Lock-in

A few weeks ago I led my first lock-in with the youth group of CrossPoint Churches. I honestly wasn't sure how it would go, especially since I was the only chaperone who would be there the whole time! What do you do in a lock-in? I reflected back on ones I went to when I was a teenager, and hoped that this night wouldn't be as crazy. The kids came around 8pm. After an icebreaker and setting the rules for the night, I had them put their cell phones on a bin and we kept them there the whole night-surprisingly most the kids actually thought it was a great idea! I planned on staying up all night, and they were welcome to but I gave them the speech about discerning whether to do so considering their commitments the next day, health, etc. The last time I remember boasting about how late I stayed up I was in middle school. Somewhere in high school I became overcommitted enough to treasure every minute of sleep I could get and was content to let people win the “game” of staying up the longest.
When you aren't doing assignments or preparing for exams, all-nighters can be fun so I made sure I had plenty of activities planned and was curious to try them out with the group. We didn't have time for them all. After a few hours of games, snacks and sundaes, “Follow the Guard” was the chosen favorite activity. Probably the funniest moment for me that night was around 1am when I asked if they wanted to watch a movie and they quickly yelled “No! We'll fall asleep!” I liked the honesty.
I had been up since 6:30am Friday and around 3am Saturday I was glad to see that most of the kids had fallen asleep already. I had chosen not to have any caffeine so I wasn't sure how I'd last. Apples to Apples and other small games kept the few remaining kids entertained and I was entertained watching them. They fought off “long blinks” and claimed they were merely “resting their eyes” for minutes at a time:) The night had been cold and clear, which made for a wondeful sunrise at Green Lake, so I brought them down around 7am. They started making pancakes when they returned, which was hilarious to watch. I made some scrambled eggs and prepared fruit and drinks. We ate around 8:00, or rather grazed. After so much sugar from junk food the night prior, some people had upset stomachs. We had way too many pancakes. People were just awake enough to help me clean, but not awake enough to argue about it-which was perfect. Everything was cleaned and put away by 9:30, leaving time for some to flop back on the floor and sleep. We had survived our first lock-in, but unlike when I was a teenager, I couldn't go home and sleep the rest of the day...
I had some other work to do that day, errands to run and a party to prepare for at my place-probably not the smartest decision after an all-nighter. Around 4pm I was fading quickly and crashed for about 2 hours before preparing the barbeque. I didn't have a lot of social energy, so I was relieved that only 10 were in our house at one time through the night. The party was over at 1am, I went to sleep at 1:30 and was up at 9:00, so thankfully I had Monday morning free to finally catch up on sleep. Was the lock-in worth it? Yes, but I won't make a habit of it-I love sleep too much.

A Birthday Vacation in LA

My birthday, March 9th, was an intense, chaotic and hectic day. It was an emotional rollercoaster: calls from friends in London, transitions and drama with my 3 part time jobs, friend's emergencies, car problems, planning events, making decisions and having little flexibility to get things done. I rarely get stressed out, largely because I manage things and adapt well but that whole week, all the way up to walking on the plane Thursday night to LA I was admittedly stressed. It was a foreign feeling, and it took a while to name it but when I let out a sigh on the plane, I realized I was ready for a holiday. And there is no one better I know to help me enjoy life than my brother Nate.

He has been in LA for four years now and calls it home. We had a loose schedule. I mainly wanted to relax, see his friends, explore the city a little and go surfing at least once. After arriving, I spent the next 2.5 hrs in LA traffic; not the best start. He works at a college supervising students, which he does well at but at 25 he is ready to move out of the college scene. After being a nomad myself, it was nice to be around someone who has known me so long-he is my triplet after all! We went to his friend's house in Beverly Hills and I had a few glasses of the best wine I've ever tasted:) His friend greeted me with a sentence I would hear often that week"So you're Ben, Nate has told me so much about you". I wasn't sure whether to feel honored or worried by that introduction...thankfully I have a good brother who doesn't make me look bad in order to make himself look better.

We went to Six Flags! It had been over a decade since I had been at a theme park and I felt like a little kid again excited to go on rollercoasters and feel a strange attraction to testing my fears. Exchange students joined us from the university who were from Germany and Hungary, so their stories kept us entertained while waiting in the lines. The rollercoasters made me feel like a child's toy-i remember as a kid making all sorts of rides and courses for my lego men and spinning them around and around different directions. I definitely felt a rush at times!

The next morning we woke up early, walked out the door, grabbed our boards and walked down to the water. As I strapped my leash and ran into the water I realized it had been years since I was surfing. I call myself a paddler, not a surfer because I am a beginner and spend more time paddling than actually riding the waves. I'd rather be honest about my inexperience-at least it decreases the humiliation of missing a wave. The breaks were only 2-3 ft but it was enough to get up on my longboard. It was a joy to see dolphins only 15 feet from me. They are large animals and I felt kind of helpless on my little board floating waiting for a wave. It was a perfect day, and I was soaking in the morning sunshine. I stayed out in the water until I literally could not paddle anymore because my hands were too cold to close my fingers together.

My last night there we went to West Hollywood and ate at Dan Tana's Restaurant on Santa Monica Blvd. I quickly saw that it was a Hollywood hangout and when I heard it opened in the 60s, I knew the food must be amazing. I savoured their mozzarella marinara and linguini clams over the next hour with glasses of wine. I felt spoiled!

My last day I enjoyed having a slow morning, making coffee and going for a walk in the sunshine. I had to fight off the thoughts of all that i'd need to do when I returned that night. I was slipping away from the "holiday zone"! Jumping in the pool, playing basketball and lifting weights the next few hours kept those thoughts at bay. On my flight home, I was grateful for the silence, to soak in the final hours of my holiday. My birthday vacation was over, and it could not have come at a better time.

The Impact of Cross-Cultural Experience (Part 2)

Sorry to delay the continued thought on this. I had finished by talking about the power of the gospel to unite different people and culture and tranform them into unique, strong, and honest communities. I believe this happens because this "good news", that Jesus died to save sinners, challenges and affirms aspects of every person and every culture. The fact that God claims that the fullest display of his power and glory is shown at the cross, what is meant to show utter shame and defeat-God restores what is broken by paying the cost himself. Since Adam's rebellion, no one is utterly evil but are marred, we all are like shattered ruins which hint towards a former glory, giving us a glimpse at what was and a peak into what will be. The power and wonder of the cross, that "God so loved that world that he gave his only son that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life", reveals God's commitment to his creation, those made in his image. That story of a covenant, a faithful passion for His people, captures us in such a way that others are drawn not to simply a system of beliefs and moral codes but drawn to feel more human, not less, more whole and complete, not disillusioned and fragile. When considering the diversity of cultures and beliefs, the gospel becomes more beautiful and meaningful, not less. We all have faith in something, somewhere to find worth, guidance, peace, and joy. We long to be known yet fear full disclosure. It is intimidating yet freeing to be welcome as humans-frail, tattered yet hopeful-in his presence. I am so glad that we did not have to earn our way to Him or go find Him but rather he came to us and defying all rationality he chose to come in such a common way that some people missed him completely. His normalcy, his humanness was as staggering as His glory. He valued relationships becoming subject to time and space for our sake. Living and learning cross-culturally has shown me the weight given by God accomodating us in such a drastic way and the joy in seeing myself and others transformed and shaped slowly as a result into the "true adam" as restored image-bearers of God.

The Impact of Cross-Cultural Experience (Part 1)

As I met with parents of the youth group at my church for an informal “get to know you” night, I was asked a particular question that caught me off guard: “how has your interest and pursuit of understanding and engaging cross-culturally shaped you?” I was not sure how to answer. It was seven years ago that I first decided to study religion and history in order to do community development, to “understand” culture instead of having a goal to simply “appreciate” it as anthropology or many religion programs would. But what kind of journey have I had since that decision? Where has that path led? What have I learned and am still learning?
I was tongue tied for a minute, mulling the question over in my head searching for an answer-an answer that was concise, believable, yet authentic. I had none b/c like culture, my answer had to have a context, a framework, color and nuance. Yes I have changed the last seven years and have learned much but I also see how much I have yet to learn. These are all very general areas but they are what came to mind:
1. Culture is complex
You don't need to go to another country to be confronted with a different culture. Surfers are sometimes described in Nebraska like some of us describe a third-world culture! Seeing, recognizing and learning to love the differences in your community is hard. Going from White Center in West Seattle (almost everything but white racially to those who know it) to a largely white Christian high school was cross-cultural, with all the vocabulary, behavioral mores, tensions, questions, risks, acclamation and critique of going to another country. Going from that school to Lookout Mountain, GA (the south) for college was another cross-cultural experience. I worked one summer in St. Louis, with one of the highest home owning immigrant communities in the country, for an inner city youth development program,. I also helped with a youth group 20 min away in white suburbia. It was two different worlds separated by a highway (sort of like Fitzgerald's portrayal of the area between New York and West Egg in The Great Gatsby). In some ways it was easier for me to go to Uganda and relate with the village community there than it would have been to engage with the deaf community outside my own house in the US. Living in and visiting cities around the country made me realize how quickly we create cultures and subcultures, largely to define ourselves better in light of others. Even in a world class city like London where you'd imagine a melting pot experience to be common, living with the Indian community 30 min outside London and riding my cycle to central London was immensely cross-cultural! And now, living in/near the Central District and working primarily in Green Lake and further west in Ballard I see and feel like I pass through markedly different communities.
2. We connect as humans not by avoiding hard questions but by asking them
Avoiding the hard questions is a disfavor to others, in fact it is quite lazy though it seems “kind”. Asking my host family in Mexico why I got to sleep on the only bed in the house taught me much about their culture, hospitality and contentment. Asking the finance minister of Uganda how he handles the weight of civil war and economic disaster was hard, but it revealed his heart-as he spoke of Jesus' love for him even as tears came down his cheek recounting the struggles of living out that faith in a broken world. Asking a suburban youth what he wants for his birthday but knows he can't receive -parents who work less and love him more-revealed how poverty is not simply economic. Asking a second generation Indian immigrant in London how he felt about his future-fearful, weary and anxious-revealed a man caught between two cultures struggling to love one while paving his way in another. Asking hard questions connects us because at our core we are amazingly similar. How someone asks those questions matters because only when you feel cherished do you trust someone fully and see grace and hope as a gift can. And then they, despite their circumstances, are both challenged and comforted by being part of something bigger, more complex and beautiful than they fully know. Friendship, humble yet intentional fellowship, breaks past systems and structures to our deepest hopes and fears, doubts and dreams, which is both scary and remarkably comforting.
Food for thought: Christians were first called that name by the Romans in Antioch b/c they could not be categorized. For their own safety, the Romans had to segregate those they ruled from each other but since Christians came from all sorts of racial, economic and cultural backgrounds, they didn't know what unified them other than believing Christ, hence “Christians”. Read any history of Rome or any portion of the Bible and you'll see that combining people with differences into one group is messy and dangerous yet despite culture's complexity and life's hard questions, the group that emerges is stronger, not weaker. More on how that happens in the next post...

The Weight of Words

For most of my life I have hesitated to express myself, to put words to how I feel, what I want and what I am doing. Though I often doubt that anyone is actually interested, the main reason is that I fear rejection. I think it is only "safe" when I have the right diction, imagery, tone, proper syntax and iambic pentameter, etc.--basically if I am a natural Walt Whitman or RobertFrost. Thus, I am intimidated and have rarely ever ventured to write this way unless forced in school, which was only occasional. What I lack is courage to write, to feebly attempt articulation of what is vague but pressing on my mind. The simple advise in Finding Forrester that "the first step to writing is to write" challenges me but has also freed me to make mistakes and wonder at the weight of words. I wrote this last spring while having coffee in London reflecting on how arduous making a simple blog post felt:)

New Birth
My writing emerges from a pregnant mind and heart
Slowly, painfully with both fear and excitement
Anxiety of what might be-too soon? Too late?
How will it be received? How will it resemble me?
What trials might it face?
YET
The wonder always wins out
It’s finally here! What will it look like?
What life will it lead? Who will it meet on the way?
Whose lives will be impacted?
Oh, what a treasure! This is mine, my gift to the world.
No matter how it is received by others
I will always claim, value and love it
I wonder, truly wonder at one thought made real…

My words arrive so vulnerable, weak, dependent,
The letters are naked and messy
The phrases so full of erratic emotion, fearful of
This new world, being constrained to pen and paper
Yet bursting with potential barely contained in its new form
They are so feeble, foreign yet formidable with each stroke
Simultaneously taking a life of its own and giving to the lives around it

New writing, new birth
Filled with the same expectations, hopes and dreams
Met with the same scrutiny, overwhelmed expressions
Though small, it seems to shake the world
A product of a couple, familiar with a few, yet distinct from all
The sounds form tone, the words structure, the phrases meaning
As they crawl, and walk and run into being
And oh how they run!
So bold, so free, so full of unadulterated wonder
Not completely understood but monumental in every way

AND the writing grows like any child I suppose…

Editing would be the rough adolescent stage (identity formation, acceptance)
Publication would be the hard earned, but sweet adult stage (satisfied, validated and valued)
And then parenting! -how words meet, bond and amazingly create new words, new birth…again
Hmmm, I wonder…(and so I write!)

A Morning with SAM

A few weeks ago I went to the Seattle Art Museum (SAM) with some friends. I had not been inside since the remodeling began years ago and like so many places in Seattle, I was never intentional about "playing tourist." Thankfully my friends were interested AND also had an inside connection for free entry, so I went. Once I walked up the staircase while looking at the floating cars speared with shards of light, I realized "remodel" was the wrong word to use-it really was a new museum from the ground up, a "reconstruction." They had permanent galleries: Modern and Contemporary, Native American, NW artists, African, American, Australian and Oceanic, Asian, Ancient Mediterranean and Islamic, and Textiles yet we first went to the Special Exhibits-"Alexander Calder: A Balancing Act" and "Michelango Public and Private."

Calder was a master sculptor in the mid 20th c. creating an array of work as small as jewelry to as large as room-size mobiles. There were trinkets and toys and abstract designs. Mobiles were hanging all over the ceiling, perfectly balanced yet seemingly unstructured, without pattern or consistency though any fraction of weight difference in any direction would ruin the whole. It was interesting to see the process of his work, his ingenuity and inspiration but it did not capture me. There was almost too much left to interpret. Yes I can get lazy and want a full explanation of the artist's intention but like so much modern art, depth and wonder are often replaced with shallow "appreciation" in light of plain or simplistic or even elementary elements.

A contrast would be the next exhibit I saw on Michelango. We often think of Da Vinci being the Renaissance man who was plagued by ambition from overwhelming ability and imagination. Yet Michelango had his struggles as well, to a deeper level in some ways. This exhibit focused on his preliminary work for the Sistine Chapel. SAM was able to get a very rare collection of his sketches and drawings, his trial and error so to speak. There are only 12 in the US total and SAM acquired 12 more from the Cada Buonarroti in Florence. There are so few because he habitually burnt his preliminary work. I felt privileged in some way to be able to compare the drafts with the final product, having seen the Sistine Chapel in August last year (in the Vatican Museums, entrance shown in the picture).

Unlike Calder's exhibit, Michelangelo's left me with a sense of weight, of depth, of real substance. The intensity with which he worked and the excitement and turmoil revealed in his letters are evidence of his responsibility as an artist and the weight of the themes he was seeking to contain and display through art. He was not merely trying to master a certain medium or style of art, but trying to use it to point to something greater, someone greater. Art has become an end in itself for many, yet for Michelango it served as a tool, a window, a gateway to understand the world.

As I walked through the other exhibits of SAM, I had to stop because I couldn't take it all in anymore. I have a limit on how much I can soak in at a museum, it is wearying to have a Matrix-like download of such a concise, processed collection of culture. You pay to get in so you want your money's worth I suppose. Though you have museums stocked full of artifacts and exhibits around the world so little is seen, so little is preseved of cultures long ago. Small fragments remain and few are valued appropiately. So much is lost and even more forgotten: A name, a village, a story, a culture. Which memories are kept and treasured and which do we choose to ignore, to degrade, to kill? Why?
Would I be satisfied with one room with one raw artifact without commentary, without dates or facts instead of a museum full of ones known and itemized? Would I be content wondering, pondering the mystery of that one piece? Would I be comforted yet challenged by the sheer weight and power of time, culture, history-humanity and my small yet significant existence as I reflect its place and my place woven and connected somehow in the fabric of creation? I hope so.

Of all artifacts of history, all slices of culture, art is the most insightful and deceptive, and like any power it can build and destroy, be used for good and for evil. Interpreting art requires wisdom and creating it demands responsibility and discernment. I fear both interpreting and creating art today demands too little of us. You must grasp something in order to bend it, otherwise you may break it and something broken has no value but to learn what to do next time. Even Picasso understood this: "Art is a lie which helps us see the truth." We forget the goal of seeing the truth when we treasure the lie more, when we prefer to be blind than to see.

My stomach rumbled, someone suggested lunch at Pike Place and the day moved on and less heavy thoughts filled my head but I am glad I had that morning with SAM.

Reconnecting

Though I lived in Seattle from age 6 to 18 and then for 10 months before going to London in 2008, I did not return having many friends in Seattle. I mentioned in my last post how the culture shock impacted that but there was also the necessity to find work, a place to live, and a community. Having fewer friends in some ways made it an easier transition. Rather than feeling the need to reconnect with tons of people and bare my soul, it was relieving to only be that intentional with a few people who had asked "how are you?" as opposed to the majority who only wanted the 5 minute answer to "how was London?". Yet I quickly became numb to the emotional stretching and tension of adjusting to a new home. When I did try to reconnect with people, to listen to their stories, to enter into where they were it came across as too intentional, too personal. I am thankful for those who did sit down, press questions into me and made me feel free to express the joys and struggles of that experience and also admit the present confusion, awkwardness and fears. My initial months back were filled with transitions, risks but most of all-blessings.

A family graciously opened up their home to me for almost two months. I was able to see my sister and brother in-law, supporting church and friends in mid Oct and started a part time job when I returned at CrossPoint Churches as their Pastoral Support Coordinator. My aunt died suddenly a few weeks later and I was able to see my dad's side of the family again during that grieving period but also have Thanksgiving with them for the first time I can remember. I returned from that trip to start a part time job with The Ballard Boys and Girls Club. A week later I was able to buy a used Honda Civic for a great deal after saving for years which helped me get around the city. One of my pastors connected me with a guy at church who wanted a housemate and by mid-Dec I was able to move into an amazing place with affordable rent. I was able to see old friends from high school, attend a wedding, settle into a new room, set up Xmas decor and cook my first turkey before leaving to see my family Christmas Day. My immediate family had not been together in 1.5 yrs and since we live in 5 different states, it was a joy to have a week to reconnect. My brother and I slept in the barn in the back and kept a fire going. We had a small Christmas, went on hikes, read, had wonderful meals and enjoyed sleeping in. It is amazing to realize that within three months of my return to the States, I had two part time jobs, housing, a new car, a new church and was able to see 40+ family members and friends-what a praise!

One of the first things I missed about London was actually the solitude, the time to myself to explore the city, to reflect on the week's activities, to zone out while cooking a meal. It was nice to walk around Seattle, to find a coffee shop and sit down and people watch, to observe language and body language and learn of my new community. I walked down 1st ave and looked through some used book stores and searched for a new map for our wall. I got to play a tourist in my hometown, which was more natural than I thought it would be. It was a huge gift to join some friends for the last regular season Sounders game and see the football craze that had swept in while I was away. It didn't compare to football matches in the UK but it still made me smile to find something here that was shared with where I had been.

One of the hardest things about reconnecting was the normalcy of life-the realization that people had not changed much while I was away and the expectation that I had not either. The desire to be understood, to find sympathy, to find acceptance was and is very strong. It was and is hard to schedule something as simple as dinner with friends. Now, even four month later, there are many people in Seattle I have not yet reconnected or connected with. Time is precious and one of the hardest things to share with, or sacrifice for, another and I feel blessed to have had time to see old friends, meet new people, and form new friendships as I settle in my home.