Compassion Vs Justice

The next two blogs I plan to write involve subjects I consider myself fairly ignorant about. In fact, I am ashamed to write about things I know so little about and have suffered for even less. I would much rather expose myself deeply disciplined, passionate and considerably sacrificed for these things. The desire to be exposed at our best is our shame controlling us. I have learned that this is a negative feedback system that I have seen to control myself and others; we don't expose ourselves so we don't enter into important discussions and the transformations which only come from letting our embarrassment go, and thus we are stuck. I'm tired of being stuck and am becoming desperate for more growth and understanding. I expose myself, my inadequacies and my ignorances here hoping to grow and be transformed as a result.

With that said...

Something that has really been on my mind quite a lot since I took a trip down to Mexico was the idea of justice and compassion. The trip I took was with 21 friends of mine to Juarez, Mexico. We have another friend, Brandon Culp, who has taken a full time position with an organization called Casas Por Cristo building houses in Juarez. I admire greatly the sacrifice that Brandon has made and the work that he is doing in Juarez. Brandon suggested that we get a group together and come down, so we did. I think that the idea of a trip, a huge road trip to another country with 20 friends, was more important and exciting to me than being compassionate. Actually, I think I was more excited to eat burritos than be compassionate as well. So my priorities were set: Friends, roadie, burritos, compassion.

While I was in Juarez I saw things in a way that I hadn’t remembered seeing them the time I had been there before. I saw hurting people. I saw homes that hardly seemed worthy of being called homes and people without even that. I saw people without cars or other means of transportation to get to jobs. I saw people who were sick and couldn’t work and therefore couldn’t afford to pay doctors. People stuck. I also saw massive and extravagant shopping centers that modeled something quite like America's suburbia. I saw huge houses with multiple cars parked outside all surrounded by barbwire and steal—a message that exclaims ‘this isn’t for you.’ I saw large scale poverty and corruption in a system that offered no other alternative than choosing one of these.

So to the jobsite we went. The twenty of us were able to build an entire house, from the foundation up, in 4 days. The three room structure was to be used by a neighboring church for school, Sunday morning classes and visiting pastors among other things. I felt very accomplished about what we had done. Where there had been nothing there was a house. Where there was a need it had been filled. That structure will undoubtedly serve the people in that community for years to come and I feel great about what we accomplished during that week.

The last day of our build Aaron and I went into town to get paint and painting supplies because we figured we’d probably have enough time to paint the inside before we left. On our way back to the jobsite we were discussing the state of the colonial and I mentioned how much it seemed like shooting a spit ball at a freight train. This house, no matter how amazing we made it, did little to slow the beast that kept this community’s members in extreme poverty. Aaron lamented that though our deeds were compassionate but they did little to serve justice and that only half of the gospel had been fulfilled in our efforts. There was compassion without justice.

I sort of shrugged off what he was saying, probably pointing out a funny looking dog on the side of the road or something. As I thought about what he had said throughout the build that day I realized that justice and compassion had sort of become the same thing to me in a lot of ways. Both things just kind of seemed to be entries on a list of qualities I wished to reflect from the gospel. A list that looked something like; love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness and self-control...and compassion and justice. I’d never really thought too hard about it but I guess I just lumped compassion and justice together. Since then I have thought more about what these two things are and how they are the gospel in their own, different way.

I think that compassion is an act of mercy or selflessness usually for those who are in need. Serving at homeless shelters or buying a hamburger for someone who’s hungry come to mind. Jesus was compassionate. He healed and helped pretty well everywhere he went. I think that building that house was an act of compassion and was the gospel in that way.

Justice, by a common definition, is getting people what they deserve. We often think of judges and court buildings when we think of justice. These are institutions that ‘give people what they deserve,’ serving fines, probations and jail sentences to those who have broken the law. This is justice, but justice and ‘getting people what they deserve’ is a lot broader than this. I think Justice is working to dismantle the machines which create injustice. I think it means breaking down the structures and systems which leave, for example, people hungry and homeless in Juarez, Mexico. I think it means working against racism, sexism and heterosexism. I think it means breaking down barriers that prevent understanding. I think it means questioning the roots of our comfort and the roots of other’s discomfort and asking why.

Justice is a hard discipline. ‘Working for justice’ is something that I have had a hard time understanding and an even harder time doing. However, I do think that compassion acts as medium to understanding justice. I did not even realize that unjust systems existed in Juarez before the trip to Mexico. I didn’t realize there was such a large homeless population in Longmont before I served with COrES. I don’t understand the systems of injustice which keep parts of Africa in political turmoil and its people starving and dying of HIV, but I can respond compassionately with the visions of organizations like Blood:Water Mission.

As a response to the gospel I feel like we are brought through different disciplines in refracting and amplifying waves. Through the medium of compassion we discover injustices and are given the opportunity to respond with justice. Jesus says to the Pharisees in Luke, “Woe to you Pharisees because you give God a tenth of your mint, rue and all other kinds of garden herbs, but you neglect justice and the love of God. You should have practiced the latter without leaving the former undone.” It’s time that I realize how much I am like the Pharisees with my legalisms and trendy Christian ways and stop neglecting justice.

I don't imagine ways to be just will just start magically appearing to me. Just like I never would assume I could be infinitely joyful or compassionate. In fact, it has been hard to see injustice and I imagine that it will continue to be harder to react to what I see. Still, I feel that as a response to the gospel and to Jesus, the Jesus who worked to change the ways in which the world saw prostitutes, beggars and the homeless, I need to try.

So, consider this a part of the conversation and please continue it. Let's, as people who desire to be followers of the gospel, talk about what it means to do so and spur each other towards that.

Micah 6:8, "...act justly and love mercy and walk humbly with your God."

It’s 2:38 am, Do You Know Where Your Head’s At?

I am sitting in the common room of flat 38—the place that I have called home for these last five months. This morning I took a three hour essay test, handed it to the instructor, walked out the door and finished my junior year of college. I threw all my clothes into bags, took all my pictures off the walls, decided what things to keep and what things to trash and all of the sudden my room was just like it was when I arrived—not mine. Tonight at dinner my Dad, Ryan, Tom, Lynn, Chris and I had a toast celebrating the trip that we have just shared and marking its end. After dinner, everyone who’s around came to the flat and we carried on just like we had throughout countless nights before and we reminisced on all the experiences and adventures we found; then, everyone left for the last time.

Today has been one of the biggest days of transition of my life. It marked the transition into my last year of college, the beginning of summer, the end of an incredible trip shared with people I love and the transition away from an entire semester abroad—something that I couldn’t hardly see beyond six months ago and something that affected me more greatly than I could have guessed. Tomorrow, actually in 2 hours I transition myself away from Christchurch, New Zealand via some 40 hours of traveling and back to Longmont, Colorado for the summer and then on to Bozeman, Montana a couple of months later for my last fall semester.

The obvious feelings of both sadness about leaving and excitement to be home again with the people I love, the same feelings which have found me at the commencement of other school years or summer camps or long trips—these feelings are present but they are different somehow. Perhaps they are the same but my approach to them is different, all I know is that something is different. I feel like there is an incredible amount of feelings somewhere that I can begin to let surface resulting quickly in a small pain in my stomach that forces me to push them back down and ignore them a while longer. I think that maybe it just isn’t time yet to fully reflect on my time here and fully anticipate the time ahead of me. Actually, I think that it is likely that my brain or some other important part of me would turn to a guacamole type consistency and texture if this were to happen, but I have tried.

I have had several prescribed attitudes towards this time of transition that I have tried my best to implement, but these efforts have proved fruitless. The first was an attempt to understand this transition is a ‘bittersweet’ one. The bitter obviously being an end to an incredibly unique time here in New Zealand that I won’t be getting back, and the sweet being eager anticipation for my return home where people who I miss dearly are, where summer adventures await and where the wedding of a great friend and a man who I admire unendingly is to take place in five days. The second prescribed attitude I tried to own was being more grateful for my time here than I am upset that it is ending, letting my feelings of thankfulness completely subdue my feelings of grief. The third attempted attitude was one of confidence; understanding that my time here was incredible, that my future holds more incredible adventures to be lived like this one and that I understood the nature of an abroad program and its unavoidable end when I came here, and that it is now just at hand.

I tried these different attitudes, I experimented with how they would make me feel, how they would organize what I am feeling and what the fallout would be and I am not satisfied. To label something bittersweet is too simple; it ignores both the bitter and the sweet by simply appointing the term ‘bittersweet’ to the feelings and assumes that they sort of cancel each other out, in a way. This isn’t fair to the intense bitter and the incredible sweet, both of which deserve to be sorted and acknowledged. While I am incredibly grateful for my time here—grateful for this unique experience which was provided me by the unending support of people I could never repay for what they have given me—letting gratefulness just overrule sadness ignores the issue again. And confidence certainly could describe the way I feel about my decision to come here and my understanding that this good thing is coming to an end while many other great things are just beginning, this still seems like an arrogant way to conveniently dismiss the great sadness which finds me as I finish this leg of my journey.

I tried on all these different attitudes as I described my sentiments to others about this transition and simply found myself frustrated with their inability to represent and appreciate everything that is rushing through my spinning head. Even as I confidently explained these attitudes and how they nicely package my mood, that creeping feeling in the pit of my stomach signaling something much more vested surged.

Maybe when I meet transitions it isn’t about a certain attitude or compartmentalization of moods/feelings/thoughts. I came to New Zealand eager to understand what was for me here and found none of what I expected while at the same time finding something more than expectations could have predicted. I came seeking serene landscape, a break from the ‘real world,’ adventure and excitement. What I found was people, relationships, adventure, excitement, serene landscape, the ‘real world,’—an adventure which can’t be broken down into bullet points of what I have learned and an experience which impacts cannot be easily identified or categorized. I have collided with an opportunity in a way that is certain to leave a mark, and I see it as a beautiful collision.

Leaving this place saddens me. It is not so much the physical location, though I will miss all that this incredible island has to offer, but it is this time, these people, this leg of the journey and the things that I have been afforded to learn by all of that.

In the midst of the deep sadness and slight fear that characterizes my feelings as I depart in a couple of hours are anxious feelings of excitement to be home. Excitement for the wedding of Bryce and Kate, excitement to see the friends I have held so close to my heart and that I have missed for five months, excitement to celebrate five months of incredible distance in my relationship with Brianne and discovering what two months in the same place can be like, and to return to the place which has always defined the word ‘home’ uniquely to me.

I sit in the waiting room of an incredible transition from an indescribably awesome chapter of life and another that I look forward to with eager anticipation. Though feelings and sentiments are mixed, though my head is spinning from trying to reflect on these last five months and the result is a small but persistent pain just below my diaphragm, I am struck by the goodness of past, present and future, and surely can appreciate the beauty of transitions…especially this one.

I Have All F's

Here at Canterbury University every student starts their semesters off with zero percent in each class. Every paper I write is a big goose egg until the professor reads it, finds my arguments, finds my evidences, and allots me points accordingly. Also, points are not deducted from an exam; your score is not one hundred minus how ever much you screwed up. Instead, your tests are zeros until the professor finds evidence that you deserve more points which are subsequently added up from zero. Then, throughout the course of the semester points are totaled, and the resultant total is your grade.

This, to me, seems like a much better way of doing grades. It is a positive feedback system, one where you feel as though you are making the difference for your grade with each amount of work you put into a paper or studying for an exam. The understanding is that your effort is what counts, not your abilities to not screw up.

When discussing this system of grading with others here at Canterbury University I started thinking about how I view my relationship with God. I feel like most my life, my Christian life, has been too focused on not screwing up. I have, at times, found myself consumed with not doing the wrong things. Also, sometimes I find myself consumed with doing the ‘right things’—appearing the right way, using the right language, reading the right books, going to the right churches—which really just act as a silly guise when in reality they are the same as not doing the ‘wrong things’.

Grace is a term commonly thrown around in Christian circles. ‘Saved by Grace’ is a phrase which few followers of Christ would hesitate to identify with. But perhaps my understanding of being saved by grace has gotten a little skewed somewhere in the journey. When I think of being saved by grace, sometimes I think that my idea of this is being taken to from zero to one hundred—and then the goal is not to screw up. Then, when inevitably I do screw up, where does that leave me?

There are several implications of being afraid of ‘messing up’ all the time. The first of which is that we are thereby bound by fear. We become slaves to legalism and render ourselves less able to function as someone who really is saved by grace. Also, I often find myself feeling like I am earning my way into good standing with God. That by being disciplined and not screwing up I am assuring that grace is still mine, which defeats the whole purpose.

Instead, I think that grace is always there, and instead of ‘getting’ grace we ‘accept’ it. It is free for the taking, always beckoning us to just rest in it. And then instead of fighting against the chains of legalism and self perpetuation we become free. Free to bask in the radiant grace which blankets us, free to turn in thankfulness for this grace and free to assume the identity which was always meant for us.

Don’t get me wrong, I think that church, a good book, some discipline, or things that can be considered 'good things' are sometimes just that, good things. Actually, I think they can be some of the most beautiful things that we can experience, but when they become our relationship with Jesus, when they become our way of earning grace, we have rendered them useless.

Bloggerisms

Most of my day has been spent writing. It has been a rainy day here, the first since our arrival in Christchurch. It was actually quite beautiful. It was one of those rains that creates a meditative splish-splash as it gracefully falls to the concrete. One of those rains that you want to be walking or running in, or if not, it is one of those rains that makes your indoor activities seem that much more cozy. As I said, I spent most of my day writing—today actually marking the first day of this semester where I did something you could actually categorize as substantial school work. Yes, midterm is next week and I have three papers and a test. Today I whipped out a paper on the origins of algebra, a very interesting subject that I would be more than happy to ponder with any of you mathematicians out there but will refrain discussing on my blog as to not send the rest of you to a teary want to want-to-hit-your-head-on-a-wallish state.

Most of you who read this blog also probably read the blog of one Bryce Perica and are therefore probably quite aware that he, in the last couple of weeks, has posted three blogs on blogging itself. If you haven’t seen these posts go check them out (Bryce’s blog is hyper-linked on the right hand column). I discussed some of his ideas on blogging with him and decided that it might be worthwhile to provide a different viewpoint on blogging.

Bryce’s main beefs seemed to be with poor writing, ill-thought out posts, and the issue of publication. Why I would agree that writing and lazy posts might be a problem (you might as well at least check your spelling by throwing it into a Word document) I do not consider myself a writer and therefore I am not going to point a finger at other peoples writing. About publication, I never really considered the idea of being ‘published’ when blogging and have always viewed it as more of a medium of communication instead of one for publication.

I started a blog a couple of months back mainly because I dreaded the idea of informal mass emails and because I really enjoyed both Bryce and Aaron’s blog. Thinking about it, I am not sure how a blog could really be much more formal than a mass email, but somehow it felt better. It has certainly allowed me to keep people updated, or at least give them an opportunity to update themselves, on what I am up to here in New Zealand. However, when Bryce started a conversation concerning the purpose of blogs are I was obliged to consider.

To me, this blog, in conjunction with the many other blogs listed in ‘blogs I can’t get enough of,’ has provided some sense of community. A sort of bloggermunity. This is at the same time awesome and scary. While I love being able to stay connected, read up on everyone’s thoughts, and be apart of this bloggermunity I sometimes worry that it creates community falsely. As technology allows for more ways of communication, they seem to be getting less and less formal. Why walk to their house when you can just call them? Why call them when you can just text them? Why text them if you could just read their blog? I started to talk to Chris about this and he began discussing the psychology of internet relationships (he’s a psych major), which led to the question: Is an internet community, or a bloggermunity, really community at all?

Well, yes and no. I could never equate reading everyone’s blog to actual community like can be experienced in an evening around a dinner table, or on a mission trip, or in years of walking through life together. However, I do see this as a way to make what is lost in distance less significant. Community is certainly not created on blogs, but I feel as though it can in some ways be sustained for a time. Sure there may be a danger of letting blogging feel like authentic community, which they are not, but there is also advantage to having a place where, in distance, ideas and experiences can be shared. And, of course, blogging and this little bloggermunity are certainly better than community at all.

Relationships are like peanuts, only saltier

Well, I now am 21 years of age. Do you know what was happening 21 years ago when I was born? Neither do I, I was only 0 years old. However, since lying in a baby incubator March 21, 1986, plenty has happened. I won the spell-a-thon and got a sweet Super Nintendo, graduated high school, broke my elbow bombing down a huge hill in Breckenridge, fell in love with sweatpants then quit wearing them sometime during my freshman year and now am quite fond of them again, got a trespassing ticket with the boys and developed a deep appreciation for the frisbee in all of its various forms. Somewhere along the line I also made incredible friends who have proven to be the foundation for me as I have weaved my way through the highs and lows of this life. I owe most of who I am to the persistence and patient love of those closest to me, without whom I am not sure where or who I would be.

Salt has changed the landscape of civilization by eliminating dependency on seasonal foods. Wars have even been fought over it and economies have been controlled by it for thousands of years. Salt is something which preserves as well as adds flavor. For me, my relationships with you all have proven to be the salt in my life. They have provided the strength to persevere as well as added ‘flavor’ to the dish of life. You guys have shown me, more than that you have lived what it means to love unconditionally, taking Christ’s call to love one another seriously. For those of who have seen me through the dark times and celebrated with me in victories: Thank you. I owe more to you all than can be repaid but look forward to discovering more and more the intimacy of our relationships and the beauty of community.