It would be nice to find a job that offers me real insurance, the kind that John McCain has but doesn't want to offer to we pesky Americans who don't get government managed care courtesy of the U.S. Senate.
*I regret to inform you that global climate change is probably not an extremely elaborate hoax, but is instead a serious danger to future generations/the earth's poor/all of us. But the preacher who suggested that it is a hoax backed up his claim by commenting on how cold it's been in Yellowstone this year. Yeah, I almost walked out.
And not to forget the music. My sister, who has great taste in music/art/clothing/etc., and I were just talking about Los Campesinos! And they're fun. So you should check them out.
Los Campesinos- Death to Los Campesinos
RIYL- Broken Social Scene, Stars, British accents, people who are fans of indie rock and decide to start their own band.
Showing posts with label Community. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Community. Show all posts
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Monday, November 19, 2007
Keep Crashing This Car, Over and Over
Why are we still so afraid?
The things we do deserve their rightful names.
Swing with all you have.
Stop me if you can.
-be sensible, jimmy eat world
I think that, in a way, we all bought into the hype.
It's the trial. At last. The trial.
And of course there's so much to be said about that. Justice. A reckoning. Punishment. Confrontation. Something.
Whatever we thought it would mean, if we ever really thought about it at all, we were not prepared for what it actually was. In poetry you can never say "I love you." In life it is never enough to say "good and hard." How to describe that week? Imagine Jesus descending into hell. Grace personified. But in hell.
The trial was, both literally and metaphorically, a destination. Something that we could look forward to. Something that we could place our stock in. Something that was, I don't know, tangible. But it was also an unwanted guest, still in the house far after we tired of its company. It was the emergency surgery.
And it's understandable really. We needed this. Some of us more than others. Several of us much more than me. We all needed this. But none of us wanted it to be necessary. All we've ever really wanted was escape.
When I try to think of the last time that I sat down with a bunch of other people from Central Presbyterian to discuss Peter, for any reason, I picture his welcome party. The rest of it has sort of slipped by. I've never really talked to my parents about it. I've never gotten a card in the mail saying "we're having a meeting at the church, why don't you come join us." I've never had someone even suggest that maybe we should sit down and talk this out. What in the world would we talk about? How would we possibly begin?
Looking back, these events (the Peter years, the post-Peter years, the Peter's back!?! trial years) have all transpired with surprisingly little fanfare. Look back again and you'll be forced to realize that he has never really left us alone. A constant presence that everyone is ashamed to talk about. Scared to talk about. Confused about. The 600 pound gorilla in no uncertain terms.
I got a phone call this morning saying that Peter has been arrested. Again.
I couldn't move on even if I wanted to.
When the stone first hit the water, the disruption of our lives was just too much. Surface tension destroyed. The rotting muck underneath revealed. And when the water returned to glass, no one could intentionally throw another stone. But the wake remains, bouncing off the shore and ricocheting around us. The ripples lapping against our collars remind us that we are up to our necks. The temperature drops slowly. We alternate between bouts of confused panic and treacherous sleep.
Look out the window. The green bleeds away, leaving a sickly, jaundiced yellow in its place. The lazy breeze speeds up, and then its temperament sours. The wind grows teeth and tears at the flesh of the trees. And then one day you realize that the cover from your shade tree is gone. You look up to see a weathered oak standing naked in the sun.
At some point I realized that all of this was choking me. This recurring sliding feeling wasn't going away.
So the trial, this public spectacle, became the chance to say that the emperor has no clothes. It was a chance to come out. All is not well. Something terrible has happened here.
Something terrible has happened here.
Late in the week I was listening to an expert witness testify about trauma and its impact on adolescents. Suddenly I became alert, conscious of myself in a room full of strangers. I was nodding along, picturing my life in the scenes of escapism and guilt.
Here's a test:
Do you often assume that people in the church are full of shit? Clearly guilty of something, definite skeletons in the closet?
Do you look for cracks in the corners, sagging rafters, proof that the foundation is slipping? Are you convinced that the building will collapse? It's only a matter of time. Save yourself.
Do you feel caught between the past and the present, as if some blunt instrument has struck your history and shattered its continuum? Endangered your future?
Do pieces of your life feel fragile? At any moment a wave will come and sweep them away, like great walls of ice abandoning the glacier and drowning themselves in the sea.
Do you search desperately for something that looks like Jesus and feels like love?
The trial unlocked the hard drives and knocked over the file cabinets. Information everywhere. Bits and pieces of fear and hate and betrayal just littering the floor. Millions of pixels all distorted. An image I had not forgotten, but had very clearly lost.
The trial turned out to be a chance for the world around us to crash the party, to reach the epicenter and look for survivors in the wreckage.
Ultimately, it didn't quite go our way.
Mistrial.
A miscarriage is when you lose the baby. We didn't lose the trial. We had a trial.
In some way it was validating. It was good to hear eight voices say that was has happened was wrong. That what has happened was criminal.
Why did I need to go? Why did I feel so compelled? A physical draw, my headlights pointed towards the one thing I wanted most to avoid. Was it to support my friend? Clearly. But what does that even look like? Was it to, in some way, confront Peter. Possibly. I confess that I always stayed out of the men's room when he was at the urinal.
Mostly I think it was because someone finally gave me the chance to show up, to walk into a room. To say with my presence, "this was wrong."
I have been living my life like a sprint since the moment Peter left. Or maybe since the moment I left Peter. I've been running. From myself. From him. From the guilt. But sprints don't last. You can't live a sprint.
I've been running because the temple where I worshiped, the place where I Am dwells, burned to the ground. All that cedar and bronze. Poof.
But we've found that life goes on without the temple that Solomon built. Instead of the altar, we've had the Nicoletti's table. Instead of the burnt offerings, we've had the Wicklund's fire pit. Understanding in a car crash.
Transformation just takes so much time.
If I could make it better for the people around me. The friends and the family. Oh God. I would. But I'm not God.
And God is. God Is.
I'd be lying if I said that I don't still try to offer myself up as the ram caught in the thicket. I'd be lying if I said that I was alone in that.
The things we do deserve their rightful names.
Swing with all you have.
Stop me if you can.
-be sensible, jimmy eat world
I think that, in a way, we all bought into the hype.
It's the trial. At last. The trial.
And of course there's so much to be said about that. Justice. A reckoning. Punishment. Confrontation. Something.
Whatever we thought it would mean, if we ever really thought about it at all, we were not prepared for what it actually was. In poetry you can never say "I love you." In life it is never enough to say "good and hard." How to describe that week? Imagine Jesus descending into hell. Grace personified. But in hell.
The trial was, both literally and metaphorically, a destination. Something that we could look forward to. Something that we could place our stock in. Something that was, I don't know, tangible. But it was also an unwanted guest, still in the house far after we tired of its company. It was the emergency surgery.
And it's understandable really. We needed this. Some of us more than others. Several of us much more than me. We all needed this. But none of us wanted it to be necessary. All we've ever really wanted was escape.
When I try to think of the last time that I sat down with a bunch of other people from Central Presbyterian to discuss Peter, for any reason, I picture his welcome party. The rest of it has sort of slipped by. I've never really talked to my parents about it. I've never gotten a card in the mail saying "we're having a meeting at the church, why don't you come join us." I've never had someone even suggest that maybe we should sit down and talk this out. What in the world would we talk about? How would we possibly begin?
Looking back, these events (the Peter years, the post-Peter years, the Peter's back!?! trial years) have all transpired with surprisingly little fanfare. Look back again and you'll be forced to realize that he has never really left us alone. A constant presence that everyone is ashamed to talk about. Scared to talk about. Confused about. The 600 pound gorilla in no uncertain terms.
I got a phone call this morning saying that Peter has been arrested. Again.
I couldn't move on even if I wanted to.
When the stone first hit the water, the disruption of our lives was just too much. Surface tension destroyed. The rotting muck underneath revealed. And when the water returned to glass, no one could intentionally throw another stone. But the wake remains, bouncing off the shore and ricocheting around us. The ripples lapping against our collars remind us that we are up to our necks. The temperature drops slowly. We alternate between bouts of confused panic and treacherous sleep.
Look out the window. The green bleeds away, leaving a sickly, jaundiced yellow in its place. The lazy breeze speeds up, and then its temperament sours. The wind grows teeth and tears at the flesh of the trees. And then one day you realize that the cover from your shade tree is gone. You look up to see a weathered oak standing naked in the sun.
At some point I realized that all of this was choking me. This recurring sliding feeling wasn't going away.
So the trial, this public spectacle, became the chance to say that the emperor has no clothes. It was a chance to come out. All is not well. Something terrible has happened here.
Something terrible has happened here.
Late in the week I was listening to an expert witness testify about trauma and its impact on adolescents. Suddenly I became alert, conscious of myself in a room full of strangers. I was nodding along, picturing my life in the scenes of escapism and guilt.
Here's a test:
Do you often assume that people in the church are full of shit? Clearly guilty of something, definite skeletons in the closet?
Do you look for cracks in the corners, sagging rafters, proof that the foundation is slipping? Are you convinced that the building will collapse? It's only a matter of time. Save yourself.
Do you feel caught between the past and the present, as if some blunt instrument has struck your history and shattered its continuum? Endangered your future?
Do pieces of your life feel fragile? At any moment a wave will come and sweep them away, like great walls of ice abandoning the glacier and drowning themselves in the sea.
Do you search desperately for something that looks like Jesus and feels like love?
The trial unlocked the hard drives and knocked over the file cabinets. Information everywhere. Bits and pieces of fear and hate and betrayal just littering the floor. Millions of pixels all distorted. An image I had not forgotten, but had very clearly lost.
The trial turned out to be a chance for the world around us to crash the party, to reach the epicenter and look for survivors in the wreckage.
Ultimately, it didn't quite go our way.
Mistrial.
A miscarriage is when you lose the baby. We didn't lose the trial. We had a trial.
In some way it was validating. It was good to hear eight voices say that was has happened was wrong. That what has happened was criminal.
Why did I need to go? Why did I feel so compelled? A physical draw, my headlights pointed towards the one thing I wanted most to avoid. Was it to support my friend? Clearly. But what does that even look like? Was it to, in some way, confront Peter. Possibly. I confess that I always stayed out of the men's room when he was at the urinal.
Mostly I think it was because someone finally gave me the chance to show up, to walk into a room. To say with my presence, "this was wrong."
I have been living my life like a sprint since the moment Peter left. Or maybe since the moment I left Peter. I've been running. From myself. From him. From the guilt. But sprints don't last. You can't live a sprint.
I've been running because the temple where I worshiped, the place where I Am dwells, burned to the ground. All that cedar and bronze. Poof.
But we've found that life goes on without the temple that Solomon built. Instead of the altar, we've had the Nicoletti's table. Instead of the burnt offerings, we've had the Wicklund's fire pit. Understanding in a car crash.
Transformation just takes so much time.
If I could make it better for the people around me. The friends and the family. Oh God. I would. But I'm not God.
And God is. God Is.
I'd be lying if I said that I don't still try to offer myself up as the ram caught in the thicket. I'd be lying if I said that I was alone in that.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
You make me want to be a better man.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY WESLEY BENGT WICKLUND
Here are some thoughts I wanted to share with you on this momentous occasion:
1. You've been around through a lot of stuff. I remember being in elementary school with you, hanging out, moving on to middle school, and then being really excited when you finally got there two years later. Mission trips. Praise band. Leadership teams. Mexican champagne. I love that our history goes deep. I love that our future is going to be even deeper.
2. Because I can look back for years and years, far past a decade of friendship, I have no problem saying that you have always been a really, really good guy. More than uncommonly legit. And you've become a really, really good man. One of the best I've ever met. You've always tried to do the right thing, and when you've failed, as we all do, you've tried even harder. The title says it all.
3. You are damn passionate. I've seen you get in fist fights, yelling fights, and soccer fights (the dirtiest fights of all). I can't say I've always thought it was a good idea for you to be fighting, but I've always loved and admired that spirit. You have convictions, and a belief that there are things in life worth fighting for. And there are.
4. You don't love the law for the law's sake. You want all the freedom that Jesus can give you. Let's get after it.
5. JBBP baby.
You are my brother. I love you.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Despierta Mama, Despierta
It's Mother's Day here in Mexico. Quite a celebration, let me tell you. Last night the jovenes group from the church (jovenes being high school to twentysomethings) set out to do a little late night serenading in the streets of Agua Prieta. Armed with two busted up guitars, some hand written lyrics sheets, a list of Mexican Mamas, and a few flashlights, three cars set out to wake up all the women of the church with off key singing and the promise of group hugs. 3:30 in the morning later I finally made it to bed, surprised by how quickly I have adjusted to a post college life (well before 2:00 a.m., my former bedtime, I was way past still wanting to be awake). I managed to confuse some of my Mexican (and American) friends yet again last night by being both very detached socially and also willing to sing quite loudly. A sure sign that it's time for a nap.
I have been really fortunate this year to take part in a whole mess of Mexican customs that I didn't understand or know anything about prior to arriving at the border. A lot of people have been very gracious by opening up their homes to me and letting me share a small part of their lives with them. This was one of those times.
I thought about calling my own mother to wake her up for some singing, but in the end decided that muffled and incomprehensible noises at two in the morning might not be the most compelling way to tell her how much I appreciate her. But there's always next year.
I have been really fortunate this year to take part in a whole mess of Mexican customs that I didn't understand or know anything about prior to arriving at the border. A lot of people have been very gracious by opening up their homes to me and letting me share a small part of their lives with them. This was one of those times.
I thought about calling my own mother to wake her up for some singing, but in the end decided that muffled and incomprehensible noises at two in the morning might not be the most compelling way to tell her how much I appreciate her. But there's always next year.
From my gmail inbox...
A link to this video:
And a suggestion:
"Now think in terms of Jesus"
One of my favorite short films set to music (yes, I made that genre up myself) from one of my favorite orchestra/post-rock/post-genres/unbelievable bands.
Glosoli by Sigur Ros. Thanks Jo.
And a suggestion:
"Now think in terms of Jesus"
One of my favorite short films set to music (yes, I made that genre up myself) from one of my favorite orchestra/post-rock/post-genres/unbelievable bands.
Glosoli by Sigur Ros. Thanks Jo.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
The Quarter Life: Romantic Relationships Rd. 2
My great friend Mike wrote a really amazing piece for the last Quarter Life. Check it out here.
After writing my last installment of The Quarter Life I got a comment from my friend Lexie asking me to answer some questions she had about that post. Here are a few of my thoughts. Anything for a friend, Lex.
I think that experience, the experience of ourselves in a relationship, and the experience of an intimate encounter with another person, is probably the strongest argument out there for why dating is a fantastic idea. I have learned a great deal about myself from dating. I have also learned a tremendous amount about women/men/God/life/love/etc. from dating, much more than I could ever possibly relate to you here. And learning for learning's sake, as any liberal arts grad will tell you, is a very good thing. Unfortunately, most of what I learned from some of those relationships was learned the hard way. And just because I learned something does not mean that those relationships were a good idea to begin with, or functional by any stretch of the imagination. Calling some of them relationships, in all honesty, might be too kind. Was some of that hardship and hurt necessary? Possibly. Immaturity, "life issues," ideas about what dating should be, etc., all played their part in making some of my past relationships memorable for all the wrong reasons. But poor choices about when and who I should date did not make things any better.
So "learning about yourself" is great, but it can be a messy and dangerous affair. Even more so if that is your primary, or only purpose, in dating that specific person. Going into a relationship (or even a date) thinking "I like them-ish," while not a sure recipe for disaster, does raise some ethical questions. Starting to date someone without a clear sense of why you are doing it or what you want out of it opens yourself up to a host of complications, but it also leaves you very much in danger of hurting the other person. Do they share your vision of dating? If not, your "learning about yourself" could be their "getting rejected by someone I really, really liked." Like I said in my last post, I don't believe that we date because we desire it, but because we must. Ideally the two coincide.
Dating in the right context is clearly very good. To put this in a somewhat (ok, very) crude manner, marriage is not a product that we should buy without shopping around a little bit first. So in that sense, I'm all for dating. I'm just not all for dating every person (or even most people) that come your way. In high school there were a few girls that I should have asked out on a date but didn't because I was afraid of rejection. Clearly that was not a healthy way to date (or, more specifically, not to date). I also dated a girl in high school that I barely knew because she came on to me very strongly (i.e. I knew that rejection wasn't likely) and that turned out, not surprisingly, very poorly. In the first example I needed more initiative, in the second, more wisdom and self-control.
I personally don't believe that a "season of dating" is a very good idea for many reasons, but for a few especially compelling ones in particular. Relationships, ideally, are special. We value our family (in many cases) more highly than our friends, and our friends more highly than our acquaintances. This formula (there's that word again) becomes more complicated when we insert Christ into our lives, but I won't go into that here. The point is that most people feel that different types of relationships are, well, different, and that some of them are more special than others. Dating should be a special act reserved for people we really care about.
The most serious problem with a season of dating, in my opinion, is the potential for that season to turn into a long-term (or even lifetime) commitment. How many people do you know who started seeing someone casually ("just to see"/hooking up at parties/season of dating/we're just friends) and just never stopped? This scenario doesn't always end badly, I can think of many happy couples who started off this way. But is it something to which we should aspire? What other major life choices do we take "just try it out" or "we'll see what happens" attitudes with? Is that how you chose a college? Plan to buy a house? This might make me conservative, but I think that dating is something to be respected and, in some sense, feared. In my experience it is much easier to never date someone at all than to stop dating them once the process has been started. And once you start dating, going back to being friends is always a difficult process. In many cases it simply doesn't work. Since most people that you will ever meet are going to be friends instead of dates, why not preserve those friendships rather than explore dating just because it's fun?
I also think that a "season of dating" sort of misses the point of a "season of not dating." At various times I have resisted the urge to enter into potentially great dating situations because of time constraints/outside pressures/personal issues/need to grow with God/whatever. But that should be the exception, not the rule. The default for any single Christian should be "available for dating," unless there is other work in your life that needs to be done. For many of us, there is. So a season of not dating is a way to recognize a unique situation and make an intentional choice about it. A season of dating, to me, seems like a license to do things that you wouldn't do otherwise. "I don't really like him that much, but I'm trying to date a lot right now." See my point? What prompts a season of dating? Why doesn't that prompt being open to dating in general, as long as the person is right?
When I think back on just my time here in Agua Prieta, let alone college, there are a number of women that I probably could have started dating at one time or another. I do not believe that any of those relationships would have been a very good choice. So my dating here has been more than conservative, it has been non-existent. But I believe it has also been the most healthy and faithful choice that I could have made. I haven't done it perfectly, but it could have been a lot worse.
I have some more thoughts that I could but I think I'll leave it at that. I'd love to hear what you (or any of you) have to say about this.
After writing my last installment of The Quarter Life I got a comment from my friend Lexie asking me to answer some questions she had about that post. Here are a few of my thoughts. Anything for a friend, Lex.
Very conservative philosophy Aaron!! This reminds me of a guy i dated in high school who broke up with me by saying "I can live without you." it made me so mad. Anyhoo, what do you think of dating just to learn more about yourself/others? Like the Townsend/McCloud philosophy? Or the idea of focusing on dating itself/trying to date a lot as a particular season, much like seasons of intentionally not dating?
I think that experience, the experience of ourselves in a relationship, and the experience of an intimate encounter with another person, is probably the strongest argument out there for why dating is a fantastic idea. I have learned a great deal about myself from dating. I have also learned a tremendous amount about women/men/God/life/love/etc. from dating, much more than I could ever possibly relate to you here. And learning for learning's sake, as any liberal arts grad will tell you, is a very good thing. Unfortunately, most of what I learned from some of those relationships was learned the hard way. And just because I learned something does not mean that those relationships were a good idea to begin with, or functional by any stretch of the imagination. Calling some of them relationships, in all honesty, might be too kind. Was some of that hardship and hurt necessary? Possibly. Immaturity, "life issues," ideas about what dating should be, etc., all played their part in making some of my past relationships memorable for all the wrong reasons. But poor choices about when and who I should date did not make things any better.
So "learning about yourself" is great, but it can be a messy and dangerous affair. Even more so if that is your primary, or only purpose, in dating that specific person. Going into a relationship (or even a date) thinking "I like them-ish," while not a sure recipe for disaster, does raise some ethical questions. Starting to date someone without a clear sense of why you are doing it or what you want out of it opens yourself up to a host of complications, but it also leaves you very much in danger of hurting the other person. Do they share your vision of dating? If not, your "learning about yourself" could be their "getting rejected by someone I really, really liked." Like I said in my last post, I don't believe that we date because we desire it, but because we must. Ideally the two coincide.
Dating in the right context is clearly very good. To put this in a somewhat (ok, very) crude manner, marriage is not a product that we should buy without shopping around a little bit first. So in that sense, I'm all for dating. I'm just not all for dating every person (or even most people) that come your way. In high school there were a few girls that I should have asked out on a date but didn't because I was afraid of rejection. Clearly that was not a healthy way to date (or, more specifically, not to date). I also dated a girl in high school that I barely knew because she came on to me very strongly (i.e. I knew that rejection wasn't likely) and that turned out, not surprisingly, very poorly. In the first example I needed more initiative, in the second, more wisdom and self-control.
I personally don't believe that a "season of dating" is a very good idea for many reasons, but for a few especially compelling ones in particular. Relationships, ideally, are special. We value our family (in many cases) more highly than our friends, and our friends more highly than our acquaintances. This formula (there's that word again) becomes more complicated when we insert Christ into our lives, but I won't go into that here. The point is that most people feel that different types of relationships are, well, different, and that some of them are more special than others. Dating should be a special act reserved for people we really care about.
The most serious problem with a season of dating, in my opinion, is the potential for that season to turn into a long-term (or even lifetime) commitment. How many people do you know who started seeing someone casually ("just to see"/hooking up at parties/season of dating/we're just friends) and just never stopped? This scenario doesn't always end badly, I can think of many happy couples who started off this way. But is it something to which we should aspire? What other major life choices do we take "just try it out" or "we'll see what happens" attitudes with? Is that how you chose a college? Plan to buy a house? This might make me conservative, but I think that dating is something to be respected and, in some sense, feared. In my experience it is much easier to never date someone at all than to stop dating them once the process has been started. And once you start dating, going back to being friends is always a difficult process. In many cases it simply doesn't work. Since most people that you will ever meet are going to be friends instead of dates, why not preserve those friendships rather than explore dating just because it's fun?
I also think that a "season of dating" sort of misses the point of a "season of not dating." At various times I have resisted the urge to enter into potentially great dating situations because of time constraints/outside pressures/personal issues/need to grow with God/whatever. But that should be the exception, not the rule. The default for any single Christian should be "available for dating," unless there is other work in your life that needs to be done. For many of us, there is. So a season of not dating is a way to recognize a unique situation and make an intentional choice about it. A season of dating, to me, seems like a license to do things that you wouldn't do otherwise. "I don't really like him that much, but I'm trying to date a lot right now." See my point? What prompts a season of dating? Why doesn't that prompt being open to dating in general, as long as the person is right?
When I think back on just my time here in Agua Prieta, let alone college, there are a number of women that I probably could have started dating at one time or another. I do not believe that any of those relationships would have been a very good choice. So my dating here has been more than conservative, it has been non-existent. But I believe it has also been the most healthy and faithful choice that I could have made. I haven't done it perfectly, but it could have been a lot worse.
I have some more thoughts that I could but I think I'll leave it at that. I'd love to hear what you (or any of you) have to say about this.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Everything's bigger in Texas
What a charmed life I live.
The view from my balcony, room 529 at The Crescent Hotel in Dallas.
My feet getting ready for my "mani and pedi." Yeah, seriously.
What shines more brightly, the Rolls' logo or my freshly manicured nail? The car was parked right outside the hotel- across from an Enzo and next to a pair of Bentleys.
Jimmy, Nate (the groom), and Garrett channeling their inner CEOs. Alternate caption: Go on brush your shoulders off. First runner-up: I'm not a businessman, I'm a business, man.
Milli (the bride) gets henna applied on her hand at the Mehndi party.
Junia and I share a moment at the airport.
The view from my balcony, room 529 at The Crescent Hotel in Dallas.
My feet getting ready for my "mani and pedi." Yeah, seriously.
What shines more brightly, the Rolls' logo or my freshly manicured nail? The car was parked right outside the hotel- across from an Enzo and next to a pair of Bentleys.
Jimmy, Nate (the groom), and Garrett channeling their inner CEOs. Alternate caption: Go on brush your shoulders off. First runner-up: I'm not a businessman, I'm a business, man.
Milli (the bride) gets henna applied on her hand at the Mehndi party.
Junia and I share a moment at the airport.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Elephant Shoes Rachel, Elephant Shoes
A few playlists submitted for the approval of our little blogspot community:
Lent (read: can't buy and therefore must listen to on the internet)
Cold War Kids, Hang Me Up to Dry
The Arcade Fire, Windowsill
Cat Power, The Greatest
Commute (read: music I listen to on my iPod while avoiding dogs and trying not to get hit by cars)
Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, Stars Fell on Alabama
Thursday, Sugar in the Sacrament
Miles Davis, So What
Weezer, Undone- The Sweater Song
In the Crib (read: songs I was playing on my guitar until the peg that holds my low e string broke in half this week leading to great weeping and gnashing of teeth)
Neutral Milk Hotel, King of Carrot Flowers Part 1
Death Cab for Cutie, I Will Follow You Into the Dark
Saves the Day, At Your Funeral
Dire Straits, Romeo and Juliet
Vacuum Mac, Vacuum.
Lent (read: can't buy and therefore must listen to on the internet)
Cold War Kids, Hang Me Up to Dry
The Arcade Fire, Windowsill
Cat Power, The Greatest
Commute (read: music I listen to on my iPod while avoiding dogs and trying not to get hit by cars)
Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, Stars Fell on Alabama
Thursday, Sugar in the Sacrament
Miles Davis, So What
Weezer, Undone- The Sweater Song
In the Crib (read: songs I was playing on my guitar until the peg that holds my low e string broke in half this week leading to great weeping and gnashing of teeth)
Neutral Milk Hotel, King of Carrot Flowers Part 1
Death Cab for Cutie, I Will Follow You Into the Dark
Saves the Day, At Your Funeral
Dire Straits, Romeo and Juliet
Vacuum Mac, Vacuum.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Evangelical + Progressive + Radical + Loving = Sexiness
If you've ever thought: I'm way too conservative to be a "liberal," but there's no way I'm a Republican. It's really dumb that the same people who get so worked up over abortion don't seem to have a problem with the death penalty at all. Those both seem like pretty bad ideas.
I want something different for my life. I want my life to be like the book of Acts, not like The Real World.
Women make really great leaders.
Drinking, smoking, and swearing seem like really silly reasons to send someone to hell.
Secular progressives really don't get me. Christian conservatives? I think they get me even less. Neither of them speak for me.
I really want to live faithfully, but sometimes it seems like the system is stacked against me. What does it mean to love people when I buy shoes? Go to my job? Decide where to live?
I like my sketchers, but I LOVE my Prada backpack.*
I wish that there were more singers/preachers/authors/prophets/leaders like Bart Campolo/Shane Claiborne/Rob Bell/Anne Lammott/Donald Miller/Derek Webb.
It's not my revolution if I can't dance to it.
Sex is so much more important than my friends make it out to be.
Fighting gay/lesbian/bi/trans/queer people just doesn't feel like love.
It's so great how many amazing people I know who love Jesus, love people, and are changing the world because of it.
If you've ever thought any of those things, then I have a confession to make: So have I. Cool, huh?
And apparently so have a whole bunch of other people. Read this article. It's long, but it's very very important.
Did you read the article? Because that was the whole purpose of this post. Seriously.Read it.
Something Bryce posted got me thinking about the problem that we as thoughtful/progressive/evangelical/radical/beautiful/sexual/intellectual/artistic followers of Jesus have. Well, it's several problems really, but mostly it's an image problem. People just do not understand how many of us there really are, what we believe in, or what we are trying to accomplish.
Secular progressives, perhaps rightfully so, get freaked out and run the first time they hear the word Jesus. Ditto for religious folks of a different faith. Kudos to AlterNet for posting this. Secular progressives complimenting suburban Christians can only be called miraculous. If you say evangelical to any one of my secular friends from Pomona, you would get a negative response. Or they wouldn't know what you meant. That's not a good sign.
"Traditional" evangelicals/Christians think that we're a bunch of tree-hugging hippies who have cast our lot in with the devil and his kin. To be fair, some of us are tree loving hippies. Sorry Erik, you'll just have to live with it. The positions that some of us hold (Bart Campolo: Gay marriage is good, Donald Miller: post-modern thought is good, Jim Wallis: Jesus cares about the environment) are so foreign to people like Dobson and Ralph Reed that we may as well not be Christians. When pressed, they might agree that we aren't.
And finally, "we" isn't really a we. This article makes it seem like there is an "us," but there really isn't. It's a BIG tent. Reading Relevant does not mean that you read Sojourners. Liking Donald Miller does not mean that you think American global capitalism has serious problems. Going to a church with women in leadership does not mean that you think that gay marriage is ok. On the whole, I think that all of that is good. Clearly it's important to have beliefs. But it's also important not to exclude people for holding well thought out, faithful positions, that aren't your own. Jesus probably loves them too. But that puts us in a classic progressive bind. How do you make people who have a lot in common feel like they are connected, powerful, and influential (which they are) without resorting to essentialist tendencies (ex: you must believe x,y, and z or you just aren't with us)? Last year Bart Campolo said, more or less, that he doesn't believe in a God who sends people to hell. If evangelicals could excommunicate, he would no longer be welcome to communion. In some places he probably isn't. So obviously we have some issues. But we have a lot more promise. More and more churches across the country are being transformed in ways that are very, very good. I am having more and more conversations with people who are involved in completely amazing grassroots action, willing the kingdom into being by the sheer force of their love. But I don't think any of us has really realized yet how many people are having these conversations. Am I excited? You bet I am.
Are you in?
Thanks to Zach Exley for writing this. I've been thinking it for years.
Thanks to Zach Lind for posting this link over at Finding Rhythm. P.S.- Zach is the drummer for Jimmy Eat World. You're right, he IS the man.
Thanks to all of you for being revolutionaries in a whole bunch of ways. The world is changing.
(In the photo: Tony Campolo gets his preach on)
*Ok, I haven't thought that. But I do love Ten Things I Hate About You.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Free Coffee= Sweet Perk of the Job
Still working on a largish post about Chiapas (I got the pictures onto the computer...just not this computer, but we're getting there).
I'm also wanting to get back into the business of posting about my job and about the border more, so I'm going to sort of combine both of those goals with this post.
This is an e-mail that I just sent out to friends and family in SoCal asking for some help with Just Coffee and explaining a little bit about what makes this project so special. I suspect that most of you would be interested in knowing this stuff as well, and I hope to get some questions out of it, and then maybe write more in some follow-up posts. We'll see. (Sorry Molly, you already read this so it won't be able to keep you occupied at work. Guess you'll have to do your actual job instead).
Hello West Coast friends and family!
For some of you this is going to come as a follow-up e-mail, so I apologize if any of this is repeat. For everyone else, well, this is a call for some help. Read on, all (well, lots) will be explained.
Let's start with a little bit of background:
Part of my job down here in Agua Prieta has been working with a coffee company called Just Coffee. Just Coffee was started by Frontera de Cristo, the Presbyterian border ministry that I work for, a little more than four years ago.
Just Coffee was started primarily as a response to immigration. My church in Agua Prieta, El Lirio de Los Valles Presbyterian Church, is a largely transient congregation, made up mostly of immigrants from southern Mexico. The church routinely gains and loses members as some families arrive at the border from the south, and others cross the border into the U.S. looking for work. The vision for Just Coffee came from a conversation between Mark, a staffer at Frontera, and Daniel, a member of the church. Mark was trying to understand why so many migrants came from the state of Chiapas, and Daniel was trying to explain the drop in coffee prices that growers had experienced there. The rest, as they say, is history.
Four years later, the Just Coffee Model (or Fair Trade Plus as it is also called) continues to address immigration and pursue economic justice in three fundamental ways:
1. Just Coffee allows coffee farmers to receive a just price for their crop. In Spanish, Just Coffee (Cafe Justo) literally means Justice Coffee. The almost forty members of the growing cooperative receive more than $1.30 per pound for their coffee (more than three times the amount they were receiving when Just Coffee started). They also receive health and retirement benefits for themselves and their families.
2. Just Coffee is owned by the growers. Although Frontera helped to found Just Coffee and has worked with it closely ever since, Just Coffee is 100% owned by the growers. This is in stark contrast to regular coffee, but also to most Fair Trade coffees as well. We call Just Coffee "Fair Trade Plus" because the traditional Fair Trade model does not include health care or retirement benefits, pays the farmers as much as $.40 per pound less, and exports a great deal of the profits out into the U.S. Not only are the farmers receiving a just price for their coffee, they are gaining business skills.
3. Just Coffee helps the local economy in Chiapas and on the border. The increased price that farmers have received from Just Coffee has gone out into the community around them. On the border, Just Coffee has created seven jobs for Mexican workers.
That's great...but how's the coffee?
1. Just Coffee is 100% shade grown organic coffee.
2. Just Coffee is shipped to you less than a week after it has been roasted.
3. 1 pound of Just Coffee costs $8.00 ($6.75) wholesale, about the price of 1 lb. of non-fair trade non-organic coffee at Safeway. 1 lb. of fair trade and organic Starbucks coffee runs about $12-16.
4. Just Coffee tastes amazing. Yeah, I love it.
5. It comes in all kinds- Arabica, Robusta, ground, bean, dark, light, regular, decaf. You name it. We also do custom roasts. Special, huh?
So...what does this have to do with all of you?
Just Coffee is also growing.
In 2007 the plan is to open two new coffee cooperatives in southern Mexico, and begin preparations for a cooperative in Haiti. The first new cooperative that we are launching is called El Aguila.
El Aguila is a small Mexican town in the state of Chiapas (near the border with Guatemala) made up of small scale coffee farmers. It is also just up the road from the Just Coffee cooperative in Salvador Urbina.
Just Coffee has been marketed and sold locally, with about 80% of sales happening right here in southern Arizona. That model is going to be replicated with El Aguila, but with a target on the Southern California area. That's where you all come in.
The plan for El Aguila is to put a roasting facility in Tijuana, and to focus marketing on San Diego, Los Angeles, and the Central Valley. For those of you in Washington and Oregon, don't worry, we would really like you to be involved too.
At this point, Just Coffee is also sold primarily through churches. Although we have a large number of individual customers, and even stores and coffee shops, a majority of our sales come through churches.
The way it works is that a church orders the coffee from us at the wholsale price of $6.75, and then sells it at their church for between $8-10 (their choice really). The difference in price is theirs to do with as they choose. Obviously this is not the only way to sell the coffee, but like I said, it's where most sales come from.
Initially I said this e-mail was about asking for some help, and I'm finally getting around to that part.
I would really like all of your help.
How?
1. If you like coffee, buy the coffee. It's good. I'll send it to you for free to try it out. Ask me.
2. Talk to your churches/people at your churches/friends at other churches about using the coffee at their fellowship hours and selling it at the church.
3. Send me names and contact info. for other people in your area who would be interested in participating and hearing more about it.
Mostly, I would just like to work with those of you who can make the time (I know all of you are busy) and have the interest in helping me (and a bunch of coffee farmers) out with this. The goal is to have the roasting facility in place by June, but orders are ready to be processed starting pretty much right now.
One of the really exciting things about this model for me is that it is about forming relationships and supporting people that I know. You have the oppurtunity to visit the roasting facility in Tijuana, to meet the staff, to learn about the people growing the coffee, and meet them as well.
So, if you're interested, here's what we can do:
1. Check out the website: www.justcoffee.org
2. Think about what other people would be interested and let me know (e-mail is best)
3. Think about the best way to get your own church involved. (Who would/has the authority make the decision to use Just Coffee? To sell it? What information would you need to present to them? Who would be a good person to handle ordering the coffee and making sure payments get sent?)
4. Ask me questions and talk to me. What do you want to know? What do you need? Let me know what you are thinking. Let me know if you don't have the time. I'd probably like to talk to you anyway. E-mail me. Call me (720-560-0460) Set up a time for us to talk further about ways that we can help one another. Anything. I'm all ears.
5. Pray. (Or as Stephen Colbert calls it, p-mail).
What we're not asking for: Donations (although those are nice). We are looking at building a customer base. Great coffee at a great price for a great cause. That simple.
That's about all from my end. As an aside, I'd love to hear from all of you, whether about coffee or not. If you've made it this far, just shoot me a quick e-mail back letting me know what you're thinking and where we can go from here. If we're already talking, expect to hear from me soon. I just got back from Chiapas and have a day or so of catching up to do.
Thanks so much for all your time and support.
Aaron
I'm also wanting to get back into the business of posting about my job and about the border more, so I'm going to sort of combine both of those goals with this post.
This is an e-mail that I just sent out to friends and family in SoCal asking for some help with Just Coffee and explaining a little bit about what makes this project so special. I suspect that most of you would be interested in knowing this stuff as well, and I hope to get some questions out of it, and then maybe write more in some follow-up posts. We'll see. (Sorry Molly, you already read this so it won't be able to keep you occupied at work. Guess you'll have to do your actual job instead).
Hello West Coast friends and family!
For some of you this is going to come as a follow-up e-mail, so I apologize if any of this is repeat. For everyone else, well, this is a call for some help. Read on, all (well, lots) will be explained.
Let's start with a little bit of background:
Part of my job down here in Agua Prieta has been working with a coffee company called Just Coffee. Just Coffee was started by Frontera de Cristo, the Presbyterian border ministry that I work for, a little more than four years ago.
Just Coffee was started primarily as a response to immigration. My church in Agua Prieta, El Lirio de Los Valles Presbyterian Church, is a largely transient congregation, made up mostly of immigrants from southern Mexico. The church routinely gains and loses members as some families arrive at the border from the south, and others cross the border into the U.S. looking for work. The vision for Just Coffee came from a conversation between Mark, a staffer at Frontera, and Daniel, a member of the church. Mark was trying to understand why so many migrants came from the state of Chiapas, and Daniel was trying to explain the drop in coffee prices that growers had experienced there. The rest, as they say, is history.
Four years later, the Just Coffee Model (or Fair Trade Plus as it is also called) continues to address immigration and pursue economic justice in three fundamental ways:
1. Just Coffee allows coffee farmers to receive a just price for their crop. In Spanish, Just Coffee (Cafe Justo) literally means Justice Coffee. The almost forty members of the growing cooperative receive more than $1.30 per pound for their coffee (more than three times the amount they were receiving when Just Coffee started). They also receive health and retirement benefits for themselves and their families.
2. Just Coffee is owned by the growers. Although Frontera helped to found Just Coffee and has worked with it closely ever since, Just Coffee is 100% owned by the growers. This is in stark contrast to regular coffee, but also to most Fair Trade coffees as well. We call Just Coffee "Fair Trade Plus" because the traditional Fair Trade model does not include health care or retirement benefits, pays the farmers as much as $.40 per pound less, and exports a great deal of the profits out into the U.S. Not only are the farmers receiving a just price for their coffee, they are gaining business skills.
3. Just Coffee helps the local economy in Chiapas and on the border. The increased price that farmers have received from Just Coffee has gone out into the community around them. On the border, Just Coffee has created seven jobs for Mexican workers.
That's great...but how's the coffee?
1. Just Coffee is 100% shade grown organic coffee.
2. Just Coffee is shipped to you less than a week after it has been roasted.
3. 1 pound of Just Coffee costs $8.00 ($6.75) wholesale, about the price of 1 lb. of non-fair trade non-organic coffee at Safeway. 1 lb. of fair trade and organic Starbucks coffee runs about $12-16.
4. Just Coffee tastes amazing. Yeah, I love it.
5. It comes in all kinds- Arabica, Robusta, ground, bean, dark, light, regular, decaf. You name it. We also do custom roasts. Special, huh?
So...what does this have to do with all of you?
Just Coffee is also growing.
In 2007 the plan is to open two new coffee cooperatives in southern Mexico, and begin preparations for a cooperative in Haiti. The first new cooperative that we are launching is called El Aguila.
El Aguila is a small Mexican town in the state of Chiapas (near the border with Guatemala) made up of small scale coffee farmers. It is also just up the road from the Just Coffee cooperative in Salvador Urbina.
Just Coffee has been marketed and sold locally, with about 80% of sales happening right here in southern Arizona. That model is going to be replicated with El Aguila, but with a target on the Southern California area. That's where you all come in.
The plan for El Aguila is to put a roasting facility in Tijuana, and to focus marketing on San Diego, Los Angeles, and the Central Valley. For those of you in Washington and Oregon, don't worry, we would really like you to be involved too.
At this point, Just Coffee is also sold primarily through churches. Although we have a large number of individual customers, and even stores and coffee shops, a majority of our sales come through churches.
The way it works is that a church orders the coffee from us at the wholsale price of $6.75, and then sells it at their church for between $8-10 (their choice really). The difference in price is theirs to do with as they choose. Obviously this is not the only way to sell the coffee, but like I said, it's where most sales come from.
Initially I said this e-mail was about asking for some help, and I'm finally getting around to that part.
I would really like all of your help.
How?
1. If you like coffee, buy the coffee. It's good. I'll send it to you for free to try it out. Ask me.
2. Talk to your churches/people at your churches/friends at other churches about using the coffee at their fellowship hours and selling it at the church.
3. Send me names and contact info. for other people in your area who would be interested in participating and hearing more about it.
Mostly, I would just like to work with those of you who can make the time (I know all of you are busy) and have the interest in helping me (and a bunch of coffee farmers) out with this. The goal is to have the roasting facility in place by June, but orders are ready to be processed starting pretty much right now.
One of the really exciting things about this model for me is that it is about forming relationships and supporting people that I know. You have the oppurtunity to visit the roasting facility in Tijuana, to meet the staff, to learn about the people growing the coffee, and meet them as well.
So, if you're interested, here's what we can do:
1. Check out the website: www.justcoffee.org
2. Think about what other people would be interested and let me know (e-mail is best)
3. Think about the best way to get your own church involved. (Who would/has the authority make the decision to use Just Coffee? To sell it? What information would you need to present to them? Who would be a good person to handle ordering the coffee and making sure payments get sent?)
4. Ask me questions and talk to me. What do you want to know? What do you need? Let me know what you are thinking. Let me know if you don't have the time. I'd probably like to talk to you anyway. E-mail me. Call me (720-560-0460) Set up a time for us to talk further about ways that we can help one another. Anything. I'm all ears.
5. Pray. (Or as Stephen Colbert calls it, p-mail).
What we're not asking for: Donations (although those are nice). We are looking at building a customer base. Great coffee at a great price for a great cause. That simple.
That's about all from my end. As an aside, I'd love to hear from all of you, whether about coffee or not. If you've made it this far, just shoot me a quick e-mail back letting me know what you're thinking and where we can go from here. If we're already talking, expect to hear from me soon. I just got back from Chiapas and have a day or so of catching up to do.
Thanks so much for all your time and support.
Aaron
Sunday, December 10, 2006
The Quarter Life: Friends and Community
My good friend Bryce Perica and I are starting up a project that we are calling "The Quarter life." The Quarter Life is a new series about, well...life, I guess. More specifically, it's about the experience of life that we have had in our 20's. Bryce and I chose some topics that we both wanted to cover, and over the next few months we are going to be posting pieces on things like family, work, finances, etc. The first installment of The Quarter Life begins today with a post on friendship and community. As always, Bryce's stuff is up at http://sixhoursonsunday.blogspot.com.
In Mexico it's not uncommon for children to never leave home. The first time that someone told me this I couldn't believe it. "Never!?," I thought to myself. But it turns out that, by and large, it is true. The ideal family situation in Mexico is one where the children grow up, go to college, come back home, get a job, get married, and finally move out of their parents house. And by move out, I mean move into the house that they built across the street from their parents.
This contrasts sharply with the way that I was brought up to think about my own family, and especially how I was raised think about friends and community. As a (white) American I have always had this sense that, while being really important, friends, and even sometimes family, were not necessarily permanent fixtures in life. I don't think this played out any more clearly than in my decision to head off to Pomona College in sunny Los Angeles, CA. For a starters, I didn't know anyone at Pomona College. No professors, no students, no staff. It never occurred to me that it was strange to leave all of my family and friends behind and set off for a place full of people that I had never met.
Of course I now have plenty of friends from my Pomona days, and another big group from an assortment of related adventures, but I have yet to regain the community that I had back in Longmont growing up. Intuitively, that makes a lot of sense. I have spent the last five years moving around from place to place, never spending more than several months investing in any one thing, or one cohesive group of people. Not surprisingly, I have missed the community that I used to have, and for all sorts of reasons. In many ways I think that my life has been less fun and more difficult because so many of those people were not around.
And I think that this is pretty common. My sense is that twentysomethings experience a great deal of loneliness and isolation as they strive to form new communities and friendship groups. I have talked to countless recent graduates, and even friends who graduated years ago, about how much more difficult it has been to form friendships and community in the "working world" than it was back in college. So many of us, myself included, spend the majority of our time in strange new places working demanding jobs or trying to secure another degree (that will hopefully land us more demanding jobs). All this while trying keep up with the friends and communities that we left behind.
The issue of keeping up with friends from high school and college is so challenging that many people (myself included) begin to intentionally prioritize these friendships. I prioritize my friendships using the context of weddings. Why weddings? Well, for starters, weddings are expensive. I'm not even talking about having a wedding, I'm talking about going to weddings. Flights. Food. Gifts. Clothing. It all adds up. It's even more expensive if you are fortunate enough (no sarcasm) to be included in the wedding party. It is simply impossible for any twentysomething without a trust fund to attend all of the weddings to which they are invited. As a result, my friendships have become classified by the existence of theoretical weddings, theirs or mine. Here's my hierarchy of friendships as evaluated through weddings:
1. Friends who will be in my wedding
2. Friends whose wedding I will be in
3. Friends whose wedding I will attend
4. Friends who will attend my wedding
5. Friends who will not attend my wedding
6. Friends whose wedding I will not attend.
I'm not a big fan of using formulas or rankings on people, but that's a little disingenuous to say right now since I do use them in this context. Things like visits, gifts, e-mails, phone calls, and a whole other set of "friendly" gestures are doled out based on where people fall on the wedding scale. It's not meant to be mean spirited, just to make sure that the people who are most important in my life both feel and stay just that, important. It's also far from perfect. The truth is that I tend to neglect important people no matter what (currently I am badly neglecting many dear friends who still go to Pomona), but it's a way to be more accountable. It's also been a helpful way for me to realize when new friends become really important to me. If I try to think about my wedding without them and I just can't see it, that's probably a good sign that I should work extra hard to stay in touch.
All of these thoughts, beliefs, and assorted musings leaves me feeling convicted about two things. The first is that I simply don't value my friends enough. I think this is most evident in the ways that I make decisions about my life. In college, what I did over summer vacation or any other break was much more influenced by what seemed inexpensive or fun than by its particular proximity to my friends. That wasn't always the case, but it was a lot. More important, however, is that I have yet to make a serious sacrifice in order to be closer to my friends. That is to say, I have yet to give up a good job, or something I hold to be of similar value, to seek a deeper and more meaningful relationship with my friends. If I am serious about becoming a more faithful, more compassionate, and more balanced person, I should be more serious about spending a lot of time with my friends. Friends, at their best, are the catalyst for change and growth in your life. Obviously they should be fun to be around, interesting to talk to, etc., but mostly they should be someone who can hold you accountable, and who will let you do the same for them. Without that I just don't think it's friendship.
Community, especially Christian community, is a whole 'nother animal. It is, as we see it best modeled in Acts, a physical manifestation of the Kingdom of God. Unlike friends, who we have some say in, community, no matter where we are, is given to us without the choice to opt out. Community, even more than friends, pushes us outside of our comfort zones and into a place where we might be required to confront Jesus. It is often the people we don't like, and especially don't like to love, the people who make us uncomfortable, the people who make us feel awkward, and even the people who make us feel awful. That's community. And community, as far as I am concerned, is best faced in the company of friends. And this is where I feel convicted once again. As much as I have tried to contribute to a number of different communities- Pomona, urban Los Angeles, Uganda, Douglas/Agua Prieta, etc., I have never been able to contribute as fully as I would like to. This is, I think, partially a function of the relatively short amount of time that I have committed to the people in those places, but is also due largely to the fact that I experienced most of those places, and the people in them experienced me, almost totally in the absence of my closest friends.
So, like many twentysomethings, I face the decision of accepting my relationships with my friends and my community as they have always been, or of being proactive in imagining how I want them to be in the future. I am trying to take strides to choose the latter. For example, I recently made a commitment to a friend to live with him after I leave Agua Prieta. I don't know if this will be immediately after, as there are considerations with my family as well, but it is a commitment I intend to keep regardless of what other opportunities come up. I wish the details were more specific, but it's a start. In addition to the benefit I will receive by enjoying his company, decisions like this, I believe, will allow me to be a more meaningful participant in new communities in the future. In the presence of my closest friends I will be able to love and serve in a greater capacity than I am currently able to. That, I think, is a major lesson of Jesus and his disciples. And for me, the prospect of loving more and serving more is a terribly exciting thing.
Note: Special thanks to Maite, Lexie, Chris, Mike, Laura, Grace, Thandiwe, Brian, Bryce, Erik, Chris, Wes, Kyle, Collin, Brianne, Travis, Ben, and Maile for having a profound impact on my thoughts about friendship and community. I'm sure that I'm leaving out many others. Sorry 'bout that.
In Mexico it's not uncommon for children to never leave home. The first time that someone told me this I couldn't believe it. "Never!?," I thought to myself. But it turns out that, by and large, it is true. The ideal family situation in Mexico is one where the children grow up, go to college, come back home, get a job, get married, and finally move out of their parents house. And by move out, I mean move into the house that they built across the street from their parents.
This contrasts sharply with the way that I was brought up to think about my own family, and especially how I was raised think about friends and community. As a (white) American I have always had this sense that, while being really important, friends, and even sometimes family, were not necessarily permanent fixtures in life. I don't think this played out any more clearly than in my decision to head off to Pomona College in sunny Los Angeles, CA. For a starters, I didn't know anyone at Pomona College. No professors, no students, no staff. It never occurred to me that it was strange to leave all of my family and friends behind and set off for a place full of people that I had never met.
Of course I now have plenty of friends from my Pomona days, and another big group from an assortment of related adventures, but I have yet to regain the community that I had back in Longmont growing up. Intuitively, that makes a lot of sense. I have spent the last five years moving around from place to place, never spending more than several months investing in any one thing, or one cohesive group of people. Not surprisingly, I have missed the community that I used to have, and for all sorts of reasons. In many ways I think that my life has been less fun and more difficult because so many of those people were not around.
And I think that this is pretty common. My sense is that twentysomethings experience a great deal of loneliness and isolation as they strive to form new communities and friendship groups. I have talked to countless recent graduates, and even friends who graduated years ago, about how much more difficult it has been to form friendships and community in the "working world" than it was back in college. So many of us, myself included, spend the majority of our time in strange new places working demanding jobs or trying to secure another degree (that will hopefully land us more demanding jobs). All this while trying keep up with the friends and communities that we left behind.
The issue of keeping up with friends from high school and college is so challenging that many people (myself included) begin to intentionally prioritize these friendships. I prioritize my friendships using the context of weddings. Why weddings? Well, for starters, weddings are expensive. I'm not even talking about having a wedding, I'm talking about going to weddings. Flights. Food. Gifts. Clothing. It all adds up. It's even more expensive if you are fortunate enough (no sarcasm) to be included in the wedding party. It is simply impossible for any twentysomething without a trust fund to attend all of the weddings to which they are invited. As a result, my friendships have become classified by the existence of theoretical weddings, theirs or mine. Here's my hierarchy of friendships as evaluated through weddings:
1. Friends who will be in my wedding
2. Friends whose wedding I will be in
3. Friends whose wedding I will attend
4. Friends who will attend my wedding
5. Friends who will not attend my wedding
6. Friends whose wedding I will not attend.
I'm not a big fan of using formulas or rankings on people, but that's a little disingenuous to say right now since I do use them in this context. Things like visits, gifts, e-mails, phone calls, and a whole other set of "friendly" gestures are doled out based on where people fall on the wedding scale. It's not meant to be mean spirited, just to make sure that the people who are most important in my life both feel and stay just that, important. It's also far from perfect. The truth is that I tend to neglect important people no matter what (currently I am badly neglecting many dear friends who still go to Pomona), but it's a way to be more accountable. It's also been a helpful way for me to realize when new friends become really important to me. If I try to think about my wedding without them and I just can't see it, that's probably a good sign that I should work extra hard to stay in touch.
All of these thoughts, beliefs, and assorted musings leaves me feeling convicted about two things. The first is that I simply don't value my friends enough. I think this is most evident in the ways that I make decisions about my life. In college, what I did over summer vacation or any other break was much more influenced by what seemed inexpensive or fun than by its particular proximity to my friends. That wasn't always the case, but it was a lot. More important, however, is that I have yet to make a serious sacrifice in order to be closer to my friends. That is to say, I have yet to give up a good job, or something I hold to be of similar value, to seek a deeper and more meaningful relationship with my friends. If I am serious about becoming a more faithful, more compassionate, and more balanced person, I should be more serious about spending a lot of time with my friends. Friends, at their best, are the catalyst for change and growth in your life. Obviously they should be fun to be around, interesting to talk to, etc., but mostly they should be someone who can hold you accountable, and who will let you do the same for them. Without that I just don't think it's friendship.
Community, especially Christian community, is a whole 'nother animal. It is, as we see it best modeled in Acts, a physical manifestation of the Kingdom of God. Unlike friends, who we have some say in, community, no matter where we are, is given to us without the choice to opt out. Community, even more than friends, pushes us outside of our comfort zones and into a place where we might be required to confront Jesus. It is often the people we don't like, and especially don't like to love, the people who make us uncomfortable, the people who make us feel awkward, and even the people who make us feel awful. That's community. And community, as far as I am concerned, is best faced in the company of friends. And this is where I feel convicted once again. As much as I have tried to contribute to a number of different communities- Pomona, urban Los Angeles, Uganda, Douglas/Agua Prieta, etc., I have never been able to contribute as fully as I would like to. This is, I think, partially a function of the relatively short amount of time that I have committed to the people in those places, but is also due largely to the fact that I experienced most of those places, and the people in them experienced me, almost totally in the absence of my closest friends.
So, like many twentysomethings, I face the decision of accepting my relationships with my friends and my community as they have always been, or of being proactive in imagining how I want them to be in the future. I am trying to take strides to choose the latter. For example, I recently made a commitment to a friend to live with him after I leave Agua Prieta. I don't know if this will be immediately after, as there are considerations with my family as well, but it is a commitment I intend to keep regardless of what other opportunities come up. I wish the details were more specific, but it's a start. In addition to the benefit I will receive by enjoying his company, decisions like this, I believe, will allow me to be a more meaningful participant in new communities in the future. In the presence of my closest friends I will be able to love and serve in a greater capacity than I am currently able to. That, I think, is a major lesson of Jesus and his disciples. And for me, the prospect of loving more and serving more is a terribly exciting thing.
Note: Special thanks to Maite, Lexie, Chris, Mike, Laura, Grace, Thandiwe, Brian, Bryce, Erik, Chris, Wes, Kyle, Collin, Brianne, Travis, Ben, and Maile for having a profound impact on my thoughts about friendship and community. I'm sure that I'm leaving out many others. Sorry 'bout that.
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