So I admit I have not posted in quite awhile…and I cannot adequately update on the last two months in this post…and frankly I don’t have time right now.
However, I will give a very quick update. I arrived back from a wonderful time in San Francisco – and I miss it terribly. What a wonderful community and what a fabulous city!!! I spent Christmas at home and am now back at Truett for one last semester!!!
For this quick post I thought I’d share some personal expression from my San Francisco experience.
As most of you know I am a huge music fan. Since music has (does, and always will) played such a formational part of my journey I have gotten in a particular habit the last couple of years. At the end of every semester I make an End of Semester CD. This CD serves a couple of uses: (1) it contains songs that may have come out and been popular during the semester (2) the songs may have something to do with events that transpired during the semester (3) the songs may sum up feelings I felt during the semester. I love pulling these out and remembering what I was going through during a particular semester and reflecting on how I have grown since. Of course my semester in San Francisco could not go without a CD. So I am going to share with you the playlist for the San Francisco CD. I highly recommend every song on the list (even if they seem cheesy to you.
Josh’s San Francisco CD:
Concerning The UFO Sighting Near Highland, Illinois [Sufjan Stevens]
San Francisco (Be Sure To Wear Flowers In Your Hair [Scott McKenzie]
My Pilgrimage [The Cobalt Season]
Jesusland [Ben Folds]
Qué Onda Guero [Beck]
Fake Tales Of San Francisco [Arctic Monkeys]
Yahweh [U2]
New Test Leper [R.E.M.]
Chicago (Acoustic Version) [Sufjan Stevens]
Somebody Loved [The Weepies]
Jimmy Hoffa Jokes [Aimee Mann]
A Flower Grows [Asiam]
San Francisco [The Weepies]
Track 5 [Dan Dixon]
O Valencia! [The Decemberists]
San Francisco Bay Blues (Live) [Eric Clapton]
Begin Again (Live) [The Cobalt Season]
Too Far To Walk [Andrew Osenga]
Hold Out My Hand [Asiam]
The World Exploded Into Love [Bob Schneider]
Track 11 [Dan Dixon]
I Left My Heart In San Francisco [Tony Bennett]
Just a few disclaimers: (1) Dan Dixon was one of my roommates and an incredible musician; (2) The Cobalt Season is a couple in the Re:Imagine community, and you can check out their music at their website (www.thecobaltseason.com); (3) I know that Sufjan’s song Chicago may seem to have nothing to do with San Francisco, but the theme and meaning of the song struck me this past semester, that is why it is included.
Well there it is…enjoy.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Thursday, November 02, 2006
the emergent gathering
I have promised a blog entry on the Emergent Gathering from a few weeks ago – and so here it is. As you may have read below our means of getting to the gathering was quite the adventure...another plug – ride Greyhound at least once in your life.
Well, once we arrived we were greeted by numerous people who knew Mark, Nate and Adam from other Emergent events and some people who had been friends with Mark for many years. It was raining when we arrived and so we waited to unload the car which was full of food (for everyone at the Gathering) for the week.
At the night’s first meeting the flow of the week was laid out. The gathering is one of the most organic meetings I’ve ever been to. It is certainly a for-us-by-us event, and a time for ideas and conversations to be exchanged. There is no stage and big screens for large gathering worship times, no nametag with the schedule on the back, no assigned rooms for seminars, and no feeling that anyone is really concerned about these things. There is really only the central meeting room.
When everyone was in the room Mark and Doug began to welcome people and to lay out how the Gathering works. Basically the schedule is laid out like this: in the morning everyone meets for a morning liturgy (which was lead by Karen E. Sloan who is coming out with a book called Flirting with Monasticism, http://www.flirtingwithmonasticism.org/), then there are times set aside for people to lead conversations. Anyone can host a conversation on really anything. If on Tuesday something sparks an idea in your mind that you’d like to chat about with others you
can post your conversation idea on the wall and ta-da, you’re hosting a conversation. If some people from Truett were there many conversations could have been initiated…for instance:
Chris Moore: A Theology of Food
Vernon Bowen: Redefining Christian Dating Through the Blogosphere, or How to Get Those Random Comments on Your Blog to Become Your Future Mate
Dr. Michael W. Stroope: The Art of Strooping, Subversive Question Answering in the Classroom
Meagan Farber: Body Worship, Discovering Hand Motions that Express Ideas/Actions/Emotions and Using Them for Corporate or Private Worship
Mollie Richardson & Denver Combs: An Exploration of the Importance of Animals is the Christian Scriptures
Grayson Goodman: The Gospel According to Mashed Potatoes
Perhaps some others can think of other conversation ideas Truett folks would host.
Anyway, all that to say that anyone can hold a conversation.
There are also two cabins that work as “houses of hospitality.” Each night these houses would be open for people to come and chill. Most of the time there would be snacks and good conversations. There would be up to fifty people in the cabin each night, and also in the morning for breakfast. It was these times at night I enjoyed the most.
I could tell about some of the conversations I participated in, but that was not the aspect of the Gathering I enjoyed the most. I loved the laid back, grassroots feel of the week. I never felt like I had to rush to get to something, or to meet someone. I never felt like the people who were well known were separate or held-up more than anyone else – it felt like a big family. That is the
way I’ve described the emergent event to people. I felt like I stepped into a family reunion and just happened to be the new person welcomed into the family. It really felt like a week for people who had not seen each other in a long time to catch up with each other and to embrace new relatives.
On our final day we gathered for communion and I really hated to say goodbye to this new family. I felt like the people I had just spent the last four days with were kindred spirits, and I would miss their company.
Well, once we arrived we were greeted by numerous people who knew Mark, Nate and Adam from other Emergent events and some people who had been friends with Mark for many years. It was raining when we arrived and so we waited to unload the car which was full of food (for everyone at the Gathering) for the week.
At the night’s first meeting the flow of the week was laid out. The gathering is one of the most organic meetings I’ve ever been to. It is certainly a for-us-by-us event, and a time for ideas and conversations to be exchanged. There is no stage and big screens for large gathering worship times, no nametag with the schedule on the back, no assigned rooms for seminars, and no feeling that anyone is really concerned about these things. There is really only the central meeting room.
When everyone was in the room Mark and Doug began to welcome people and to lay out how the Gathering works. Basically the schedule is laid out like this: in the morning everyone meets for a morning liturgy (which was lead by Karen E. Sloan who is coming out with a book called Flirting with Monasticism, http://www.flirtingwithmonasticism.org/), then there are times set aside for people to lead conversations. Anyone can host a conversation on really anything. If on Tuesday something sparks an idea in your mind that you’d like to chat about with others you
can post your conversation idea on the wall and ta-da, you’re hosting a conversation. If some people from Truett were there many conversations could have been initiated…for instance:Chris Moore: A Theology of Food
Vernon Bowen: Redefining Christian Dating Through the Blogosphere, or How to Get Those Random Comments on Your Blog to Become Your Future Mate
Dr. Michael W. Stroope: The Art of Strooping, Subversive Question Answering in the Classroom
Meagan Farber: Body Worship, Discovering Hand Motions that Express Ideas/Actions/Emotions and Using Them for Corporate or Private Worship
Mollie Richardson & Denver Combs: An Exploration of the Importance of Animals is the Christian Scriptures
Grayson Goodman: The Gospel According to Mashed Potatoes
Perhaps some others can think of other conversation ideas Truett folks would host.
Anyway, all that to say that anyone can hold a conversation.
There are also two cabins that work as “houses of hospitality.” Each night these houses would be open for people to come and chill. Most of the time there would be snacks and good conversations. There would be up to fifty people in the cabin each night, and also in the morning for breakfast. It was these times at night I enjoyed the most.
I could tell about some of the conversations I participated in, but that was not the aspect of the Gathering I enjoyed the most. I loved the laid back, grassroots feel of the week. I never felt like I had to rush to get to something, or to meet someone. I never felt like the people who were well known were separate or held-up more than anyone else – it felt like a big family. That is the
way I’ve described the emergent event to people. I felt like I stepped into a family reunion and just happened to be the new person welcomed into the family. It really felt like a week for people who had not seen each other in a long time to catch up with each other and to embrace new relatives.On our final day we gathered for communion and I really hated to say goodbye to this new family. I felt like the people I had just spent the last four days with were kindred spirits, and I would miss their company.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
let it ride -- on greyhound
This past week I was able to attend an event that I have wanted to attend for quite awhile – the Emergent Gathering. I will write a whole blog about the gathering later…but first I must reflect on how I got there.
Many people have commented on the fact that the Re:Imagine crew decided to take the Greyhound (see previous post) to the gathering. If you have never taken the Greyhound as a means of travel I highly recommend it…at least once. It is an interesting experience. Let me tell you about ours…
The Saturday of our departure (October 7) was a long day to begin with. One of the couples in the Re:Imagine community, Damen and Alice were getting married. All of us had to rise early that day and drive about an hour south to attend the wedding. The reception was at a really nice Chinese restaurant (for anyone who went to India, think of that restaurant we went to our first night in Hong Kong…if you can). After we left all the wedding festivities we returned back and I had a mental checklist to exhaust before we were to leave. All that to say the day never rested.
11:00pm was to be our departure time and Lisa took the four travelers (Mark, Nate, Adam and me) to the station in downtown San Francisco. The station in San Francisco is in a pretty large building and is located on the second floor of a parking garage-like structure that looks like a scene out of Fight Club once one enters. The building is public which allows many people on the street to find shelter for a night. Since it was so late we passed by many of San Francisco’s homeless who were looking for a windless piece of concrete to sleep on.
When we arrived at the ticketing counter the only agent available was busy. We stood around for awhile just laughing at the reality that we were about to spend thirty hours on a bus. And it was not like youth group trips were the stops are determined by the people traveling – no, we were going to be stopping when the driver had the desire.
As the ticketing agent was taking some time with her customers another agent named Ryan came to our rescue. Ryan was one of those employees that seemed to be doing his job for a long time. He approached the computer with a slightly arrogant air of confidence. His strong know-it-all voice asked, “What can I do for you fellas?” Mark stated that we were needing our tickets for the bus to Albuquerque. The process of getting one’s tickets at Greyhound is no different than getting them for a flight – except the fact that the Greyhound does not need any ID.
As Ryan was preparing our tickets Mark shared with him that none of us had ever traveled by Greyhound. Ryan let out a smirkish chuckle. Mark asked, “So, do you have any tips on how things work?”
Little did we know that this question would launch Ryan into a type of informational speech. “Well, you know, just find yourself a seat on the bus and enjoy the ride. Pay attention to when you have to get off, and when your connection is.” He pecked away at the keyboard a bit. “There’s no smoking on the bus, and there’s no drinking.” The tickets were being printed out. “But you know…if you’re sittin’ in the back of the bus and find some cute woman back there, there ain’t nothin’ sayin’ you can’t have a little fun. Ya know, just find yourself a seat and you two try not to bother no one else. But, don’t nothin’ say you can’t get ya some on the bus ride. The bus driver can’t say nothin’. He might look at ya strange…but it’s just ‘cause he’s jealous ya know.” All of us were looking at each other with looks that silently said, “Can you believe he’s saying this – but, Ryan was not done. He was putting the tickets together and said, “Oh yeah, and it’s you boys lucky night for that…you on a bus with strippers…it’s y’alls lucky night. Just remember to sit toward the back if you wanna do some of that. Here’s your tickets.”
Again, we all looked at each other in surprise and Ryan pointed us toward the direction of the bus. Mark then asked how many stops this bus would take. It was at this time we were introduced to the mysterious idea of the express bus. Ryan shared how if he could get 35 people on this bus he would make it an express bus. This meant that it made only one stop between San Francisco and L.A. instead of multiple. If that happened there was a chance that we could get on an earlier bus than the one scheduled.
Quite a few years back I rode Amtrak. One of the first things I noticed about that ride was the drastic difference in the socioeconomic strata of people who traveled Amtrak as opposed to flying. When we walked into the Greyhound seating area I saw it again…this time between Amtrak and Greyhound.
We did not have to wait long for the bus, and we were some of the first to board. The bus was not as full as Ryan would have liked it to be, so it was not made an express bus. We left San Francisco and headed south.
Riding on the bus is not that big of a deal. It is much like a plane. No one really says anything to you, and most people keep to themselves – unless something was happening in the back we did not know about??? At about 2 in the morning we stopped at some little town which had a 24hr Burger King – it was a 30 minute stop. Many people got some food. Mark, Nate, Adam and I just stood outside stretching our legs. I watched many of our fellow travelers and wondered what their stories were – why were they going to L.A., who were they seeing, was the end of their travel going to bring their life into something fulfilling, exploitive, or even abusive? Our stop ended up being 45 minutes.
The ride was pretty easy…we got into L.A. at about 4:30am. Our next bus did not leave until 7:15am, so we had some time to kill. Mark was desiring to see the city, so we starting walking toward the “big buildings.” The L.A. Greyhound station is located on 7th St. and Decatur, and walking around L.A. at 5:00am with luggage and a backpack was not exactly how I thought we would spend our time between busses. We walked down to the Wilshire building and then turned around – L.A. is pretty dead on a Sunday morning.
When we got back to the station there was a long line of luggage behind one particular door. We learned that Greyhound etiquette allows people to line their luggage up in order to hold one’s place in line when you’re early. We waited until people were allowed to board. The line started moving. The four of us got up to the front and the ticketing agent said, “We’re sorry, but this bus is full.” We slightly protested that we had tickets for the 7:15am bus, and so did many people behind us. She stated, “I’m sorry.” Mark protested a bit more then the woman stated how the next but going to Phoenix (9:15am) was going to be an express bus and that we would get there before the 7:15am bus. She gave us some food vouchers and we left our stuff at the door.
We turned around and say a large number of people waiting on this same bus. The ticketing agent said that the bus was full and the people just put their heads down and went to find a seat in the station. There was no protest from them, no attempting to get any kind of food voucher, nothing – many just seemed to be used to this treatment.
Mark and Adam went and got breakfast while Nate and I watched the luggage, then upon their return we went to get food. The Greyhound diner was not too bad – nothing great, and by the way, if you ever ride Greyhound do not have the patty sausage – they’re terrible! But, it was a free breakfast.
When Nate and I returned from the diner we found Mark curled up on the floor behind some chairs trying to sleep. Adam was across the room curled up trying to get some sleep as well. Nate and I sat to watch luggage and to chat. I turned to Nate and shared how I noticed that in this Greyhound station no one was talking on a cell phone – I mean no one. There were at least 100 plus people there, and no one was talking on a cell. I was commenting on how in an airport it seemed that half the people traveling alone were on a phone – but not on the Greyhound.
Nate and I got into a discussion about an article he had read stating that many times the poor end up paying more money for poorer service. This ends up happening for many reasons but one is because they do not know that there is a better and cheaper service. For instance, in our case, Nate and I were talking about how our Greyhound trip from San Francisco to Albuquerque was $78. By contrast Nate and my flight from Albuquerque to San Francisco was only $94 dollars. It was more expensive…but not by much. We were also noticing how many of the workers for Greyhound were somewhat rude, and would speak very sternly (almost yelling) at the customers, and many of the riders just took it. Mark said, “The poor are treated like crap.”
We finally got on our ride to Phoenix and found out quickly that it would not be an express bus. We were beginning to see that this bus might just be a wonderful Greyhound myth. The ride was fine. I slept for some of it, and read for the rest. We stopped for lunch in west Arizona in a cluster of fast food restaurants.
Mark had made some grain salad for the trip so the four of us sat down at one of the outside tables and enjoyed the grain salad out of some cups we had brought. After we were done Mark took the cups into the McDonald’s bathroom and washed them for later use. This 30 minute break also turned into a 45+ break.
We got to the Phoenix station twenty minutes after our bus to Albuquerque left. The driver, however, seemed to think that there would be another bus leaving soon in that direction – at this point it was 4:35. Mark went to ask when the next bus to Albuquerque was leaving. As he was doing that Nate, Adam and I noticed our next exit gate – on the gate was the postings for the bus schedule. Our next bus would not leave until 11:00pm! Over six hours from then. We put our luggage down by the door and noticed a grandmother and her grandson had come and put luggage behind us. We asked her where she was headed. She told us, and we stated that we thought there was a bus going in that direction at another gate. She said one of the agents told her to stand at that gate and wait. We told her this one was not leaving till 11pm. She got a frustrated look on her face and said that the agent had said the bus would be leaving shortly. Well, the bus had left, but it was a different gate. By this point we were getting frustrated with
Greyhound altogether. Again, we got some food vouchers and stayed in the Phoenix station for six hours.
We were suppose to arrive in Albuquerque at 2:30/3:00am. Instead we were leaving Phoenix at 11:00pm. I slept most of the night, and we arrived in Albuquerque at 10:00am (or so). We walked to our hotel and crashed. We took much needed showers and relaxed before our busy week. After all of that we experienced how so many people are treated simply because of socioeconomic status or maybe because they do not have a United States ID. We felt lied to [no strippers! -- just joking], there was no express bus, customer service was terrible, one is at the mercy of the Greyhound workers, and they do not really seem to care. They kinda have this attitude that says, "Well, if you're traveling Greyhound you won't mind being treated like crap." Again, if you ever want to have an interesting and learning experience, or if you want to have solidarity with lower income peoples – ride Greyhound.
Many people have commented on the fact that the Re:Imagine crew decided to take the Greyhound (see previous post) to the gathering. If you have never taken the Greyhound as a means of travel I highly recommend it…at least once. It is an interesting experience. Let me tell you about ours…
The Saturday of our departure (October 7) was a long day to begin with. One of the couples in the Re:Imagine community, Damen and Alice were getting married. All of us had to rise early that day and drive about an hour south to attend the wedding. The reception was at a really nice Chinese restaurant (for anyone who went to India, think of that restaurant we went to our first night in Hong Kong…if you can). After we left all the wedding festivities we returned back and I had a mental checklist to exhaust before we were to leave. All that to say the day never rested.
11:00pm was to be our departure time and Lisa took the four travelers (Mark, Nate, Adam and me) to the station in downtown San Francisco. The station in San Francisco is in a pretty large building and is located on the second floor of a parking garage-like structure that looks like a scene out of Fight Club once one enters. The building is public which allows many people on the street to find shelter for a night. Since it was so late we passed by many of San Francisco’s homeless who were looking for a windless piece of concrete to sleep on.
When we arrived at the ticketing counter the only agent available was busy. We stood around for awhile just laughing at the reality that we were about to spend thirty hours on a bus. And it was not like youth group trips were the stops are determined by the people traveling – no, we were going to be stopping when the driver had the desire.
As the ticketing agent was taking some time with her customers another agent named Ryan came to our rescue. Ryan was one of those employees that seemed to be doing his job for a long time. He approached the computer with a slightly arrogant air of confidence. His strong know-it-all voice asked, “What can I do for you fellas?” Mark stated that we were needing our tickets for the bus to Albuquerque. The process of getting one’s tickets at Greyhound is no different than getting them for a flight – except the fact that the Greyhound does not need any ID.
As Ryan was preparing our tickets Mark shared with him that none of us had ever traveled by Greyhound. Ryan let out a smirkish chuckle. Mark asked, “So, do you have any tips on how things work?”
Little did we know that this question would launch Ryan into a type of informational speech. “Well, you know, just find yourself a seat on the bus and enjoy the ride. Pay attention to when you have to get off, and when your connection is.” He pecked away at the keyboard a bit. “There’s no smoking on the bus, and there’s no drinking.” The tickets were being printed out. “But you know…if you’re sittin’ in the back of the bus and find some cute woman back there, there ain’t nothin’ sayin’ you can’t have a little fun. Ya know, just find yourself a seat and you two try not to bother no one else. But, don’t nothin’ say you can’t get ya some on the bus ride. The bus driver can’t say nothin’. He might look at ya strange…but it’s just ‘cause he’s jealous ya know.” All of us were looking at each other with looks that silently said, “Can you believe he’s saying this – but, Ryan was not done. He was putting the tickets together and said, “Oh yeah, and it’s you boys lucky night for that…you on a bus with strippers…it’s y’alls lucky night. Just remember to sit toward the back if you wanna do some of that. Here’s your tickets.”
Again, we all looked at each other in surprise and Ryan pointed us toward the direction of the bus. Mark then asked how many stops this bus would take. It was at this time we were introduced to the mysterious idea of the express bus. Ryan shared how if he could get 35 people on this bus he would make it an express bus. This meant that it made only one stop between San Francisco and L.A. instead of multiple. If that happened there was a chance that we could get on an earlier bus than the one scheduled.
Quite a few years back I rode Amtrak. One of the first things I noticed about that ride was the drastic difference in the socioeconomic strata of people who traveled Amtrak as opposed to flying. When we walked into the Greyhound seating area I saw it again…this time between Amtrak and Greyhound.
We did not have to wait long for the bus, and we were some of the first to board. The bus was not as full as Ryan would have liked it to be, so it was not made an express bus. We left San Francisco and headed south.
Riding on the bus is not that big of a deal. It is much like a plane. No one really says anything to you, and most people keep to themselves – unless something was happening in the back we did not know about??? At about 2 in the morning we stopped at some little town which had a 24hr Burger King – it was a 30 minute stop. Many people got some food. Mark, Nate, Adam and I just stood outside stretching our legs. I watched many of our fellow travelers and wondered what their stories were – why were they going to L.A., who were they seeing, was the end of their travel going to bring their life into something fulfilling, exploitive, or even abusive? Our stop ended up being 45 minutes.
The ride was pretty easy…we got into L.A. at about 4:30am. Our next bus did not leave until 7:15am, so we had some time to kill. Mark was desiring to see the city, so we starting walking toward the “big buildings.” The L.A. Greyhound station is located on 7th St. and Decatur, and walking around L.A. at 5:00am with luggage and a backpack was not exactly how I thought we would spend our time between busses. We walked down to the Wilshire building and then turned around – L.A. is pretty dead on a Sunday morning.
When we got back to the station there was a long line of luggage behind one particular door. We learned that Greyhound etiquette allows people to line their luggage up in order to hold one’s place in line when you’re early. We waited until people were allowed to board. The line started moving. The four of us got up to the front and the ticketing agent said, “We’re sorry, but this bus is full.” We slightly protested that we had tickets for the 7:15am bus, and so did many people behind us. She stated, “I’m sorry.” Mark protested a bit more then the woman stated how the next but going to Phoenix (9:15am) was going to be an express bus and that we would get there before the 7:15am bus. She gave us some food vouchers and we left our stuff at the door.
We turned around and say a large number of people waiting on this same bus. The ticketing agent said that the bus was full and the people just put their heads down and went to find a seat in the station. There was no protest from them, no attempting to get any kind of food voucher, nothing – many just seemed to be used to this treatment.
Mark and Adam went and got breakfast while Nate and I watched the luggage, then upon their return we went to get food. The Greyhound diner was not too bad – nothing great, and by the way, if you ever ride Greyhound do not have the patty sausage – they’re terrible! But, it was a free breakfast.
When Nate and I returned from the diner we found Mark curled up on the floor behind some chairs trying to sleep. Adam was across the room curled up trying to get some sleep as well. Nate and I sat to watch luggage and to chat. I turned to Nate and shared how I noticed that in this Greyhound station no one was talking on a cell phone – I mean no one. There were at least 100 plus people there, and no one was talking on a cell. I was commenting on how in an airport it seemed that half the people traveling alone were on a phone – but not on the Greyhound.
Nate and I got into a discussion about an article he had read stating that many times the poor end up paying more money for poorer service. This ends up happening for many reasons but one is because they do not know that there is a better and cheaper service. For instance, in our case, Nate and I were talking about how our Greyhound trip from San Francisco to Albuquerque was $78. By contrast Nate and my flight from Albuquerque to San Francisco was only $94 dollars. It was more expensive…but not by much. We were also noticing how many of the workers for Greyhound were somewhat rude, and would speak very sternly (almost yelling) at the customers, and many of the riders just took it. Mark said, “The poor are treated like crap.”
We finally got on our ride to Phoenix and found out quickly that it would not be an express bus. We were beginning to see that this bus might just be a wonderful Greyhound myth. The ride was fine. I slept for some of it, and read for the rest. We stopped for lunch in west Arizona in a cluster of fast food restaurants.
Mark had made some grain salad for the trip so the four of us sat down at one of the outside tables and enjoyed the grain salad out of some cups we had brought. After we were done Mark took the cups into the McDonald’s bathroom and washed them for later use. This 30 minute break also turned into a 45+ break.We got to the Phoenix station twenty minutes after our bus to Albuquerque left. The driver, however, seemed to think that there would be another bus leaving soon in that direction – at this point it was 4:35. Mark went to ask when the next bus to Albuquerque was leaving. As he was doing that Nate, Adam and I noticed our next exit gate – on the gate was the postings for the bus schedule. Our next bus would not leave until 11:00pm! Over six hours from then. We put our luggage down by the door and noticed a grandmother and her grandson had come and put luggage behind us. We asked her where she was headed. She told us, and we stated that we thought there was a bus going in that direction at another gate. She said one of the agents told her to stand at that gate and wait. We told her this one was not leaving till 11pm. She got a frustrated look on her face and said that the agent had said the bus would be leaving shortly. Well, the bus had left, but it was a different gate. By this point we were getting frustrated with
Greyhound altogether. Again, we got some food vouchers and stayed in the Phoenix station for six hours.We were suppose to arrive in Albuquerque at 2:30/3:00am. Instead we were leaving Phoenix at 11:00pm. I slept most of the night, and we arrived in Albuquerque at 10:00am (or so). We walked to our hotel and crashed. We took much needed showers and relaxed before our busy week. After all of that we experienced how so many people are treated simply because of socioeconomic status or maybe because they do not have a United States ID. We felt lied to [no strippers! -- just joking], there was no express bus, customer service was terrible, one is at the mercy of the Greyhound workers, and they do not really seem to care. They kinda have this attitude that says, "Well, if you're traveling Greyhound you won't mind being treated like crap." Again, if you ever want to have an interesting and learning experience, or if you want to have solidarity with lower income peoples – ride Greyhound.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
leaving on a greyhound!!!
so this week mark, nate, adam and i are going to spend the week in new mexico. we are headed down to glorieta for the emergent gathering...which is exactly like it sounds...it's a gathering of people who are involved in the emergent conversation. it is really a good time for friends to get together, share stories, have some seminar-type conversations, and just hang out. most of us from the re:imagine community are in charge of the hospitality aspect of the week, and mark and adam are going to be leading some conversations.
lately many of the people invovled with re:imagine have read gandhi's autobiography and were moved by many of his actions. one of the things he practices was that any time he traveled he would either walk, or if he took the train he rode in 3rd class. well, inspired by gandhi we are not traveling by plane or train...but by the greyhound!!!
any time i have mentioned this to anyone the reaction has been..."whoah, have you ever been on one?" someone told me that she and her best friend went traveled on one and when they returned they were no longer best friends. so, tonight we board for a 30 hour bus ride to new mexico!!! then we have to drive some more to get to glorieta...so it will be a bonding experience!!!
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Some Grief’s Observed – Kinda
Tonight (Monday; October 2, 2006) Adam, Joshua and I were meeting at the Napper Tandy for our usual weekly late night talk. Between discussions about each other’s weeks a conversation ensued that sparked somewhat of a deep realization in my mind. I’m not even really sure what Adam and Joshua were talking about, but it was one of those moments where my mind disengaged with the conversation in order to do some newly realized improv introspection.
This past week one of my Truett professors, Dr. Foster, passed away due to cancer. Throughout all my time in seminary it was something she was dealing with, but in the last six months things began to worsen. I had her for one of my first classes at Truett (Intro. to Scriptures), and needless to say she has meant a lot to many people at (and outside) of Truett. I got a call from Kristen on Thursday and she broke the news to me. During the day I got a number of calls from friends letting me know the sad occurance. For me the part that stinks the most about her death is that I am currently in San Francisco and was not in Waco, and cannot be in Waco for the visitation and funeral. I will not be there to be able to grieve with my friends – to be in the community that loved her and that I love as well.
The summer of 2004 was the summer between my first and second year at Truett and I was doing camp in Chicago. I remember going to visit one of my staffers to check up on her day. When I got there she pulled me to the side and said, “Josh, I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” (which of course braces you for news you know you are not really ready to hear), “but I just got off the phone with Toph and he told me to tell you that Dr. Conyers died today.” Again, this was not an unexpected happening, I had him for class that spring (and the previous fall) and there were many days that he was not able to make class because of cancer treatment. I spent that day driving around Chicago just thinking and remembering. Later that day I was able to call Ryan (who was also not in Waco at the time) to talk and to grieve. What I hated about that circumstance was that I was not in a place where I could leave and be in Waco. I was not able to be there and grieve with my friends – to be in the community that loved him and that I love as well.
This summer I went to India, and before my fellow travelers and I arrived in India we were in Los Angeles and Hong Kong. Our first day in Hong Kong was such a tiring day. We walked around the whole city in order to get used to the new time zone and to avoid jet lag. That night I was ready for bed and slept incredibly well. The next morning I was awoken by an early knock on my door. Ken got up to answer the door and Dr. Stroope walked in with a telephone in hand. Now, on this trip we all knew that if someone was calling from the states it was probably not good news on the other end – and it was not. Dr. Stroope sat down and said, “This is Rebekah Carter on the phone – one of your friends has died.”
Rebekah was one of my best friends in college (and after) and was also a fraternity sweetheart for the fraternity I was in. I count her, Jon Metts and Pete Marsh as some of my closest friends from college. She and I had not talked in a long time, and the only reason I thought she would be calling me in Hong Kong was to tell me that my best friend from college, Jon, had died. I sat with the phone in my hand for a second preparing to hear her voice and her news. It was not her on the other line. Instead it was Janalee who said hello. It took me a second to realize that it was not Rebekah, but I soon did when Janalee said, “Josh, I have some terrible news. Rebekah died in a car wreak yesterday.” Janalee gave me some details and stated how sorry she was about the whole situation. She was able to give Jon the number in Hong Kong and a few minutes later I was on the phone with him. He gave me some more details about the incident, we shared some old stories, and shared a mutual shock. He asked if I could make it back for the visitation and funeral – I had to say that I could not.
That morning I walked to a spot overlooking a part of Hong Kong. There is a huge cross that sits on this mountain which can be seen from the city below. I’ve never really been a fan of these types of these religious monuments in the U.S., but I was thankful for this one on that particular day. I sat at the base of that cross to journal, to remember my friend, to cry, to be mad at God, and to grieve. In my mind I thought of all the people who would be at her funeral – people I had not seen in years, and so many of my fraternity brothers. These were people who where my community for a number of years and in a time of great need I was not able to be with them. I was not able to be there and grieve with my old friends – to be in a community that loved her and that I loved as well.
I don’t know why throughout all my time at seminary that when someone whose life has intersected mine in a formational way has died I have been in a place that does not allow me to return. [The death of my pastor almost a year ago is the only instance where I was actually in Waco]
Tonight I do not even remember what Joshua or Adam said, but it made me wonder if I have properly grieved for these losses. I mean, I push them to a proper place in my mind that allows them to be safely overlooked. On top of that I know that I am predominantly an inward processor…especially when it comes to something like death. However, I started to wonder if part of the grieving process is not fully realized until it is done within the community that holds common memories of that person, and the memories that are attached to that person in one’s own mind.
For each person we know there is a context, along with a setting that contains certain characters and props that appear in a person’s story. For Dr. Foster there is a class room, a seminary, a wit, Kentucky paraphernalia, a whip, a thrown tissue box, a heavy coat (because her classrooms were like refrigerators), for me (and some others) a lunch at Red Lobster and On the Border, and a meaningful chat in the hall after Kyle’s death.
I could make a similar list for Dr. Conyers and for Rebekah as well as for anyone in my life that has passed. But within these props are stories, and stories have an enduring and endearing manner about them. They seem to carry on the life of someone who has moved on (living or deceased) – and in some way many of these stories acquire a life of their own. Many of these stories have been heard many times, and still people do not get tired of hearing the account. Sometimes we all get the privilege of hearing the story from someone who tells it best – a “keeper of the story” if you will. Even though there may be a protest to the telling because it has been told and heard many times people still insist, “Tell it anyway.” When the “keeper” shares the story most people know the script, they know the characters, they know the lines and some can even be seen saying the lines silently with the teller. Many even know the cadence of the story and begin to smile before a funny moment is revealed and begin to look sad before a touching line is stated – anyone new to the story need not even hear the story, they could follow the tale by simply watching the listener’s faces. There are moments when the telling is so vivid that the feelings and the smells even seem to reappear and add reality to a memory. At the end of the telling there is a great feeling of shared experience, and a wonderful peace of having a moment in the past reconstructed in the mind so that people can say, “Yes, I was there and I remember…I remember the place, the moment, and the people (even the ones who are no longer with us).”
What is it about story telling that softens grief – or at least helps us deal with it? Is it that in the retelling of the stories we realize that life is good, and on many levels has been good even in the worst of losses? Is it that we realize and remember all the life one life has brought into the world? Or is it that in our remembering we are reminded what we love about life and about others?
Storytelling is a communal affair – there is only so much that one can remember on one’s own. This may be one of the reasons grieving alone sucks – there are no stories to tell with people who do not share the same characters and setting that you have. The stories can be told, but the appreciation is not there (and that is not their fault). So, as a community I love grieves today know that I would love to be there – and share, share stories, a means that draws us together and is one of our eternal links to the past
This past week one of my Truett professors, Dr. Foster, passed away due to cancer. Throughout all my time in seminary it was something she was dealing with, but in the last six months things began to worsen. I had her for one of my first classes at Truett (Intro. to Scriptures), and needless to say she has meant a lot to many people at (and outside) of Truett. I got a call from Kristen on Thursday and she broke the news to me. During the day I got a number of calls from friends letting me know the sad occurance. For me the part that stinks the most about her death is that I am currently in San Francisco and was not in Waco, and cannot be in Waco for the visitation and funeral. I will not be there to be able to grieve with my friends – to be in the community that loved her and that I love as well.
The summer of 2004 was the summer between my first and second year at Truett and I was doing camp in Chicago. I remember going to visit one of my staffers to check up on her day. When I got there she pulled me to the side and said, “Josh, I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” (which of course braces you for news you know you are not really ready to hear), “but I just got off the phone with Toph and he told me to tell you that Dr. Conyers died today.” Again, this was not an unexpected happening, I had him for class that spring (and the previous fall) and there were many days that he was not able to make class because of cancer treatment. I spent that day driving around Chicago just thinking and remembering. Later that day I was able to call Ryan (who was also not in Waco at the time) to talk and to grieve. What I hated about that circumstance was that I was not in a place where I could leave and be in Waco. I was not able to be there and grieve with my friends – to be in the community that loved him and that I love as well.
This summer I went to India, and before my fellow travelers and I arrived in India we were in Los Angeles and Hong Kong. Our first day in Hong Kong was such a tiring day. We walked around the whole city in order to get used to the new time zone and to avoid jet lag. That night I was ready for bed and slept incredibly well. The next morning I was awoken by an early knock on my door. Ken got up to answer the door and Dr. Stroope walked in with a telephone in hand. Now, on this trip we all knew that if someone was calling from the states it was probably not good news on the other end – and it was not. Dr. Stroope sat down and said, “This is Rebekah Carter on the phone – one of your friends has died.”
Rebekah was one of my best friends in college (and after) and was also a fraternity sweetheart for the fraternity I was in. I count her, Jon Metts and Pete Marsh as some of my closest friends from college. She and I had not talked in a long time, and the only reason I thought she would be calling me in Hong Kong was to tell me that my best friend from college, Jon, had died. I sat with the phone in my hand for a second preparing to hear her voice and her news. It was not her on the other line. Instead it was Janalee who said hello. It took me a second to realize that it was not Rebekah, but I soon did when Janalee said, “Josh, I have some terrible news. Rebekah died in a car wreak yesterday.” Janalee gave me some details and stated how sorry she was about the whole situation. She was able to give Jon the number in Hong Kong and a few minutes later I was on the phone with him. He gave me some more details about the incident, we shared some old stories, and shared a mutual shock. He asked if I could make it back for the visitation and funeral – I had to say that I could not.
That morning I walked to a spot overlooking a part of Hong Kong. There is a huge cross that sits on this mountain which can be seen from the city below. I’ve never really been a fan of these types of these religious monuments in the U.S., but I was thankful for this one on that particular day. I sat at the base of that cross to journal, to remember my friend, to cry, to be mad at God, and to grieve. In my mind I thought of all the people who would be at her funeral – people I had not seen in years, and so many of my fraternity brothers. These were people who where my community for a number of years and in a time of great need I was not able to be with them. I was not able to be there and grieve with my old friends – to be in a community that loved her and that I loved as well.
I don’t know why throughout all my time at seminary that when someone whose life has intersected mine in a formational way has died I have been in a place that does not allow me to return. [The death of my pastor almost a year ago is the only instance where I was actually in Waco]
Tonight I do not even remember what Joshua or Adam said, but it made me wonder if I have properly grieved for these losses. I mean, I push them to a proper place in my mind that allows them to be safely overlooked. On top of that I know that I am predominantly an inward processor…especially when it comes to something like death. However, I started to wonder if part of the grieving process is not fully realized until it is done within the community that holds common memories of that person, and the memories that are attached to that person in one’s own mind.
For each person we know there is a context, along with a setting that contains certain characters and props that appear in a person’s story. For Dr. Foster there is a class room, a seminary, a wit, Kentucky paraphernalia, a whip, a thrown tissue box, a heavy coat (because her classrooms were like refrigerators), for me (and some others) a lunch at Red Lobster and On the Border, and a meaningful chat in the hall after Kyle’s death.
I could make a similar list for Dr. Conyers and for Rebekah as well as for anyone in my life that has passed. But within these props are stories, and stories have an enduring and endearing manner about them. They seem to carry on the life of someone who has moved on (living or deceased) – and in some way many of these stories acquire a life of their own. Many of these stories have been heard many times, and still people do not get tired of hearing the account. Sometimes we all get the privilege of hearing the story from someone who tells it best – a “keeper of the story” if you will. Even though there may be a protest to the telling because it has been told and heard many times people still insist, “Tell it anyway.” When the “keeper” shares the story most people know the script, they know the characters, they know the lines and some can even be seen saying the lines silently with the teller. Many even know the cadence of the story and begin to smile before a funny moment is revealed and begin to look sad before a touching line is stated – anyone new to the story need not even hear the story, they could follow the tale by simply watching the listener’s faces. There are moments when the telling is so vivid that the feelings and the smells even seem to reappear and add reality to a memory. At the end of the telling there is a great feeling of shared experience, and a wonderful peace of having a moment in the past reconstructed in the mind so that people can say, “Yes, I was there and I remember…I remember the place, the moment, and the people (even the ones who are no longer with us).”
What is it about story telling that softens grief – or at least helps us deal with it? Is it that in the retelling of the stories we realize that life is good, and on many levels has been good even in the worst of losses? Is it that we realize and remember all the life one life has brought into the world? Or is it that in our remembering we are reminded what we love about life and about others?
Storytelling is a communal affair – there is only so much that one can remember on one’s own. This may be one of the reasons grieving alone sucks – there are no stories to tell with people who do not share the same characters and setting that you have. The stories can be told, but the appreciation is not there (and that is not their fault). So, as a community I love grieves today know that I would love to be there – and share, share stories, a means that draws us together and is one of our eternal links to the past
Sunday, September 17, 2006
david crowder???
this is really just a quick story that has no deep meaning...except that you truett and ubc folks might find it humorous.
in my time at truett, and going to ubc, i know that i have been in multiple conversations about how the david crowder band has an unexplainably huge following of people (esp. youth) from asian decent -- this has just been an observation of many people.
well, this weekend (friday night & sunday morning) mark was speaking at a taiwanese church in the bay area and invited me to come with him. the first night we got there early to meet with the people who brought mark in, and to just get a feel for the church community. as our hosts were walking us around the church for a tour we walked into the kitchen where about six of the youth were making a cake for their pastor (it was his birthday). we were standing on the opposite side of the room from the youth when our host said, "hey kids, this is our speaker for the night mark scandrette..." before she could finish her sentence one of the youth looked at me in my green zipped up track jacket, jeans, full (red) beard, glasses, and newsboy cap and said, "hey you in the middle...you look like david crowder man." now i have gotten matthew lillard, james van der beek, and even matthew mcconaughey...but david crowder, that is a new one, and a stretch. i'm don't even have black hair.
so i just laughed and said, "well the next time i see him i'll tell him you think i look like him." all the student's heads looked up with a curious look and one asked, "you know david crowder?" so i said, "well kinda, he is the worship leader at my church." you would have thought i had said jesus was standing outside the door...they all stopped what they were doing and came around to meet me. i was not that interesting of a person until i said i knew david crowder (thanks dave...you give me instant cred.). one girl held her mouth open for like a whole minute...she was in shock. then another student went into this sermonic like rant about how david crowder band was amazing and the best band ever. so the theory of the band having a huge following of youth from asian decent is proving to be true in california. even if the ones i talk to apparently don't really know what he looks like.
in my time at truett, and going to ubc, i know that i have been in multiple conversations about how the david crowder band has an unexplainably huge following of people (esp. youth) from asian decent -- this has just been an observation of many people.
well, this weekend (friday night & sunday morning) mark was speaking at a taiwanese church in the bay area and invited me to come with him. the first night we got there early to meet with the people who brought mark in, and to just get a feel for the church community. as our hosts were walking us around the church for a tour we walked into the kitchen where about six of the youth were making a cake for their pastor (it was his birthday). we were standing on the opposite side of the room from the youth when our host said, "hey kids, this is our speaker for the night mark scandrette..." before she could finish her sentence one of the youth looked at me in my green zipped up track jacket, jeans, full (red) beard, glasses, and newsboy cap and said, "hey you in the middle...you look like david crowder man." now i have gotten matthew lillard, james van der beek, and even matthew mcconaughey...but david crowder, that is a new one, and a stretch. i'm don't even have black hair.
so i just laughed and said, "well the next time i see him i'll tell him you think i look like him." all the student's heads looked up with a curious look and one asked, "you know david crowder?" so i said, "well kinda, he is the worship leader at my church." you would have thought i had said jesus was standing outside the door...they all stopped what they were doing and came around to meet me. i was not that interesting of a person until i said i knew david crowder (thanks dave...you give me instant cred.). one girl held her mouth open for like a whole minute...she was in shock. then another student went into this sermonic like rant about how david crowder band was amazing and the best band ever. so the theory of the band having a huge following of youth from asian decent is proving to be true in california. even if the ones i talk to apparently don't really know what he looks like.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
to borrow from mr. brueggemann -- "finally comes the poet"
My transition to San Francisco is going wonderfully. My first week here I had to pinch myself and remind myself that I was living in San Francisco. Today (and the past couple of days) I’ve walked out and felt like I was apart of the city. Like it was starting to open up to me and tell me the story it is meant to share with me and why it brought me to its residence.
I’ve also been getting used to my weekly activities, and so have my legs. My legs have had to get used to walking everywhere…although it has been wonderful to be in a place where the weather is agreeable enough to walk. There is so much to share, but I wanted to write something down before it left the freshness of memory.
Last night Adam, Amy and I went over to the Cal-Berkley area to meet Steve, a friend of Adam’s. We were meeting there to watch one of Adam’s favorite performing arts – it’s one that he has even taken part at other venues on other nights. But, tonight he was not performing...we were at this venue to investigate and check out the caliber of the entertainers
We had arrived to enjoy a motivating and humorous night of “poetry slam”. This location in Berkley was rumored to be one of the best poetry slams in the area – so much so that the event happened every week. In San Francisco the major venue for having poetry slam only host once a month – but in Berkley a good showing of almost 75 people piled into the room to hear the eloquence of the poets.
Now I have been to poetry slams before. I remember one at a local coffee house in Waco one night, which really wasn’t that bad. I mean, I’m not about to say that Texas doesn’t have poets as good – Austin, after all, hosted the national poetry slam competition last week. However, what I will say is that the poets from the night in Waco do not stick in my mind as well as last night’s bards.
The night’s inaugural speakers were not bad, they were a good start. (I say this in comparison to the night’s later performers, not because I could do better, or that I am an expert in this art – because I’m defiantly not, and admire their boldness to share their creations publicly) If you have never been to a poetry slam be cautioned that there is no censoring, so if you don’t like crude subjects and foul language I suggest that you try to see the beauty in the art (or just bypass the experience altogether, which would be regretable). The topics varied from political statements, personal confessions, rants about nothing, lamentations about lost love, and sexual exploits. And sometimes all these subjects at once.
There is such a beauty to this type of speech – a rhythmic pentameter and wit that moves the listeners, whether they like or agree with the statements. If there is one thing that can be said about these prophets it’s that they are raw and authentic with their discourse. There is no guessing what they are thinking or feeling – it is in their verse, in their tone, in their delivery, and in their body – their art is apart of who they are, and the spectators get to enjoy the outpouring.
In many of the poems there were rumblings and hints of revolution – a feeling that something was on the threshold, and these poets wanted to be the voices that helped start the movement. And maybe they will. Sitting listening to these 2-3 minute poems moved my inner being more than some sermons have. I was not alone.
After the poems were finished, and the night concluded we all went to chat. On our drive Steve was sharing how he was interning at a church in Oakland, and how he had just returned that day from a retreat with his pastor. This particular retreat was a gathering of many pastors and church leaders from major churches in northern California, Oregon and Washington. Steve talked about how much of conference bored him. He stated that there wasn’t a sermon he didn’t fall asleep in. He was talking about how it seemed that most of the leaders there just did not get the upcoming culture or the reality of postmodernism.
All of what Steve said I was listening to, but one statement struck me. In a moment of frustration he said, “I just spent four days on retreat with the leading pastors in the Northwest…I’m suppose to be inspired after something like that right? But none of them moved me as much as these poets did tonight – I’m ready to start the revolution after that.”
Why is it that true revolutionaries are rarely noted for what they are, or why is it that prophets are never really listened to. It’s no suprise that these prophets reside on the margins – speaking to an audience who long for something greater than what they’ve been made to settle for. It seems to have been this way for a long time though – the prophets speak, and the voice is not heard.
When we were in India Dr. Stroope would refrain, “What is India teaching you?” Mark also takes the same approach – he is always asking, “What is the city teaching you?” Last night the city was teaching me that the prophet still exists – but it is not always in the church. It is in the creation of the culture that is around it, if we will listen. It is in the creation’s art, its music, its movies, its paintings, its verse, its books, its poets. On this night I heard the prophets screaming for redemption, justice, understanding, and love. It was moving for us all…and for me, in the verse of these profane prophets…God was near.
I’ve also been getting used to my weekly activities, and so have my legs. My legs have had to get used to walking everywhere…although it has been wonderful to be in a place where the weather is agreeable enough to walk. There is so much to share, but I wanted to write something down before it left the freshness of memory.
Last night Adam, Amy and I went over to the Cal-Berkley area to meet Steve, a friend of Adam’s. We were meeting there to watch one of Adam’s favorite performing arts – it’s one that he has even taken part at other venues on other nights. But, tonight he was not performing...we were at this venue to investigate and check out the caliber of the entertainers
We had arrived to enjoy a motivating and humorous night of “poetry slam”. This location in Berkley was rumored to be one of the best poetry slams in the area – so much so that the event happened every week. In San Francisco the major venue for having poetry slam only host once a month – but in Berkley a good showing of almost 75 people piled into the room to hear the eloquence of the poets.
Now I have been to poetry slams before. I remember one at a local coffee house in Waco one night, which really wasn’t that bad. I mean, I’m not about to say that Texas doesn’t have poets as good – Austin, after all, hosted the national poetry slam competition last week. However, what I will say is that the poets from the night in Waco do not stick in my mind as well as last night’s bards.
The night’s inaugural speakers were not bad, they were a good start. (I say this in comparison to the night’s later performers, not because I could do better, or that I am an expert in this art – because I’m defiantly not, and admire their boldness to share their creations publicly) If you have never been to a poetry slam be cautioned that there is no censoring, so if you don’t like crude subjects and foul language I suggest that you try to see the beauty in the art (or just bypass the experience altogether, which would be regretable). The topics varied from political statements, personal confessions, rants about nothing, lamentations about lost love, and sexual exploits. And sometimes all these subjects at once.
There is such a beauty to this type of speech – a rhythmic pentameter and wit that moves the listeners, whether they like or agree with the statements. If there is one thing that can be said about these prophets it’s that they are raw and authentic with their discourse. There is no guessing what they are thinking or feeling – it is in their verse, in their tone, in their delivery, and in their body – their art is apart of who they are, and the spectators get to enjoy the outpouring.
In many of the poems there were rumblings and hints of revolution – a feeling that something was on the threshold, and these poets wanted to be the voices that helped start the movement. And maybe they will. Sitting listening to these 2-3 minute poems moved my inner being more than some sermons have. I was not alone.
After the poems were finished, and the night concluded we all went to chat. On our drive Steve was sharing how he was interning at a church in Oakland, and how he had just returned that day from a retreat with his pastor. This particular retreat was a gathering of many pastors and church leaders from major churches in northern California, Oregon and Washington. Steve talked about how much of conference bored him. He stated that there wasn’t a sermon he didn’t fall asleep in. He was talking about how it seemed that most of the leaders there just did not get the upcoming culture or the reality of postmodernism.
All of what Steve said I was listening to, but one statement struck me. In a moment of frustration he said, “I just spent four days on retreat with the leading pastors in the Northwest…I’m suppose to be inspired after something like that right? But none of them moved me as much as these poets did tonight – I’m ready to start the revolution after that.”
Why is it that true revolutionaries are rarely noted for what they are, or why is it that prophets are never really listened to. It’s no suprise that these prophets reside on the margins – speaking to an audience who long for something greater than what they’ve been made to settle for. It seems to have been this way for a long time though – the prophets speak, and the voice is not heard.
When we were in India Dr. Stroope would refrain, “What is India teaching you?” Mark also takes the same approach – he is always asking, “What is the city teaching you?” Last night the city was teaching me that the prophet still exists – but it is not always in the church. It is in the creation of the culture that is around it, if we will listen. It is in the creation’s art, its music, its movies, its paintings, its verse, its books, its poets. On this night I heard the prophets screaming for redemption, justice, understanding, and love. It was moving for us all…and for me, in the verse of these profane prophets…God was near.
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