Healthiness on the inside and out.

Yesterday I did 17 minutes of Zumba.

Enough to make me sweat? Yes.

Enough to make any physical difference on my body? Probably not.

I'm not losing any dress sizes soon. But. I swore the general confidence in myself sprang 200% and lasted a good few hours.

After a bout with pneumonia and being busy and stressed, I'm so grateful to be, even just a little, active again.

Let us be motivated not by what we will look like, but how we will feel.

I don't just talk about Luther because I think he is bad-ass.

This post is my processing some things from the synod missional gathering last Saturday here in El Paso. For a few hours, I gathered with folks from my church, from the border conference within our synod, and a couple of synod representatives (including the bishop), to talk about what it is to be a church and the Church.

(Wondering what the heck a synod is and who is a bishop? Explore, my friend: http://www.elca.org/Who-We-Are/Our-Three-Expressions.aspx)

At the gathering, Bishop Gonia presented about the identity of an ELCA congregation. And although I usually don't like to put labels on everyone within the ELCA or within a certain denomination/group/etc, I found myself falling into the labels that he shared. I found what he had to say so true, and it is helping me shape a response when people ask, "so what do Lutherans believe anyway?" Even though I have thought of my response a lot, I still have a hard time answering that question. I think part of the beauty of the Lutheran-Christian faith IS the fact that I am unsure about how to answer that question. Being a bit confused about how to respond helps me recognize the openness, grayness, unsure-ness, and I'm-not-gonna-tell-you-what-to-believe-ness of Lutheran theology. I love that about Lutheranism. I get concerned if any denomination has it all figured out and fit into an exact system what folks are supposed to believe.

I know not all Lutherans would agree with me that Lutheran theology isn't precise, and even pinpointing Bishop Gonia's descriptions as "Lutheran" is systematizing it in a way. But even within the characteristics below, there is so much leeway. So much room for the Holy Spirit to enter in and allow God to move.

I DO talk about the Lutheran church and Martin Luther a lot... probably too much... but hearing what the bishop had to say affirmed my affection towards and fascination with the Lutheran church body (pues, at least the ELCA). And I don't think my desire to be a pastor within the ELCA (God-willing) is simply a result of "how I grew up" or even following along with just "what I know"...even though ELCA theology is the best that I know. In my exploration of "Lutheran faith" I have found God to best expressed in the way that I view God and see God at work within the Lutheran identity.

This is Martin Luther. Not Bishop Gonia.
Just to clarify.

The first characteristic of our ELCA identity is a Radical Grace. All Christian churches talk about grace - heck, it's at the heart of the Gospel - but in the words of Bishop Gonia, how we (we=ELCA Lutherans) carry the message of grace is unique. Even though I don't remember all that he got into about this, haha, I come to think of this as how we respond to the message of grace is different than our other Christian brothers and sisters. It is not just about accepting this grace as atonement for sins or to guarantee a spot in eternal life. It does not stop there. The grace that Christ exemplified is one of unconditional love for all. Lutherans embody that here and now, in a movement from head to embodiment - this message of grace not just in my head for me, but becoming a lived experience that inevitable affects my neighbor. This Radical Grace flows from everything that we do. It is a "daring, living confidence in God's grace," according to Martin Luther. And the ELCA website homepage expresses it well: "We are the church that shares a living, daring confidence in God's grace. Liberated by our faith, we embrace you as a whole person — questions, complexities and all."

The second characteristic of the ECLA identity is the Theology of the Cross. You can google "Theology of the Cross" versus the "Theology of Glory," etc. and learn more about it if you haven't heard the distinction before. Something that Biship Gonia said that stuck with me was that the Theology of the Cross expresses that "there is no place where God does not fully dwell." Christ is present in happiness AND in suffering. And because of that, everything has redemptive power. We go to the margins because that is where we are reminded of God's love. Everything - every person and every situation - even in the margins - can be a part of God's redemption for the world. I think that's pretty cool.

The final characteristic is the reality of Paradox. (Just last night I introduced the word paradox to some youth group kids, and it was awesome. We were talking about Jesus being both human and divine, and a video we watched described it as paradoxical. It's amazing what kids hold onto, and this idea that something can be something that it shouldn't be... at the same time... was fascinating for them.) The bishop shared how we live as a "both-and" church in an "either-or" world. (I found this affirming of my appreciation for the ELCA to be open and non-committal to one way of thinking.) We are quick to place things on one side of the line or the other, but we fail to recognize that God is present on BOTH sides. He tied this into how young adults are responding the the church as well, and I totally get what he means. Young adults are almost craving paradox. They are looking for someone to be honest, rather than tell them what to believe, or tell them that they have to pick one side or another. We are okay with the fact that we are sinner and saint at the same time; that there is law and there is gospel; that the sacred can be present in the secular, and vice versa. We embrace the paradox rather than try to avoid it. 

Jesus was a paradox.. Just sayin'.

This is just a little bit of my reflecting and unpacking, and I have much more to think about. This part of Bishop Gonia's presentation, however, gave me a space to help better organize some of my thoughts and experiences of what is to be a Lutheran-Christian. He helped give words to what I experience within this church body, and I am grateful for that. I found it worth sharing with whoever reads this not for the sake of converting everyone to Lutheranism (I promise I don't try to do that... often.), but for the sake of making the Gospel known. How we live out these three characteristics - all based in Christ's Gospel message of life-over-death - in my opinion, will help us show God's love to a world so desperately in need of Life to win.

A sermon on persistently seeking justice, and not trying to be a voice for those who already have a voice

Then Jesus told his disciples a parable to show them that they should always pray and not give up. He said: “In a certain town there was a judge who neither feared God nor cared what people thought. And there was a widow in that town who kept coming to him with the plea, ‘Grant me justice against my adversary.’ For some time he refused. But finally he said to himself, ‘Even though I don’t fear God or care what people think, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will see that she gets justice, so that she won’t eventually come and attack me!’” And the Lord said, “Listen to what the unjust judge says. And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly. However, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?” (Luke 18:1-8)

As I read through the parable of the persistent widow, I couldn't help but think of the many determined individuals and communities I met during my time of studying in Central America. During my semester there my senior year of college, I met many people living out social change and responding to injustice in their communities. One group that practiced the highest level of persistence I have ever witnessed was a group of folks I met in the Nicaraguan capital city of Managua whose community was known as “Tent City.” (side note: I blogged about this here.)

This “tent city” was built when hundreds of Nicaraguans marched from their homes in the rural areas of Nicaragua some five years earlier. Traveling by foot 40 to 100 miles from their homes, most of these folks had worked on banana plantations whose presence filled the lush lands of Central America starting in the early 20^th century. These plantations, which belonged to large fruit companies such as Dole and DelMonte, used a chemical pesticide known as Nemagon, which had been banned in the US in the 70s due to the harmful medical side effects that had been traced back to it. Nemagon continued to be used in Central America and was attributed to causing a variety of health problems among the campesinos working the banana fields – kidney failure, sterility, lung cancer, blindness, and much more. They themselves are living with cancer and disease, and have lost many loved ones. They had marched in protest of the use of the chemical, and built themselves these homes made of sticks and random pieces of wood that held up sheets of plastic. They established their community in silent protest right across the street from the tallest building in Managua, which houses the congressional offices. When we drove by, we could not miss the sight of the tall government building or the tent city right across the street. The community’s persistence has resulted in the loss of their homes back in rural Nicaragua, and some support from the government, including food supplements, medical attention, and even new houses being built for them in the city.

Although the government has responded, the fruit companies have not. Like the unjust judge, the companies did not have respect for people, at least not the powerless campesinos who worked in the fields. And like the persistent widow, the workers were not about to give up their fight for justice. They sought more than a handout or money, or even an apology. They sought a systemic transformation of unjust policies and practices that have resulted in the persecution of the most vulnerable of their population. They sought, and continue to seek, complete and transformative justice.

It is easy to see the vulnerable and powerless—the widows—in a new place unfamiliar to us, but we cannot deny the presence of the oppressed within our own nation, within our state, within our city; in our neighborhoods, at our work places, and even within our church. We cannot ignore the oppressed on this side of the border and on the other side of the fence. Just the fact that there are concerns about the government cutting back funding for programs like food stamps, and that mothers—probably including many widows—dependent on WIC have been suffering from the government dilemma about how to spend federal money. No matter your opinion about how much we ought to be giving to folks in poverty, the truth of the matter is that we have many widow-types living all around us. Those who are the vulnerable and the most powerless in our society are often the people who are also the most dependent on everyone else; and our political and social systems tend not to favor these folks and our policies often ignore them.

Often we label those who are living on the margins of society as the “voiceless;” and we, if we are truly concerned for the wellbeing of our oppressed brothers and sisters, must be a “voice for the voiceless.” But if Jesus’ parable shows us anything it is that the widows of society do, in fact, have a voice, and they are not afraid to use it. The widow in the story pesters and pesters the judge until he gives her what she demands. He grants her request probably out of annoyance; or more likely, as a man mostly focused on himself, out of fear of his own humiliation. The point is not that the widow does not have a voice and needs someone to speak up for her; the point is how she can get her voice heard. Shane Claiborne, a social activist and new monastic in Philadelphia states it well. He says, “Everyone has a voice…We are not a voice for the voiceless. The truth is that there is a lot of noise out there drowning out quiet voices, and many people have stopped listening to the cries of their neighbors. Lots of folks have put their hands over their ears to drown out the suffering. Institutions have distanced themselves from the disturbing cries. When Paul writes in Romans 8 that the entire creation is groaning for its liberation…This is the chorus of the generations of seemingly voiceless people that we have joined. And God has a special ear for their groaning, regardless of who else is listening” (The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical). 

Everyone has a voice, and we do not have to be a voice for those who already have their own voice. But many  voices of many have been drowned out. God hears the cries of the oppressed and the vulnerable, but these same cries fall onto our deaf ears. How can we use our faith in this God who hears all who cry out, and open our own ears and hearts to empathetically hear the cries of the powerless and the suffering among us? How much more will our God respond to the cries of all, if even just one widow was able to stand up and receive justice from a powerful judge. Our good news is that we have a God who will respond even more promptly and in such greater ways to our pleas for justice as we wholeheartedly listen to one another and work for justice together.

In our fight for justice, we cannot forget the importance and the power of prayer. According to Luke, the reason Jesus told this parable was to highlight the need to “pray always and not to lose heart.” Our prayers can become support for another as we listen to each other and respond to unjust systems that are oppressing us and our neighbor. Our prayers can empower and strengthen us as we attempt to do justice, as the book of Micah suggests. And we can have confidence that our prayers do not fall onto deaf ears, rather that God hears our cries as we cry out together with our oppressed neighbor.

Jesus was known for prioritizing justice for the rejected and the most vulnerable of society. We witness this throughout the entirety of the Gospels, from the accounts of Jesus’ actions, to the stories that Jesus himself told, like the parable of the persistent widow. According to Jim Wallis of Sojourners magazine, there are over 2,000 verses in the Bible that address God’s justice for the poor and vulnerable. An example of modern-day persistence was manifested through the form of Jim Wallis, his Sojourners staff, and other Christians setting up camp across the street from the national Capitol building during the government shutdown. For over two weeks, they did not leave their podium and did not cease reading scripture in what they called a #FaithfulFilibuster. They read the 2,000 verses day and night until congress ended the government shutdown. They persisted their plea for our leaders to regard their poor and oppressed neighbors, and to consider how their actions affect struggling mothers, children, farmers, cancer patients, small business owners, military families, and any and all of those whose way of sustaining their lives was halted by the government standstill. 

Our persistence and our prayers can help us to not “lose heart” as we determinedly seek justice for our neighbors—and for ourselves—in an unjust world that continues to persecute, abandon, and ridicule. Our world continues to ignore the voices of the most marginalized. Our good news is that we have a God who listens to the cries of God’s children—who does not turn a deaf ear to our pleas for justice; and God calls us to help one another find our own voice, rather than try to be each other’s’ voices. I imagine God’s hope is for us to continue trusting in God’s holy presence and goodness as we continue to listen to one another, pray together, and empower one another to bring about justice. If Jesus tells us how a selfish judge can relent to the persistent pleas of a powerless widow, how much more will God respond to our requests for justice, and how much more promptly and in such greater ways. We can have faith in a God, who through the Gospel message of Christ, has revealed to us that God not only favors the vulnerable and marginalized, but that God offers new life that can overcome any powers of oppression. We have been given a message that would not only bring a selfish judge to submit to a powerless widow—but a message that has the divine ability to uplift, empower, and transform an unjust world. 

"I wish God would have said..."

Even though I'm hired to do youth ministry at Peace Lutheran Church, I still help lead the youth group at Iglesia Luterana Cristo Rey - a bilingual, mostly immigrant, church in a much poorer and more central neighborhood of El Paso.

Last night at Cristo Rey we started our youth group lesson (about "who" wrote the Bible) with the question, "What is one thing you wish God said?" The kids' responses were simple and beautiful:

"I wish God would've said if all religions were the same or not."
"I wish God would say for my doggie to have puppies."
"I wish God said your grandpa is looking down on you."
"I wish God said 'question your authority.'"
"I wish God said 'freedom for ALL.'"
"I wish God said that there wouldn't be no problems in the world."
"I wish God said go to school 4 hours daily only."
"I wish God would've said: 'You are precious.'"
"I wish God said there shall be no borders."

"I wish God said that everything is ok."

We then proceeded to talk about whether or not God has already said these things and began our discussion about if the Bible was written by God or humans.

Their responses simply remind me: Young people are a Divine gift.

“I’m gonna make this place your home”

I wrote this brief article for Peace Lutheran's most recent newsletter.

This week, I have talked about the same thing with almost all of the high schoolers with whom I have chatted: HOMECOMING.

It’s that time of the year—all of my young friends have just finished Homecoming festivities, or are getting ready for them. Some are most excited about the dress-up days, some the football game, others the Homecoming dance. No matter their social standing or what they think of school, they seem to be thinking about Homecoming.

I have wrestled a lot with the concept of “Homecoming.” I haven’t been back for Homecoming at either my high school or university, even though part of the point, in my understanding, of Homecoming is for alumni to “come back home.”

You see, it’s hard for me to pinpoint where my “home” is. I grew up in Iowa, attended college in South Dakota, have spent time throughout Central America and traveling throughout the US, and now live in El Paso. I have spent time at many different churches, workplaces, and houses. When I think of “home,” I don’t just think of my hometown, my high school, or even El Paso. I think of all the places where I have lived, visited—where I have experienced life—and the people who influenced me during my time there. I do think of my surroundings—the view of the Rock River in Iowa, the campus of Augustana, the smell of Managua—but I also think of the smiling, beautiful faces and the warm embraces of the people I have met, and the countless things I have learned about the world, about other people, and about myself.

One of the most important “homes” for me was my church in Rock Rapids, Iowa, where I attended for the first 18 years of my life.  That church community supported me for the first 3/4ths of my life, and continues to support me even while I live 24 hours away. The Immanuel Lutheran community of Rock Rapids will always be a home for me.

And this is what I want for our young people here at Peace. I want to give them a space they can make their own (hence the painting overnight!)—where they are free to explore their faith and grow as a community together. I want them to feel supported by the rest of the church community, no matter the age, background, or experiences of other members of Peace. I want them to see the beauty of El Paso and see what they can learn from our larger community by serving together.

I want this to become one of their “homes.” A place where they can feel safe, supported, and, most importantly, loved.

My life is ruined.

Thanks to my education, my way of thinking has been ruined.
Thanks to my religion degree, my theology has been ruined.
Thanks to my studies abroad, my view of the world has been ruined.
Thanks to my experiences among the poor, my view of money has been ruined.
Thanks to the many places I have lived, my view of community has been ruined.
Thanks to where I live now, my idea of culture has been ruined.
Thanks to the people with whom I work and serve, my view of justice has been ruined.

I am forever ruined; I am forever in the process of reconstruction. And I would never have it any other way.

Today I'm feeling grateful for the people who have walked alongside me in this process of destruction, change, and growth. If you are reading this, you were probably a part of one or another processes.

Thank you for ruining my life. :)

God, our youth need your Goodness.

The day of Pentecost was a few days ago. The season of Easter finished up then, too. And tonight, I'm having a hard time remembering that the gift of the Spirit and the promise of Life-over-death continue on... that these mere church holidays don't represent the reality of God, just our human celebration/acknowledgment of God's revelation. "Easter is an everyday - an every moment - thing," I keep saying. And tonight is another one of those nights when all I can pray is: God - loving and alive Spirit - move in the lives of my youth... bring them some Easter, some life over the death and darkness in their lives.


"yeah, it was immigration."

The mom of two of our middle schoolers got detained last week for issues with her legal status.

Come, Holy Spirit.


"She says they don't have the $400 to fix his papers and let him go to camp..."

Another one of our youth is in the process of applying for Deferred Action, which would give him freedom to leave El Paso - to join us for a week at a camp in Arizona. Perhaps giving him the "best week of his life."

Come, Holy Spirit.


"miss, can i be dropped off last?...

...yeah, miss, I work every saturday and sunday at a maquila in juarez... do you know what a maquila is? yeah, I make the bombas for estufas... you know what those are? ok. yeah, look, see i have these on my hands (shows me scars and bruises on his thumb). so i do have some money. i go every weekend with my friend. i help my mom with the rent, too. she wants a job but she had one and it didn't work out because of her schedule and the kids..."

One of our 12-year-olds doesn't like to be at home. Ever. And when I ask if he can ask his mom if he can go to summer camp, his eyes drop and his voice goes low.

Come, Holy Spirit.


"You could tell that her dad was really pissed off. He was yelling a lot."

One of the youth group kids I work with didn't go walking straight home after youth group tonight. Instead she went to a friend's house and her dad came looking for her an hour later.

Come, Holy Spirit.


For our future leaders, for those who will change the world: Our youth. Our children. Our young friends.

Lord, fill them with your Spirit. May the darkness and injustice in their lives be met - be overcome - by your Goodness and Light.

Come, Holy Spirit.

Glimpses of New Life

I recently wrote this short article for a couple of local church newsletters through Border Servant Corps, and a version was also published in Ciudad Nueva's newsletter, which you can read here: http://us1.campaign-archive2.com/?u=1f9860c2f61d97be79b2d5dda&id=45c95891ea&e=e4ab4f268b 

The border can be a hard place to find Hope. The middle schoolers with whom I work constantly have a hard time finding that place where their lives belong – where they fit in, where they can feel comfortable, and where they can be safe. They are daily faced with the oppression of bullies at school, unsupportive family at home, and opportunities for drug use and other negative pressures from their friends. My BSC community members and I are constantly hearing stories of desperation – of women who have been separated from their loved ones, of families who can’t scrape up enough money to pay the bills, of children who have been abused. Personally in the last few weeks, I have found myself more discouraged that usual, and I’ve had to spend more time disciplining our after-school kids rather than building positive relationships with them. The past few weeks for me seem to have been overcome by anxiety and anguish of Lent; and it has been difficult to discover Hope.

But thanks be to God, I have been able to glimpse the Risen Lord, even amongst so much brokenness and pain. In my experiences in working with kids here on the border, perhaps the times I see the gift of New Life the most is in opportunities for our kids to discover themselves through new experiences. The most joyous time of my year so far has been taking a group of 12 kids to Hueco Tanks for a day of hiking and rock climbing. None of them had ever done outdoor rock climbing, and as I witnessed our kids conquer the rock, I saw the face of Christ and felt the joy of Life overcoming death. It is amazing how a 10-minute journey up a 20-foot wall of rock can reveal the journey of Lent and the emergence of Easter. Anguish was evident in the kids’ fear of taking the first hand-hold and their shaky bodies as they first pulled themselves up the rock. There were moments of hopelessness and exhaustion. But then standing at the top of the climb, seeing the kids finally pull up and over the top of the rock, the determination in their faces, and the high-fives of joy after conquering the rock, reminded me of the Hope of Easter and the ability to overcome fear and desperation.

In an environment of constant brokenness and struggle, especially on the border, it is hard to find Hope. My heart breaks when a 13-year-old tells me about his abusive mother, when I meet his alcoholic father, when he is constantly being beat up at school. Sometimes all the powers of darkness seem to be working against these kids and the people of the borderland. But I am so grateful when I am given opportunities to glimpse the Risen Lord who overcomes powers of sin, death, and darkness. When a mom finds a safe place to live with her family, when our teenagers are finally given a long-awaited work visa, when a middle schooler finds joy in trying something new like rock climbing – it is in those moments when I find Hope and when the Resurrection of Christ is revealed. 

Resurrection today and everyday

To say that I love Easter is an understatement. I LIVE for Easter. I live for the celebration of the Resurrection. I live for the message that Life has won out over death. I live for saying "Alleluia!" again. I live for the anthems of "Jesus Christ is risen today!" and "Come and rise up from the grave!" As I sit here listening to my Easter playlist, it's hard for me to resist the urge to jump and dance around. I don't know what to do with myself! I am overwhelmed with Joy. And it's hard for me not to include a million "!!!!!!!!" in this post.

But even in the midst of my joy - even though I can't wipe the smile off my face and even though I've been shouting, "Jesus!! Alleluia!!" all morning... a part of me is still stuck on Good Friday. I am overwhelmed with joy, but confused as to why not everyone is feeling the same joy.

I attended a really interesting and cool Good Friday worship on Friday. The service was divided into different parts that focused on a specific "oppressed communities," if you will. These groups of people included immigrants, the economically disadvantaged, single mothers, children, women, the unemployed, and prisoners. During each focus group, members from the congregation were invited to approach the cross if they were included in the group, or were affected by someone in that group. During each group of people, we all joined in song, scripture, reflection, and prayer focused on the needs of the specific group standing at the cross. This format and the content of the service really motivated me to reflect on the message of the Cross, and its relevance for our world here and now.

But since the service, I have been disturbed with the question, "If Jesus died on the cross and rose again to conquer death, sin, and the powers of evil... than why does so much evil still exist?" Why do we still have these suffering people? Why is there still so much pain? If Life had the final word... than why does death still prevail in our world?

We could get into a bunch of discussions about free will/the devil/God and suffering/original sin/whatever, but  I've had those conversations before, and I don't want to just talk about how this all doesn't really make sense. I've been confused in the past, I've doubted, I've questioned... but I think I have finally come to a point where I am content with moving forward from those conversations into doing something that reflects the Gospel message... even if it doesn't all always make sense.

I think what I am feeling this Resurrection day is a huge NEED for the message of Easter. I'm not so much focused on the questions that are evoked in myself when I read the Passion story; rather I'm looking at the necessity for this story to be made real, despite confusion within and surrounding it. Yes, I left the Good Friday service feeling distraught. But I also left feeling compassion and the need to DO something.

And that is what I think Jesus calls us to... to DO something that reflects the message that Life overcomes death. That's where my theology has found its grounding.

I think many people find joy on this day because they realize that they have been spared from eternal death and punishment. I do not doubt that to be true. Christ's sacrifice and defying death conquered all - even that inevitable Cross moment when our heart stops beating and air stops flowing from our lungs. God has gifted us eternity in God's presence. And for that I am truly grateful. But is that really all that today is about? Is the Resurrection really only relevant for that day when we stop breathing?

We have opportunities to live out the Resurrection everyday, all the time. We are constantly surrounded by suffering people - whether they are prisoners or the unemployed; addicts or asylum seekers; homeless folks or abused children. They might be our roommate struggling with a fear of the future; a middle schooler getting bullied at school; or an old person suffering from loneliness.

So I think today I am not only overwhelmed with joy; but I am also motivated by hope. Hope that the Resurrection will be made real as often as God reveals God's good self. Hope that Life will win out over all situations of death. Hope that God will use us to bring about joy, peace and Life to all people.

"The good news of the resurrection of Jesus is not that we shall die and go home to be with him, but that he has risen and comes home with us, bringing all his hungry, naked, thirsty, sick prisoner brothers with him." (Clarence Jordan)

Someone Else's Shoes

I walked a mile in someone else's shoes yesterday. It took an embarrassing mistake of absentmindedness to develop the need to walk in said shoes, but... it happened.

I'm house-sitting for a couple who are good friends of Ciudad Nueva's who own a farm outside of El Paso. They're in Vegas for the week, and I've been given the task of feeding their dogs and cat, eating their food, watching their large TV, and sleeping in a huge bed in their huge house.

Yesterday morning when I went out to check on the dogs before hopping in the shower and then heading into town, the sliding door locked behind me. There I was... on the back patio, keyless, phoneless, and shoeless. I started searching all around the house for any hint of a trace of a spare key, walking on mulch and in dirt in my socks. Nothing. After about an hour of searching, I decided I had to go to the neighbors' and see if they had the home owners' cell phone numbers... and a phone I could use. Through my searching for the spare key, I had come across a few pairs of shoes/boots that I assume the owners use for gardening and farming. So, I found a pair that fit, and started walking.

I forgot what it was like being in the country. As soon as I departed the driveway, I stopped to figure out which neighbor was closest, and the likelihood that someone would be home. Of course, the closest house - just across the dirt road - was empty except for a barking dog. I looked at the houses down the road... no people in sight, no cars in driveways. I just started walking again, probably just under half of a mile, and finally came across a kind older woman tending her horses. She was nice enough to welcome me into her home and offer me a soda. After no luck of calling other neighbors to figure out the owners' cell numbers, I hopped on her slow-moving computer, and 20 minutes later had an email pulled up with one of the owner's cell numbers. And praise the Lord, he wasn't caught up at some blackjack table ignoring calls; he answered, and shortly after, I was headed back to the house, with the location of a spare key written on a paper in my hand.

This experience of feeling lost, frustrated, and somewhat forgotten, and the need to use someone else's shoes, makes me think about the times I get torn about the work I am doing. I am a privileged, white adult citizen of the United States, and my life, my interests, reflect a push for "justice" for my friends and neighbors who are immigrants, who are poor, who are gay, who are 13-years-old, who are in dangerous situations... my neighbors of whose qualities that are the focus of their need for "justice," I share none. Heck, I should be fighting for women's rights if anything! I wonder to what extent can I walk in the shoes of the beloved kids I know who live in 10x10 casitas with five other family members, or the caring parents who do not have papers even though their kids do. Is my 40 hours a week of running an after-school program enough to say that I have "walked in her shoes"? Is living blocks away from the most impoverished neighborhood in the state enough to say that I am living in solidarity with the poor?

And then there's all this talk of "indigenous leadership" lately. About how we need to get people from the neighborhood - folks who live here long-term - in charge of our programs, building relationships, and making change happen. We need to gather the community's input, let them decide what to do... instead of all of us outsiders making programs happen.

Some days I wonder if I should just move back to Iowa.

But I will remember when I almost lost hope of making it to work yesterday, when I was scared I was going to be walking down the gravel road in my socks for miles, when I thought it would be days before anyone would find me cold, hungry, stranded with the dogs outside this huge house... I will remember my panic, frustration, fear, embarrassment.

My situation will always be different from anyone with whom I work - whether they be privileged middle schoolers or low-income families, homeless folks or people living in a huge farm house outside of El Paso. But we all share the same feelings. We get scared, we get tired, we get lost, we get locked out... sure, your situation might be much more serious or more desperate than mine. But I think we can take a small step of solidarity together - in each others' shoes - if we recognize the human emotions that all of us share before allowing our differences to dictate whether or not we will work together for justice.

Immigrant Posadas

Advent here on the border means a time to celebrate Las Posadas. The Posadas commemorate divinely pregnant Mary and her escort Joseph in search of Posada, meaning "inn" or "lodging" as Mary comes due to give birth to the Christ child. The usual Posada celebration includes people dressed as the nativity characters, who search for shelter, travelling from building to building, home to home, or, in our case since it was cold outside, from one group of people to another group within the sanctuary. Through song, the humble family requests to be let in--to be given posada as the birth draws near--and we witness a back-and-forth dialogue with the holy family and the innkeeper(s). With their first three requests, they are denied:

En el nombre del cielo os pido posada pues no puede andar mi esposa amada.	In the name of Heaven I ask of you shelter, For my beloved wife Can go no farther.
Aquí no es mesón, sigan adelante Yo no debo abrir, no sea algún tunante.	There's no inn here, Go on with you, I can't open up You might be a rogue.
Venimos rendidos desde Nazaret. Yo soy carpintero de nombre José.	We're weary from traveling from Nazareth. I am a carpenter by the name of Joseph.
No me importa el nombre, déjenme dormir, pues que yo les digo que nos hemos de abrir.	I don't care who you are, Let me sleep. I already told you we're not going to open.
Posada te pide, amado casero, por sólo una noche la Reina del Cielo.	I ask you for lodging dear man of the house. Just for one night for the Queen of Heaven.
Pues si es una reina quien lo solicita, ¿cómo es que de noche anda tan solita?	Well, if it's a queen who's asking us for it, why does she travel all alone and in the night?

The holy travelers go unrecognized, and are a burden to the innkeeper, who doubts that they are more than just a begging humbug family, undeserving of shelter. But at the last stop, the innkeeper has sort of an epiphany, and the pilgrims are welcomed in. And the Christmas story continues.

Mi esposa es María, es Reina del Cielo y madre va a ser del Divino Verbo.

My wife is Mary She's the Queen of Heaven who is going to be the mother of the Divine Word.

¿Eres tú José? ¿Tu esposa es María? Entren, peregrinos, no los conocía.

Are you Joseph? Your wife is Mary? Enter, pilgrims; I did not recognize you.

Entren, Santos Peregrinos, Peregrinos, reciban este rincón. No de esta pobre morada Sino de mi corazón.

Enter, Holy Pilgrims Receive this corner Not of this poor dwelling, but of my heart.

A couple days ago, I attended a Posada celebration that took a more modern spin to the traditional story: one entitled "Posada del Barrio," given the English name of "Immigrant Posada." After being a part of this particular Posada re-enactment, there is no doubt in my mind that the biblically-based Posada celebration is relevant to this border community. As one of the speakers at the service shared, we often think of the Mary and Joseph's journey as a 2000-year-old story, and oftentimes neglect to remember its relevance still today - its aliveness still today. The intensity and reality of the words of the refined Immigrant Posada lyrics speared into me in a way that will never allow me to forget the relevance of the holy family's journey to our community today. Joseph, Mary, and baby Jesus take the form of a foreign traveling family with no proper documentation. The Posada song begins with the innkeeper taking the form of an already-migrated US citizen, responding the requests of a border-crossing migrant:

En nombre de la justicia Pido apoyo solidario Cruce la línea de noche Vengo de indocumentado	In the name of justice I ask for support and solidarity I crossed the border at night I came without papers
No vengas con tu miseria Ni vengas a molestar Te voy a echar la migra Pa que te mande a volar	Don’t come with your misery And don’t come to bother us I’m going to report you to immigration So they can send you packing
Paisano soy de tu tierra Como tu vine a buscar Con mi familia un trabajo Mira mi necesidad	Countryman, I’m from your land Like you I came with my family In search of work Look at my need
No me interesa quien sea Deja ya de mendigar Yo ya soy ciudadano Y te voy a reportar	I’m not interested in who you are Forget about begging I’m already a citizen And I’m going to report you
Ya va a nacer mi criatura No tengo a donde llegar Al brincar la muralla Mi esposa quedo muy mal	My child is about to be born I have nowhere to stay When we crossed over the wall My wife got very hurt
Si me sigues molestando La migra te voy a echar Vete mojado a tu tierra Aqui no tienes lugar	If you keep bothering me I’m going to call immigration Go back home, Wetback There’s no place for you here.

Harshly realistic. Uncomfortable. Depressing. Comparable to the innkeeper of the Christmas story.

Then, similarly to the innkeeper's epiphany at the end of the traditional song, the US citizen has a change of heart. The community that had been rejecting the migrant, now undergoes a sort of conversion, and their rejection turns into a different response:

Peregrinos de mi tierra Venga a la comunidad Aqui nos organizamos Por justicia y dignidad	Pilgrims of my land Come join our community Here we organize For justice and dignity
Gracias les damos hermanos Dios en ustedes esta Gracia por darnos posada Mil bendiciones tendrán	We give you thanks, brothers and sisters May God be with you Thank you for giving us a place to stay You will receive a thousand blessings

Vamos juntos como Pueblo, como hermanos,  como hermanas a sembrar La justicia que en el barrio, que en el barrio,  como estrella brillara

Let us go together as a people, like brothers,  like sisters to plant The seed of justice that will shine like a bright star in our community

For me the most amazing thing about the traditional Posada song is the innkeeper's transformation. After being annoyed and doubtful for three stanzas, the man's eyes are opened: This is the family he had heard about! The mother of Emmanuel - the Most High evolving within her. No way would he turn away the one carrying the promised Holy One. When his eyes recognized their holy identity, when his heart was open to the Divine, then he opened his arms and his home.

I don't think the Immigrant Posada is much different. Although we get less of a transition into the converted community who welcomes the migrant family, I can't help but to wonder if the transformation of attitude could occur because of a recognition of the Divine within the migrant.

When our eyes recognize God within our migrant brothers and sisters, will we be more motivated to open our arms and our home to them?

When our hearts are open to the Divine - when we are genuinely convicted of God's omnipresence, which includes humanity beyond our borders - will our attitude towards the migrant change?

Will we leave bitterness in the dust, and demonstrate compassion? Will we give traveling families hospitality instead of fear or separation?

Like the innkeeper's recognition of Mary, will we recognize the Holy One living within our migrant brothers and sisters?

The migrant shepherd, remembrance cross and water jug in hand.

Lessons in what Giving means

I never thought that holding a family Christmas store at our outreach would lead me into a roller-coaster-of-emotions type of day, constantly being humbled, then forceful; frustrated, then joyful. Or reveal how much I truly care about the families with whom we work.

Meet Family #1. Mom has been one of the few moms I've really had the opportunity to connect well with, which might be because she speaks English fluently and uses texting to communicate frequently...but anyway, she's also very involved in her kids' lives and seems super smart. I've never really had a conversation with Dad, but he has been around at some events, and seems to be supportive of his wife and his kids, even though he is very quiet. Their son is one of my favorites in our program - always willing to have a conversation, asking questions, behaving well, and interested in many things. I would say he is one of the middle schoolers I connect with the best, and I truly enjoy working with him. He's got two younger sisters, so he is the older brother, the other "man of the house," etc. He's a super bright kid with tons of potential, and his sisters are the sweetest.

Anyway, I've never suspected this family to have too many issues, at least when it comes to familial disputes, money, legal papers, etc. Given I don't know them all that well, yet Mom seemed to be working pretty consistently, and always willing and ready to commit money or time to her kids' involvement in our programs, and always offering us feedback and genuine understanding. 

This afternoon the family walked in to our store, and once we got the kids into the "kids' room," the mom pulled me aside, and before I could even figure out that she wasn't interested in talking about the store, she was in tears. "They shut off our electricity this afternoon. My son got home before me and when I got back from work he said, 'the lights aren't working.'" She wasn't too interested in buying gifts this afternoon; she just wanted to be able to light her house and pay for rent for these days leading up to Christmas, and leading up to her next paycheck.

Meet Family #2. 

Mom and Dad had approached one of our staff members a couple of months ago, saying that both parents were out of work and having a hard time paying bills. Both of their kids are involved in our programs and have been for awhile. On top of dealing with money and work issues, both parents were also trying to sort out issues with their visas, spending weeks in Mexico at a time, unsure of exactly what would come of the trip, or when they would return. We never knew exactly who would be picking up the kids from program each day.

But recently, things have smoothed out for this family. Both parents can be in El Paso all the time, and each day we usually end up seeing both parents at least once. Mom was able to find a job connected with our programs, so she gets to be even more involved in her kids' activities and the operation of our outreach. Dad also just recently got a stable job, and seems happy with it.

They were one of the last ones to come to our store today. I was doing front door duty, and my coworker was serving as cashier. She came over to me and asked if we were still enforcing limits on how many gifts one family could buy, since it was the end of the night, and we still had many items leftover. I told her it was fine, especially since this family is super involved and because the mom in her new position has been helping us out so much. A minute or two later, I walked over to the check-out counter, just to make sure it all worked out. As the parents approached me, and before I gave them a chance to say anything, I said, "It's fine, it's fine. I'm okay with you buying whichever gifts you want." But they weren't interested in talking about gifts; at least not gifts for their kids.

After waving off my comments and asking if I'd prefer to converse in English or Spanish, Mom explained, "We are very grateful for all that we have right now - to both be working and be able to provide for our family. And it means so much that our kids can come to your programs. We want to make a donation to Ciudad Nueva. It is a small gift, but con mucho corazon (with a lot of heart)."

I was astounded. I guess I have just never really seen a family want to give back so much to our outreach, or a parent recognize the importance of something like our youth programs for their kids, or appreciate so much a connection that led to a job.

And the donation was hefty. Expecting maybe $20, $40, we pulled out $100 from a crisp white envelope, labeled to our organization, from the family. $100 was probably three times what they had just spent on Christmas gifts, and probably a pretty big portion of their Christmas bonus. $100 that held much thought, conversation, and appreciation, I am sure.

I think it is always interesting to do things where people that we would normally think of as "poor" need to contribute something - especially money - in order to receive something, in this case, to purchase Christmas gifts. It is all part of of the community transformation strategy we are trying to implement, but I guess you always run risks of excluding some people, charging prices beyond families' abilities, etc. And it's definitely not an easy thing to do. It's not easy to talk to a mom about options of paying for her kids' Christmas gifts - work in the store an hour, putting some items back, prioritizing finances, etc. It's not easy to reconcile misunderstandings from donors about why we believe holding a "store" is a better idea than simple Christmas giving or just doing "charity" with hand-outs. It's not easy to decide what price to put on a normally-$40 crock pot or $20 Barbie in a "highly reduced cost" store. It's not easy to deal with such a variety of families, who each bring a different amount of money in their pockets, who all bring different attitudes from pride to humility...and whom we love so much.

I definitely think that as I leave this day, I am left with an "I'm so grateful for what I have" type of attitude, similar to what people obtain after mission trips, working in soup kitchens, etc; but I think, more importantly, I'm left with simply an "I'm so grateful" attitude. I'm so grateful for having had the time with families that I did today, to breach some vulnerabilities on both sides of the table, and learn many a skill in financial empowerment.

Giving the same joy

(As a follow-up to my last post...)

This video explains why we are holding a Christmas store rather than just giving out gifts this Christmas. It is a different kind of giving that does not rob one's dignity. Empowerment rather than dependency is what we're about. We want to be able to give the gift-givers a gift, too. A gift that means more than a someone on the other side of town adding an extra $15 to buy a soccer ball on their already-$150 purchase, or a random person "adopting" a family because they can't purchase gifts themselves. How would you feel if you knew someone had purchased your family for Christmas? And taken over your privilege as a parent to give your children Christmas gifts?

"We were robbing mom and dad of their dignity. We were coming into their homes and saying, 'look, since you can't take care of yourself, we have to do it for you.'"

"It was like their impotence was being exposed in front of their family."

"And on Christmas morning, parents in the city will have the same joy that parents in the suburbs have of seeing their kids open the gifts that they have selected for them, earned through the efforts of their own hands. And there will be dignity in the process of giving."

A different way of thinking; a different kind of giving

Perhaps the most frustrating, and yet enlightening, moments in my life are when I realize that not everyone in the world thinks the same as I do.

Not all Christians think about theology the way I do; not all of my family members think about global connections like I do; not every "educated" young adult thinks about money the way I do; not every volunteer at Ciudad Nueva thinks about community development in the way that I have been trained to think.

But in this season of giving, never have I felt all the things that I have been exploring about social justice, community outreach, development, and empowerment, come to such a fore front.

This year, our outreach is holding a "Christmas store" in which we are seeking donations of items to serve as gifts-for-purchase for the parents and caretakers of our neighborhood. To me, and to most of our staff, this effort makes sense. We strive to get away from the "giving to the poor" mentality that oftentimes belittles and dehumanizes the recipients of the "gifts" of money, or Christmas gifts. Through our Christmas store (and our youth stores throughout the year), we hope to give families an opportunity to take their own steps in making Christmas giving happen in their household. Rather than simply giving out donated items at Christmastime to our families, we want to give the families - especially parents - a chance to pick out gifts for their loved ones, use their own money to purchase them at highly reduced cost, and give gifts that allow them to take ownership over how and what they give at Christmas.

However, not everyone is thinking this way about Christmas giving. I've encountered many people who are just flat out confused about the idea of a Christmas store: But why don't we just give these families gifts? Why trouble the families with selling gifts where they actually have to do something to be a part of receiving the gifts?

Our hope for the stores is to give the youth and families that we work with an opportunity to feel empowered, to take ownership, to feel capable.

There are many frustrations in hosting a store rather than just giving out gifts, including donors' disagreement; but in the long run, I believe taking those extra steps to go beyond hand-outs and to some sort of ownership--even $2 worth of ownership--will be beneficial and a small step towards the transformation of our community. And perhaps our single moms and tired dads will be able to feel a bit of that "good feeling" many "better-off" folks get when they send a check in the mail or give a basketball to the "needy" kid downtown. Except our moms and dads will actually know the recipients of the gifts pretty darn well, and perhaps that "good feeling" will have so much more meaning.

Now don't get me wrong - I highly appreciate those who do, in fact, send a monthly donation to charities of their choice, drop their change in the giving boxes at the check-out counter, or ship off a shoe box-ful of gifts to kids overseas. I recognize the need for charity and at times for "hand-outs." But I think our broken world is revealing that there is so much more yet to do.

My prayer and hope is that I myself can be patient and understanding with those who don't think like me - who have a desire to give, and want the youth and families of our neighborhood to receive Christmas gifts at no cost. I'm trying to remember the generosity and kindness in the hearts of those givers, while at the same time hoping for a transformation of their minds and hearts that can find a deeper balance between hand-outs and empowerment.

I cannot say that I have the "right way" of thinking, but I only know from my experiences and my learning that this is a step in the right direction.

Deportation and Cheetos: What ought to be the prime election issues according to 8th graders

I don't know how it started, but the 15 minutes I spent hanging out with our middle school cooking class this afternoon became almost entirely a conversation about politics (well, I'm not so sure if it was a conversation, or just a sporadic rant about politics...).

Actually, I think it began with an innocent, "Miss, who are you voting for?" But before I could get any response out - which, would not have been revealing who I was voting for... I just don't think I was in the position to be sharing that with our 8th graders just yet - I was interjected with another girl's comment, that went something like this...

"Oh! Is it Romney? Because if it is then you hate Mexicans."

And before I had time to even think to myself, "Wait... wha...?" another girl interjected with their expertise opinion about Obama's sin of approving of same-sex marriage and another girl with her fact of Romney's hatred of poor people.

When I finally was able to follow up with the comment, the girl continued, "Yeah, if Romney is president he is going to send all of the Mexicans back to Mexico and they won't be able to come back. Miss, my family is Mexican and they can't go back and leave me!"

What a bold, inaccurate (well, hopefully), yet honest statement of concern. These girls, at 13 years old, are already finding the relevance of the election to their own lives... and that makes me proud a little. This connection even made me uncomfortably chuckle when another girl said, "Yeah, Miss, don't vote for Romney - he's going to take away food stamps and then how am I gonna get my Cheetos?!"

One girl was concerned about her family, another about her Cheetos... well, at least they see the pertinence of the issues to their own lives.

I was moved by their small, yet substantial, and still highly biased and naive opinions; yet frustrated with and confused about their 13-year-old selves jumping to conclusions not only about the candidates but also about my choice in candidate Which, by the way, I never revealed to them...but by the end of the "conversation," they had their minds made up about who I voted for, even though it was inaccurate.

A post that began about seminary and ended up as a push for the DREAM Act

There's been a lot of talk about higher education lately.

Last week in Minnesota, I visited Luther Seminary. Then later in the week attended a public class on popular education.

This morning in church, the lay pastor gave his testimony about his recent calls to ministry, including many months of studying to be a diaconal minister and hopefully attending seminary in the near future.

Just tonight, my roommates (also full-time volunteers) and I again shared confusion (and much nasty language) in regards to student loans.

And as always, there are thoughts about the future of El Paso's youth - daily homework time with the middle schoolers, hopeful high school graduates, young adults applying to community college with hope that their legal status won't affect their eligibility.

I'm not exactly sure what I want to say in regards to all this, except that the feelings I'm getting the most out of all this talk are: gratitude and frustration.

I am so grateful to have had post-high school education at a wonderful school that today I greatly appreciate, and to have been able to get a degree in something that absolutely fascinates me. I would not trade my experience for next-to-anything.

But then tonight, I was asked by two eighth grade girls, "Miss, what did you study at college?"

"Religion and Spanish."

"But no, like...what career is that?"

...oh the joys of a liberal arts education. And the joys of explaining my academic experience with middle schoolers who, honestly, don't see any other purpose for college than to get a job. (Maybe I have some things to learn from them.)

Now, as I consider plans for next year, I have been seriously considering applying to the seminary, similar to my lay pastor friend who gave his testimony this morning. But, unlike him, I am not too afraid that my applications for seminary or for candidacy would be rejected or that I would have to consider the possibility of being rejected due to my English language abilities like he was. I also have many options of continuing education online or moving to live near or on-campus somewhere, and I'm not forced to look into other options to continue my education, including having to take a bus 14 hours EVERY weekend to take diaconal ministry classes in LA... like my friend did for months.

See, this is why I am grateful.

But yet, I am so very frustrated. Frustrated because how do I encourage 15-year-olds who are super bright and super eager to go to college to apply to schools in eastern Texas and beyond, when we don't know when or if the outcome of their legal processes will allow them to travel outside of the border checkpoints by that point? Frustrated because we can limit a man with extremely great pastoral skills from actually achieving his lifetime goal of being an ordained minister. Frustrated because the main thing keeping me from applying to seminary is my fear of being more in debt...which yes, is legitimate, I think... but does not compare to the fear of being caught "without papers" at any time like some of the bright, young students with whom I work...those who in the future will hopefully be able to apply to college anywhere they want.

Education has always been a weird thing for me... not because I don't see the value in it, but maybe because I feel like I've had exceptional experiences within it, and that my experiences weren't necessarily as "traditional" as my peers. I'm not sure. But within the realm of being a college student, I first really found who I was, and today continue exploring just who that is. I cannot understand how we can be so limiting on who can and cannot have potentially exceptional experiences, and who can and cannot have those doors opened unto them - doors that will lead to an entirely new world, in which they can finally find themselves and be free.