’s kingdom come on earth as in heaven, where all God’s children are gathered in worship. As we look inside our own spiritual wanagans, how have we been outfitted to survive the seasons? Do we remember to pause in thanksgiving for the promises we have been given as children of the living God, and are we willing to share our gifts with those around us in need?
The litany of suffering in community is all too familiar to those in ministry. Another couple separates and prepares for divorce. Cancer brutally ravages the life of a young family. A father finds himself for the first time without employment or the means to support his wife and children. The local hospital calls: the family has requested a pastor to bless a newborn baby before he dies. Can you come? These are the cold seasons, the times of desolation. Faced alone, they can seem overwhelming, a spiritual wasteland without end. But we are not alone. In seasons of need or doubt, we are called to come alongside one another for encouragement and prayer, and we are sent the gift of the Holy Spirit, that God might minister to us directly in our pain.
Standing alongside that newborn baby boy and his family, I prayed to God for help. I am not yet a mother; I can guess but do not know how this young woman and her family are feeling as the life support is removed, and the tiny infant laid in her arms. I pray, and I hear the Spirit nudging: ‘sing to the baby’. Asking, I learn there is a song they have sung often in the short weeks of this child’s life. In one voice, we all sing “Jesus Loves the Little Children” as both blessing and benediction. Precious in His sight, as we sang together that afternoon the baby joined his twin in the arms of Jesus. While I could claim it as my own idea, acting out of my own wisdom, the truth is I have no background or gifting in music. I wriggle out of singing the benediction at church as often as possible. And yet in a small room, with a dozen people present, I felt the Spirit urging me to use what I perceive as my weakest weakness to bring comfort. In this postmodern age, we may consider ourselves removed from the act of laying up provisions and offering thankful sacrifices to a God who has given us the means to survive a difficult season. In that hospital room, God provided when I was sure I was lacking. For that provision, and for all of God’s provision, I give thanks.
After we were welcomed to Chamwino by St. Peter’s, I accompanied Quest Elder Barbara Lundquist; Dr. Kati Szego, a former pupil of Barb’s and current professor of Music at Memorial University in Canada; Karl Dreschler, a Seattlite who will be living for a year in Chamwino while working on behalf of Chamwino Connect; Lewis Kashiri, a man from Zimbabwe who also plans on assisting the project in Chamwino; and Zachary Gerald to our next stop. The musical folks in our party had arranged a visit with a remarkable group of women singers, the Muh Eme singers. As we traveled, we were accompanied by Pastor Daniel Meshach, the amazing Nassan Mazengo and Rev. Eubert Nyembela. After a few years of reading names printed on paper, it was great to meet many of these folks in real life.
Left to right pictured are Kedmon's mother, Pastor Daniel, Pastor Nyembela, Barb, Kati, Karl (standing) and myself. Lewis is just out of the frame on the right.
Much of the next few days of our journey were a blur of introductions and music. As we were visiting Chamwino, we also met with the village chairman Joseph Seganji, as a matter of respect, and to learn more of the village’s unique history in Tanzania.
That's the Seganji in the green just to my right. On the far left next to Barb is Imani, who graciously translated for us. Zach and Nassan are in front, and Pastor Nyembela, Lewis, and Yousef are on my left.
We’re standing at the heart of the village, with the memorial to former president Nyerere’s philosophy on our right in the background. As the village was created by Nyerere as an example of what it could mean for the people of Tanzania to work together, the president lived in the village for a few months. Even today, state houses remain in the village for a time when the current president decides to visit.
While we witnessed and enjoyed many musical performances, my favorite memories continue to be those of relationships and friendships started. To know Zach, who is graduating this week from the University of Dar es Salaam and looking to start his own business. Lewis, who has been working alongside Professor Mitch Strumpf to get the efforts of those in Seattle connected to the team in Chamwino, whose family is still in Zimbabwe, and whom he misses greatly. I think of Nassan and all the work he has done to carry out the projects at St. Peter’s.
Today, I leave you with a video of the women singing. Would it help to know that these songs were once used in female circumcision rituals, and now have found new meaning? That the woman leading the songs used to perform the rituals herself, and that these women are some who have come of age under her leadership and guidance? It adds meaning to the untrained ear knowing that there are layers upon layers of context here, layers that the women are now singing for themselves.
Just over two weeks ago, I made my way out of the airport in Dar es Salaam and into the waiting arms of Barbara Lundquist and a local friend, Zach Gerald. Pitching my trusty backpack and a bag of donated clothes into the back of our vehicle, we headed for Prof. Mitch Strumpf’s house and early the next morning set out for the village of Chamwino. What does it mean to build partnership with a parish halfway around the world? I was about to find out. As we approached St. Peter’s Church, we were greeted with song and dancing.
A few of the folks gathered at St. Peter's. The woman on the far right is Kedmon Mapana's mother!
Along the way, St. Peter’s Pastor, Pastor Daniel Meshach, joined us for a song.
Me and Pastor Daniel, chillin in Chamwino.
Having been to Chamwino before, Barb points out the new church building to all of us.
The new St. Peter's, Maduma Parish, is almost complete!
Joining the village for a week was more than a short-term experience; it was meant to be a time of continuing to build relationships that had been started by Barbara more than two years ago on her initial journey to Tanzania. Over the next few days, and next few blog posts, I look forward to introducing you to Nassan, the project coordinator in Chamwino, the St. Peter’s Church council, and some of the talented and amazing musical groups we met along the way. For now, I leave you with a snapshot of the congregation gathered in the new church building. The ladies in red are part of the Jericho Choir, one of five choirs that all call St. Peter’s home. Incidentally, everyone asked how our church choir was doing, and expressed their sincere apologies when I shared that we had no choir. Perhaps it’s time for some cross cultural worship music sharing!
If you look closely, you can see the windows on the sides, and the doorways in the back. More building pics to come, and sincere gratitude for those who have sponsored doors and windows!
Stay tuned next post for links to music videos, more pics of time with the church council, and Kedmon and Pendo’s house! Thanks so much Kedmon and Pendo for letting us crash at your house in Chamwino, and thanks to Kedmon for all his coordinating from across the ocean.
