Mowing on Earth Day

Monday was Earth Day.  It was also our-lawn-needs-mowing-again day, so that’s how we filled the evening.  By “we”, I mean Abbie was working in the garden and weeding the tree rows while I mowed the outer edges of the yard before handing the tractor mower over to Ila, our youngest, 11 years old.  She mowed a bit last summer but I have informed/requested from her that this be a big mowing year.  She heartily agreed, mowing even more of the acre and a half property than I had asked (or edged).

As I did other outside chores, I made frequent glances toward the sound of the motor to make sure all was well. I also found myself thinking about my earliest tractor mower experiences in my Grandma Miller’s yard.  How old was I?  Did I mow the whole thing right away or just the parts without trees?  How much did I get paid?  And I couldn’t help thinking a bit about the future.  Ila seems to be liking this.  Maybe this could turn into a small business venture for her, build up a good cash reserve.  Ha!        

I know “mow” and even “yard” can be problematic when it comes to the goals of Earth Day.  American lawns hold amazing potential for local habitat restoration for beneficial insects and birds.  Any plot of land we tend, no matter how small, can be a teacher to bring us into better balance with this planet we share. 

Even, on Monday, the parts we mowed. 

Just that small act of cutting the grass put me in contact with four generations, from my grandma, now 92 years old, through my dad and me, to my daughter.  The land requires a relationship of some kind, and that relationship always extends both backward and forward in time.  The earth is an inheritance received and given.  We tend, we maintain, we restore as small members of a grand ecology of life.  Being reminded of this was this year’s Earth Day gift to me.  I hope to return the gift to the Earth in whatever ways possible. 

Joel

Jane at 90

One of my favorite living humans I’ve never met, Jane Goodall, turned 90 this month.  She is, perhaps, the matron saint of paying attention.

She is most famous for her work among the chimpanzees of Gombe Stream National Park in Tanzania.  Initially an outsider to the scientific community, without a college degree, she did things one wasn’t supposed to do in her observations of chimpanzee life.  She affectionately named her subjects.  She attributed human-like emotions to them.  She bonded with them.  In other words, she paid attention not as a detached observer but as a curious and loving participant. 

This, and observations such as chimpanzee tool making, blurred a once thick line between the human and animal world. 

Jane Goodall has spent the second half of her life sharing her knowledge and love of the animal world while promoting conservation efforts.  At 90, she is on the road a hard-to-believe 320 days a year.  She is someone who has accepted that her life is lived in service to a mission – a big one of kinship, humility, and a re-ordering of our relationship with the natural world.  In a recent New York Times interview, she stated:

I feel I was born with a mission. Right now, that mission is to give people hope. So when I get exhausted, I look up there and say: “You put me in this position, you bloody well help me get through the evening.”

So maybe she is also a matron saint of hope.  Which raises an interesting point about the relationship between paying attention and hopefulness.  Not paying attention as a distant observer, like scrolling through the NYT headlines.  But paying attention as a curious and loving participant.  This, in the spirit of Jane Goodall, could be what enables one to sustain hope for the long haul.

Happy birthday Jane.

Joel

The Warm Winds of Heaven

Last spring I blogged about a first of its kind gathering of Mennonites and Jews at Anabaptist Mennonite Biblical Seminary (AMBS) called “Reading the Bible after the Holocaust.”  We covered topics ranging from New Testament scholarship, shared historic experience, the dangers of emphasizing common ground in dialogue, Mennonites and the Holocaust, and Israel and the land.   

Less than half a year later, members of Hamas crossed into southern Israel and slaughtered around 1200 people, taking another 250 hostage.  The ensuing war in Gaza has been devastating for Palestinians, the numbers of dead, displaced, and starving hard to fathom. 

Throughout our calls for a ceasefire in Gaza led by Mennonite Action, I’ve continued to think about these bonds formed at AMBS.  Dialogue and friendship in themselves can’t stop a war, but it can keep us all human to one another – a frequent casualty of war.  Last week we Mennonite participants from that event sent a letter to the Jewish participants that I’d like to share here.  Let’s pray with our hearts, hands, and relationships for the madness of this war to end and dignity, security, and a hopeful future be restored to all.    

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To our Jewish friends who participated in the Reading the Bible after the Holocaust consultation at Anabaptist Mennonite Biblical Seminary:

As we mark a half year since the October 7 Hamas attacks, we are holding you, your congregations, and all the Jewish people in our prayers. We recognize that the grief and agony of that day of terror which upended the lives of Israelis and Jews around the world continue to reverberate throughout the Jewish world up to today. The recognition that the safety and security of Jewish life is under threat compels us to recommit ourselves to confront antisemitism and to partner with you as we work together for a peaceful world.

A blessing from our Mennonite hymnal, Voices Together:

May the warm winds of heaven
blow softly upon you,
and may the Great Spirit
make Sunrise in your heart.

Joel

The Crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth: Substitution vs. Solidarity

Sub.sti.tu.tion – the action of replacing someone or something with another person or thing.

Sol.i.dar.i.ty – union or fellowship arising from common responsibilities and interests.

It’s Holy Week, a time dense with memory and meaning.  Within this short span, the gospels speak of the betrayal by Judas, Jesus’ final meal with his friends, prayer and arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane, Peter’s denial, the rushed trial before Pilate, the walk to Golgotha, the state execution of Jesus and burial of his body. 

At the risk of vast oversimplification, two of the primary ways Christians interpret the crucifixion of Jesus have to do with substitution and solidarity.  Each comes with implications for how we view ourselves, Jesus, and God.

Jesus’s death as substitutionary emphasizes a penalty for human sinfulness Jesus takes on himself in our place.  This has been the dominant teaching in Protestant Christianity.  But most versions are deeply problematic, portraying a god who requires punishment in order to exercise a just forgiveness.  So, in effect, Jesus saves us from god.  The primary response of the believer is just that, to believe, and thus be saved.  I’m caricaturing, but just a little.

Jesus’s death as an act of solidarity leads in directions that are more fruitful.  It is humans, rather than God, who created the punishment and scapegoating systems.  God’s presence in Jesus speaks of Divine solidarity with human life and suffering.  The cross exposes our violence and critiques systems of oppression.  More than mere belief, we are invited to participate in another way of being human, which Jesus announced, taught, and lived, calling it “the kin-dom of God.”  Sometimes this leads Jesus-followers to suffer the same kinds of betrayal, unjust accusations, and violence Jesus experienced.  God’s grace-filled presence in us empowers us to address injustice, relieve suffering, and expand the breadth of solidarity with others. 

How we interpret the death of Jesus matters.

Joel       

 

Wider Church Happenings

Tomorrow morning I’ll be driving up to Goshen for three days of meetings with the Mennonite Church USA Constituency Leaders Council.  The CLC is an advisory and listening group – rather than decision-making body — made up of representatives of area conferences and constituency groups.  As the President-elect of Central District Conference, I’m one of our three attendees.  I’m pleased that one of the newest groups to be represented is the Queer Constituency Council, a result of A Resolution for Repentance and Transformation passed by delegates in 2022.

Our denomination is in a time of flux.  As LGBTQ members have claimed their place and been affirmed in the church, numerous congregations have disaffiliated.  A big role of denominational leadership these days is reimagining our church as a historic peace church engaging in shared justice-minded ministry and practices.  One of the reasons I have chosen to invest time into Central District Conference is that I believe our conference has been a leader in this area. 

These three days will be a time of relationship building across the denomination, listening in on what other conferences and denominational leaders are up to, and giving input into where things might head.  According to the agenda, this includes the sites of the next two national Conventions, and a possible “Year of the Bible” in 2025 to mark the 500 year anniversary of Anabaptism.  It’s also a lot of time in meetings so if you have any spare energy, you can point it northwest toward central Indiana and I’ll try to breathe it in.  I’ll be in worship Sunday looking forward to our children’s palm procession and Bethany Davey’s message.

One more piece of wider church news.  Like our denomination, higher education is in a time of flux.  We have a number of Bluffton University graduates at CMC and the Board of Trustees has just made public their unanimous affirmation of a merger with nearby University of Findlay as “One Community.  Two Campuses.” A tagline is “Strong Roots. Brighter Future.”  More information can be found at https://www.findlayblufftonfuture.com/

Joel

Over Half…

What if the majority of the world’s 8 billion people could share in a season of spiritual grounding?  What if over half of humanity would focus, all at the same time, on the practices that lead to harmony within oneself and justice in society? 

Well…

The Muslim month of Ramadan began on Sunday.  Because the Islamic calendar is based on lunar cycles, Ramadan slowly migrates within our solar calendar, appearing a little earlier each year.  We’re in a window of years when it overlaps with our Christian observation of Lent.  Both Ramadan and Lent contain calls for searching one’s heart, doing good deeds, and recalling the core narrative and principles of one’s faith. 

There are nearly two billion Muslims in the world, and about 2.4 billion Christians. 

Faith in Public Life, which has developed a strong interfaith network in Central Ohio, recently shared these words from Azka Mahmood, an Islamic leader in Georgia:  

The values of empathy, compassion, and inclusivity promoted during this month build the foundation for a more harmonious and equitable world and guard against extremism. The month of Ramadan is almost like a giant, month-long listening session with our community. The more we are connected to a loving, supportive community, the more attuned we are to each other – to what is good.

Similar words could be written about Lent.

I’m under no illusion that everyone who calls themselves a Muslim or Christian centers these values.  But I still find this a beautiful thought: In these two traditions alone, the majority of the world has access to a set of communal practices that ground us in love rather than fear, in justice rather than violence, in hope rather than despair.

Azka ends her message with this invitation:

This Ramadan, whether you are Muslim or not, join me. Join me in praying – praying for the multifaith, multiracial democracy we are working to build. Join me in listening – listening to our brothers and sisters and learning empathy, patience and kindness.

Invitation accepted.

Joel

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“The Divine Politics of Lament”

The subject line comes from a presentation I heard last Thursday: “Professional Mourners, Grieving Mothers, and the Divine Politics of Lament.”  This was part of the annual two-day Schooler Institute at Methodist Theological School in Ohio (MTSO).  The speaker was CMCer Dr. Ryan Schellenberg.    

Some things I’m stilling pondering:

The practice of lament is woven throughout our scriptures.  There are Psalms of lament, stories of lament, and an entire book bearing the name Lamentations responding to the devastating loss of Jerusalem and its temple in Babylonian times.  Many traditional cultures consider lament an essential enough act as to hire professional mourners at funerals.  Most of us Westerners think it odd or even inauthentic to pay someone to lead us in the collective falling apart that is grief.  However, we’re more than willing to pay professionals for one-on-one sessions to help us individually hold it together. 

Public lament has been gendered, with wailing women, especially mothers, leading the community in ritual and informal expressions of grief.  While I’m hopeful us men become increasingly comfortable with expressing emotion, there’s something powerful and sacred about those who bring life into the world through their bodies leading us in embodying grief when a life leaves us.  Ryan cited a Yemini Jewish mother who stated, “When I wail, I remember what I’ve gone through.”  Lament summons prior personal and collective experience into the present.

It is helpful to make a distinction between grief and lament.  We feel and express grief at losses that are part of our mortality.  But loss can also result from injustice.  To this, lament brings an additional layer of crying out for an end to the cycles of violence that perpetuate suffering.  As an equation, it could look like this: Lament = Grief + Protest.  As such, lament is an inherently political act.  Lament refuses to hold in grief or hold back from naming injustice.  In this sense, perhaps our professional lamenters these days are community organizers earning small salaries at nonprofits, calling for an end to the death penalty, an end to murders of Black folks at the hands of police, an end to environmental devastation.  We rely on these lament leaders to harness not just emotion, but collective, and thus political, will to act for healing, for justice.

Ryan’s thought-provoking presentation has helped me consider lament as ultimately a creative and essential act of hope. 

Joel

A Surprise Non-Encounter

Yesterday started with a surprise.  As I approached the main entrance of the church, a neighbor across Broadway Place informed me that a gray SUV had just pulled up, shot something at our front door, and driven off.  She had reported it to the police.  Sure enough, the glass on the right door was shattered, with a hole at the point of impact.  A brief search on the sidewalk revealed the likely projectile – a rock the size of a small egg with nicks on one side.  Probably a slingshot.

The neighbor was kind as she lingered a bit before heading out to work.  The police were about as helpful as they could be, writing up the police report with no more to go on than what I’ve already shared.  Gwen informed insurance and Jeff called a door company.

It’s impossible to know for sure, but it seems like a targeted act rather than random.  One of my first mental reactions was surprise that something like this hasn’t happened sooner.  When Edith was living in our building, I was fully expecting vandalism. 

If targeted, it does not sit well.  It would be a tiny taste of what Black and Jewish and Muslim congregations have had to deal with for decades.

Our Lent theme is Encounters On The Way, but I was apparently about five minutes late to encounter the driver of the gray SUV.  Instead, it was a non-encounter, mixed with encountering the aftermath of their action.

Perhaps we can find some symbolism in the rock landing right between, but not eliminating, the words “Act” and “Peace.”  If this action has an equal and opposite reaction from each one of us, I wonder what several hundred slingshots for peace would look like.  In the unlikely event the culprit is found, we can ponder what restorative justice would be.

For the last few years, I’ve had a stack of smooth rocks on my desk.  I like having part of the natural world within touching distance, and the symbolism of a cairn as a way-finder.  This morning I added the projectile on top.  It was an unexpected encounter on the way.

Joel

Lent 2024: Encounters On the Way

It’s the first day of Lent, Ash Wednesday.  I thought it was rare for this to overlap with Valentine’s Day, until Google revealed this happened as recently as 2018 and will happen again in 2029…

Our worship theme this Lent is “Encounters On the Way.” We’ll follow Jesus through Mark’s gospel as he encounters people and questions on his way to and through Jerusalem.  These stories are more challenging than comforting, and the visual installation in the sanctuary throughout the season represents the hard edges and indirect route of this path. 

Similar to how Chris Walker spoke of Transfiguration on Sunday, encounters happen all the time, and often the difference between the mundane and the holy is a matter of seeing, a matter of prepared receptivity, even a matter of expectation that there is something sacred about encounter itself.  And of course, sometimes an encounter gets through our thick protections despite ourselves. 

Which, I suppose, is one of the ways this Lent theme intersects with Valentine’s Day.  Love, in its rich variety, is all about the betweenness of an encounter.  Love is the energy of particular encounters that invites, even demands, us to alter our priorities – to de-center ourselves even as we fall into a center that reveals a deeper sense of self and our place in the world.

May this Lent bring with it encounters that challenge, disrupt, and delight.  May we find ourselves On the Way with Jesus.

Joel

From Apartment to Church to Apartment

As you approach our church building from the south, walking up Broadway Place between North Broadway Street and Oakland Park Avenue, you pass three apartment buildings on your left, each a quad.  The third is unique.  It’s attached to the church.  Inside, the rooms have been converted to our downstairs offices and upstairs nursery and preschooler areas.  It was the Baptists, who bought the building from the Presbyterians, who incorporated the apartment building into the church structure, sometime between 1965 and 1975, when they built a new foyer and sanctuary, all of it currently utilized by us Mennonites.

In August of 2017, when Edith Espinal was seeking sanctuary, CMC leadership determined we could convert a little-used nursery room above the offices into a living space for her.  That plus a bathroom remodel enabled her to live in our building for 1,235 days, nearly three and a half years, remaining with her Columbus family rather than face an unjust deportation order to Mexico, which has since been rescinded.

In November of 2021, we were connected with an asylum-seeker from West Africa in need of emergency housing.  Sounkary and her son Adam moved into that same space and lived there for a year and a half.  As was the case with Edith, a support team formed around Sounkary, this time speaking French.  North Broadway United Methodist Church across the street opened a spot in their Children’s Center for Adam, who thrived among the other children.  But Sounkary had left her three oldest children back in West Africa and made the difficult decision to return to them before resolving her asylum case in the US.  Her CMC friends continue to keep in touch with her.

Last November, during our fall congregational meeting, we discussed the future of the apartment space.  There was wide affirmation to continue making it available for emergency housing.  Christian Education folks affirmed making additional space available beyond the single room and bathroom.  Since then we’ve done some upgrades and given it a fresh coat of paint.

On Saturday we welcomed our next guest, Keilin, and her (almost) four year old son.  A support team has already formed around them, acting something like an extended kinship network far from her native Venezuela.  We’ll learn more about Keilin in the weeks to come, but for now we want the congregation to know that our church building is once again serving as a refuge for a family who previously had none. 

It seems the apartment building that became a church still wants to be an apartment building – an apartment building and a church.  It’s a space dedicated to hospitality, part of the extended care of this congregation.  Beyond being the ones offering something, hosting offers us the opportunity to receive much, to learn, even to be transformed.

Joel