In retrospect, we can pinpoint the spring of 2021 as the time our laughter disappeared — when our four-year ministry in Barcelona began to fall apart. As concerns regarding COVID-19 began to ease, expectations in the local church community changed. Gradually, things arrived at a point where our family needed to step away.
It's hard to laugh when it feels like the world is crumbling around you. It's an act that feels almost audacious considering the state of the world: pandemic losses, church divisions, guilt and anger over White privilege and indirectly benefiting from systemic racism, environmental collapse, rampant economic ruin, and war. How can one laugh when the world we live in is so far removed from the one Jesus describes throughout the gospels?
From a very, very young age when folks asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I would naively respond, “An artist!”
In some ways, my journey seems to be running opposite of Vincent van Gogh. Vocationally, I’ve moved from artist to missionary (or I certainly had way more time to paint before becoming a full-time international church worker). However, in other ways, it’s very similar. I’ve learned to see how the brilliance of God cannot be contained inside a dark building.
When we arrived in the Czech Republic 10 years ago, we encountered young people who were feeling a deep spiritual longing but lacked the vocabulary or the guidance of healthy faith communities to find spiritual nourishment. And isn’t the definition of poverty not being able to get something you need to live fully?
Ergo, Spiritual Poverty.
Like many young people in America, the allure of military service was intoxicating. Being raised in a culture where loving God and worshiping ‘old glory,’ were synonymous, stealing away to chat with the Army recruiters became a regular pastime. The promises of international adventures, job training, and college tuition assistance seemed like the perfect solution I’d been dreaming of — especially in contrast to my current prospects, which ranged from cashier at the local dollar store or waitress at some mid-range steakhouse.
For the simple wager of eight years of my life (and the possibility of taking another’s), I’d gain so much!
I had no idea how much it would actually cost.
Each election season, the world is inundated with political campaigns, gossip and smear tactics, commentary from both sides, and, depending on which channels you select on your TV and analysts you follow on Twitter, your worldview is shaped and cultivated to the flavor of their perspectives.
I struggle to reconcile my own political notions from the examples set by Christ, who consistently shed a light on the injustices which plagued the world in His time like poverty, racism, sexism, discrimination, oppression, and corruption within both the church and political sphere — injustices which still poison our world today.
The institutional church is at a “Calibrate your Phone’s Compass” moment. To be fair, this is a reoccurring phenomenon in the Judeo-Christian story. There are many stories in the scriptures of faithful individuals and communities choosing to calibrate their compasses. In fact, the Christian church was birthed out of just such a moment.
On July 11, 2010, we left for the Czech Republic on what we dubbed to be a “Worthwhile Adventure.” To celebrate the anniversary of this life-changing trip, we thought it would be good to share personal reflections looking back as gnarled, haggard international church workers 10 years later.
Ministry is tough on its best days and quarantine is possibly the least conducive context from which to start a new program from scratch. “You’d have to be crazy to push forward,” some would say.
“Hold my tapas,” we responded.
Mennonite Mission Network, our sending missions agency, recently offered me the opportunity to film a project in Benin. Of course, I accepted. It was a great reminder that joy and physical poverty are not directly connected.
It’s easy for wealthy folks like us to ask how we can help poor folks. It’s harder for us to embrace the reality that we can learn something from our brothers and sisters in Benin.
Advent is about the Revolution -- a coup d’etat against the powers and principalities of this world. It’s about destroying darkness with light so that all can see and experience its goodness.
What would it look like if we change the perspective during the holidays from “we’re the ones giving and receiving the gifts” to “we’re going to do what we can to ensure everyone gets a gift?”
