FAITH HOUSE Manhattan

A Sabbath Poem (Tagore)

      TAKE, O TAKE
      ~ by Rabindranath Tagore

      Time after time I came to Your gate with raised hands,
      asking for more and yet more.

      You gave and gave, now in slow measure, now in sudden
      excess.

      I took some, and some things I let drop; some lay
      heavy on my hands; some I made into playthings and
      broke them when I tired, till the wrecks and the hoard
      of Your gifts grew immense, hiding You, and the
      ceaseless expectation wore my heart out.

      "Take, O take" has now become my cry.

      Hold my hands; raise me from the still-gathering heap
      of Your gifts into the bare infinity of Your uncrowded
      presence.

(from the The Heart of God, poems selected and editied by Herbert F. Vetter) > Thank you Helme Silvet for sending this poem to me. Samir <

I ... if You

         Among the Shona people of Zimbabve,
         this is how they greet one another.



   "Marare hare?"
   Did you sleep?
               "Ndarare kana mararawo."
               I slept well if you slept well.
   "Ndarare."
   I slept.

                                                "Makadii?"
                                                How are you?
                        "Ndiripo makadiwo."
                        I am here if you are here.
                                                "Ndiripo."
                                                I am here.

(from Turning to One Another, by Margaret J. Wheatley,
Berret-Koehler Pub. Inc., 2002)

Faith Houses (part 2 of 2)

~ by Melvin Bray

In the previous edition:

Disheartened with apartheid in South Africa, a young man went to a remote area of his continent as a missionary seeking to bring the gospel to the people there. He had considerable success. However, in order to protect his small group of faithful believers from "evil" influences, he excluded both an Islamic trader and a traditional African medicine man from the community. His supervisor back home instructed him to find these two men, and listen to what they had to say.

Now read on . . .

The missionary sought to do as his supervisor instructed. It was not as difficult as he had imagined. Many in his parish knew exactly how to find both men. In fact, some in his congregation had been quietly practicing the devotions of Islam while learning to walk in the way of Jesus, and some had sought out the medicine man when they were sick. Through these parishioners, the missionary visited each man.

The missionary was surprised at the grace and generosity each man extended to him. He had not expected to be welcomed. He spent some 30 days with each and joined in celebrations and holy days as they came, listening and laughing, sharing meals and dreams. They spoke about the African continent and its challenges and exchanged many hopes. It was an intimacy he had thought impossible between those of such drastically different beliefs.

Upon his return to his African parishioners, the missionary began to share anew the story of the gospel in light of the things he had learned. When he spoke of the way of Jesus as “unavoidable forgiveness,” the people of his community saw this forgiveness being extended to the missionary by Nikondeha, the medicine man. When he spoke of being a peacemaker, the face of Abijar the trader, and the quarrel he had with the missionary which he had abandoned became their frame of reference. And the oft-forgotten sacraments of confession and humility became far more tangible in the life of the missionary himself, as he realized that there was no virtue in feigning certainty in his choices or long-held beliefs.

Notwithstanding, this was no longer enough for the South African Dutch missionary. He wanted more than just to better understand the things of God, like repentance, peacemaking, confession and humility. He wanted to live these truths the way Jesus had. He wanted, as he would later speak of it, to walk "in the way of Jesus"—a way of "others-interestedness"—to "seek first the kingdom of God and God's justice" in the earth, beginning with his beloved Africa. Yet he had no idea of how to make this happen.

He decided to share his questions with his two new friends. Trader Abijar immediately voiced his growing concern for orphans in territories in which he and his fellow merchants traveled. Many of them were compelled to run for their lives to avoid conscription and sexual assault. This prompted medicine man Nikondeha—whom the missionary learned to refer to by his appropriate title, "laibon," meaning "spiritual leader"—to propose that his people were known for their generous hearts. Why couldn't they be inspired to give these wandering orphans refuge? The missionary noted that if Abijar and his colleagues could smuggle the children into Maasai territory, with Nikondeha's people's nomadic tendencies, the children would be difficult to track. With Nikondeha and Abijar's help the missionary thought that they might even be able to convince the elders to modify the community's seasonal travel path in order to intersect more frequently with smuggling merchants. The wandering orphans that they would take in would be Enkai's (God's) new "cattle" that she had charged them to shepherd and keep.

And they did this and many other things together. Not the least of which involved the Maasai parish sending a delegation of Il-murran (warriors) to a neighboring territory to create protected space for peace talks between warring factions that Abijar, as a trusted third-party, was able to bring together. Creating such space for Africans to dream their way forward was something the missionary had been touting as the Western world's continuing responsibility to a formerly colonized Africa. It was Nikondeha's suggestion that, as followers of Enkai in the way of Jesus, his people had no excuse to wait for the West while more died. Thus, in this spirit, more and more people in and around Maasai ancestral territory journeyed with God: more orphans were given homes, more hungry were fed, more wells dug, more sick healed, more injustice removed, more peace waged and all the Christians in the South African Dutch missionary's small nomadic parish grew more committed and more in love with the way of Jesus.

In the midst of his many new endeavors, the missionary wrote to his supervisor:

I am beginning to believe that those who promote life and live goodness are all striving to get to the same place, we've just given different paths to take (with varying nomenclature, understandings and sensibilities), but we're all headed the same "way." Once we get there, I imagine that whatever misunderstandings, errors, oughts and hurts that remain will be satisfied, and the Truth will be unmistakable and irresistible. Thus, I was able to appreciate the faith walks of these two men as not in the least bit threatening to my own or threatening to the God who initiates all walks of faith. In addition, I now suspect that should we learn to walk in love for one another, there shall be far fewer confusions and misunderstandings for God to satisfy than there are now. Nonetheless, I am glad to report that this Sabbath I will be baptizing the first ten people who are dedicating their lives to “the way of Jesus” as practiced by our new kind of Christian community. Nikondeha and Abijar are coming as well, to celebrate and bless us all.

And in revising his memoir he included this passage that would have seemed so foreign or heretical to him just a few short years before:

People of faith change the world, and it is, I believe, for the good of the world that we discover the commonality inherent in our hopes, instead of living out of the disparity between them. If our religions remain sets of exclusive, immutable propositions, then of course they will exist in contradiction and conflict with one another. In such a climate, war seems inevitable. However, if religion is seen as our best attempts to embody God's dreams for humanity as partially as we may understand them, then it becomes easy to seek peace and justice for one another—together.

The kingdom of God is like unto a South African Dutch missionary who went deep into the bush to not only to reveal, but also to find God.

A Sabbath Poem (Neruda)

      from KEEPING STILL
      ~ by Pablo Neruda

      If we were not single-minded
      about keeping our lives moving,
      and for once could do nothing,
      perhaps a huge silence
      might interrupt this sadness
      of never understanding ourselves
      and of threatening ourselves with death.

(from Extravagaria, Pablo Neruda, transl. Alistair Reid, Noonday Press, 2001)

Faith Houses (part 1 of 2)

~ by Melvin Bray

"He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches." Revelation 2:7

The kingdom of God is like unto a South African Dutch missionary who went deep into the bush and served God faithfully for 20 years.  He was fed up with the apartheid of his homeland, saw little hope of bringing it to an end, and refused to be in collusion with it any longer. So he went to share Good News with Africans outside of his country, determined to treat them as his brothers and sisters.

The missionary achieved notable success in his endeavors, so much so that he was asked to write a memoir as a teaching tool for other missionaries.  Because of the remoteness of his location, mail only came and went every 6 months. Notwithstanding, he faithfully wrote everyday.

When the next mail arrived after he had sent his initial submission, he was eager to hear what his supervisor thought.  Exchanging mail with the courier, he immediately spotted the package from his supervisor.  It was large.  Opening it with sweaty hands, he saw that she had read his draft with eagerness and she praised his courage living amongst the bush people.  Two incidents in particular stood out to her.  One was the missionary's "need" (she wrote, quoting him) to expel the local "witch-doctor before the message of Christ could really take root in the hearts of the tribe's people."  The second was the showdown the missionary had with a Muslim tradesman who had begun to make converts to Islam on his regular visits to the village.

The South African Dutchman's supervisor then made what she called "a strange request."  She wanted him to read up on certain major world events that had taken place since the beginning of his missionary endeavors.  She listed the ongoing Israeli-Palestinian conflict, the end of Apartheid in South Africa, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, the war in Rwanda, 9-11 in the US, the great Pacific Ocean tsunami, the Sudan conflict, and Hurricane Katrina. To this end she enclosed a gift, "probably the most significant change that had taken place in the industrialized world since his departure: a laptop computer with a mobile broadband card and satellite signal booster." He didn't know what any of those words meant, but her instructions were clear enough that he eventually got the equipment to work, and he began his research on what his supervisor called "the Internet."

The missionary did not write much during the next six months because of his research.  Much more had taken place during the previous 20 years than his supervisor's list suggested, but her list was a great start.  Many nights he read and read.  His little generator required increasing fuel to serve his growing appetite for world events.  The world had evolved in dramatic ways since he had come to the bush where time stands still.

By the time his supervisor's next letter arrived six months later, he was a changed man.  Thus, her next request did not come as much of a shock as it would have, had it come a year earlier.  She gave the South African Dutch missionary an assignment.  She wanted him to track down the medicine man he had ostracized 19 years earlier to seek his forgiveness for the way he had been treated and to ask permission to spend a month learning from him.  Under no circumstances was he to attempt to convert or teach the medicine man religion or anything else.  He could participate in conversation if questions were asked of him, but not as one self-assured.  His task was primarily to observe and to listen.  After that he was to seek the Muslim merchant he had interdicted from trading with his parishioners, and do the same.  Then write about it.  And he did.

To be continued . . .

Melvin Bray is a grateful husband and a proud father, living and working in Atlanta, GA, with his wife, Leslie and 3 kids.  He is a learner, teacher, writer, storyteller, lover of people, connoisseur of creativity, believer in possibilities, director of a US Dream Academy learning center and founder of Kid Cultivators.

At My House

~ by Rhonda Martin of Redlands, California

On April 14, those of us who are looking forward to the Faith House Manhattan project have organized an awareness event at my house. My husband Bob and I thought it would be a good way to show support by making our large backyard available. I had no idea how richly blessed I would be by the evening.

People poured through the house to practice music, arrange flowers, set tables with programs, place AV equipment . . . a party was unfolding. And as guests began to arrive a creative energy began to form in the air. The evening was sweetened by the testimonies of two couples moving with the Selmanovic family to Manhattan this June (Rose and Al Poblacion and Sarah and Sam McCash) and by wonderful music that included classics about New York and a Jewish prayer, Hine Ma Tov.

Samir’s daughters and their friends performed a skit, “Dad’s Bad Idea,” exploring the difficulties the family will face in New York planting this congregation. It was a riot. Samir’s commitment to the Faith House strikes me as a clear act of obedience—obedience to a call from the Holy Spirit to go to New York and love people, across all boundaries, the way Christ did.

Among the noted speakers that night was Imam Mustafa Kuko of the Riverside Islamic Center here in California. He began by saying that he had stepped inside my house at sundown to say his evening prayers. He prayed for Samir, for the Faith House project, and for each person present that night. His words sent chills up and down my arms. I was utterly shocked at how profound it felt to know that this Muslim leader had prayed to his God in my house. All I could think is that his prayers and blessings were now in the walls of my home and how fortunate we were for it.

I am not trained in religion. I do not have a great knowledge of postmodern Christianity. But I do adore my Savior Jesus and believe we are all His children. And I believe that this ministry will honor Him and bless those who come to the Faith House just as this Muslim leader blessed me. My God is big enough, and I believe that He will claim all good as His own.

A Sabbath Poem (Whyte)

      SELF-PORTRAIT
      ~ by David Whyte

      It doesn’t interest me if there is one God
      or many gods.

      I want to know if you belong or feel
      abandoned.
      If you know the despair or can see it in others.
      I want to know
      if you are prepared to live in the world
      with its harsh need
      to change you. If you can look back
      with firm eyes
      saying this is where I stand. I want to know
      if you know
      how to melt into that fierce heat of living
      falling toward
      the center of your longing. I want to know
      if you are willing
      to live, day by day, with the consequences of love
      and the bitter
      unwanted passion of your sure defeat.

      I have heard, in that fierce embrace, even
      the gods speak of God.

(from Fire in the Earth, by David Whyte, 1992)

PRIME MOVERS

~ by Samir Selmanovic

During the day it seems that the move to New York is working out. I’m working on it. I don’t have time to worry. It’s at 3 o’clock in the morning that I find myself thinking, “What in the world am I doing?” I stay awake alternating between prayer and an inner argument between hope and despair.

The Grace in Being Outnumbered

~ by Nathan Brown, author, Editor (Signs of the Times, Australia / New Zealand)

The rainy season has come to Cambodia and the oppressive heat is punctuated with regular downpours that flood the fields, roads and marketplaces. Ploughs drawn by cows, water buffaloes or small engines churn the mud in preparation for the rice planting. And the sugar palms stand like tall exclamation marks amid the patchwork of ploughed mud, small lakes and vibrant green.

The roads are more difficult than usual, with the usual clinging dust replaced with brown puddles and sticky mud. But the traffic is no less frenzied, as animals and animal-powered carts share the roadways with large trucks, buses, hordes of small motorbikes and cyclists, and school children in the standard pristine white shirts and dark trousers or long skirts. In some places, the rain washes clean; in others, it collects all the rubbish into polluted pools. A wet fug adds to the spectrum of smells that emanate from the many roadside markets. And when the sun next breaks through the clouds, the humidity rises from the rain-soaked ground and thickens the air until is can almost be tasted.

A Sabbath Poem (Chaplin)

      DARE NOT SPEAK
      ~ by Ralph Chaplin (conscientious objector during WWI)

      Mourn not the dead that in the cool earth lie,
      Dust unto dust—
      The calm, sweet earth that mothers all who die
      As all men must;

      Mourn not your captive comrades who must dwell,
      Too strong to strive—
      Within each steel-bound coffin of a cell,
      Buried alive;

      But rather mourn the apathetic throng,
      The coward and the meek—
      Who see the world’s great anguish and its wrong
      And dare not speak.

(from Bruderhof, Daily Dig)

Different Religion, Equal Yoke?

~ by Courtney Perry (Courtney's Blog), a freelance photojournalist living in Dallas, Texas (Courtney's Photography), and a part of Journey Community Church

Recently while in South Africa I had the pleasure of visiting with Roger Saner, maintainer of the EmergentAfrica website, die-hard Protea cricket fan and all-around great guy.  Before we had ever even met face-to-face, we decided by phone to take a short overnight road trip together. Thankfully, in retrospect, this was a good and safe idea.  The quick trip gave us some great drive-time talks, spanning from “So, who are you, again?” to my incessant questions about Johannesburg life to a discussion about the verse in 2 Corinthians that advises against being “unequally yoked”. 

I honestly hadn’t thought of that verse in ages, and my presently conscious mind had completely forgotten it.  Roger wondered aloud what that phrase should even mean to us, seeing as he knows a Christian/Atheist couple and other religiously diverse couples who seem infinitely closer and in tune with one another than many Christian/Christian pairings.  I mulled this over and emailed good friend Luke Miller, who knows a bit about everything theological under the sun.   He directed me to a website, and for a contextual study of the history of this piece of Apostle Paul’s letter, I recommend reading this: http://www.crivoice.org/yoked.html

But what could these verses possibly mean to me in the context of the present when the terms ‘believer’ and ‘unbeliever’ do not compute in my vocabulary?  I love to paraphrase Richard Rohr’s commentary that salvation might best be defined as an individual discovering the God that is already inside.   According to that outlook , my daily life is spent searching to better know the God inside me while at the same time looking for the God which I know to be present in all others.   There is no split; no secret knowledge I can hold over another’s head in a condescending manner.  The problem I have with attempting to assign simplistic modern meaning to the stark words of 2 Cor. 6:14 is that it seems to only exacerbate an us-them; good-evil dichotomy of thinking.  You’re with us or against us—that is all.  Square peg does not fit in round hole and never will. 

So I took this question to the streets. 

My Personal Computer Catastrophe

~ by Samir Selmanovic

It has not been a good week.

My hard drive passed away. When I told my wife Vesna that demons had destroyed my computer, she said, "I think God did it!"