You’ve heard the statement: “I’m not opposed to immigration; I’m opposed to illegal immigration.”
That claim has never seemed honest to me, but I’ve struggled with explaining why. In the December 6, 2007 edition of Time Magazine, however, Michael Kinsley argues convincingly that the core issue here is opposition to immigration in general, not simply illegal immigration:
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One of the valuable things about poetry is that it can introduce us to a new person or place, by giving us a snapshot into a new story to explore. Tom Llewellyn’s poem below, “I’d never call Flannery,” introduces Geography of Grace readers to someone who is a bit of a matron saint of ideas that guide the work of many contributors to this site.
Without going heavy on biography (you can feel free to do your own research), Flannery was a southern Catholic writer, primarily of short stories but also three novels, and many letters and essays. She died young at the age of 39 from lupus, which she suffered with for the majority of her life, and from which her father also died when she was the age of fifteen.
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I’d never call Flannery
O’Connor a Southern spinster,
because she was married
to her writing. I
might call her a battered
wife, because her words
never flinched from beating
the shit out of her or
anyone else. Flannery
felt most loved after
a good beating.
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God did not wait for the perfect time.
- Madeleine L’Engle
“Beyond human effort.”
Those words caught my eye in Jeremy Simon’s post weeks ago, and have haunted me ever since. “Going by sheer numbers, it sometimes feels that the task of helping kids and improving schools is beyond human effort.”
Jeremy was speaking of realities that exist even within a remarkably successful conflict mediation program. At face value, Jeremy’s statement gives rise to a hopeless nihilism within me. As I’ve reflected further within my own context, however, the very nature of its hopelessness invites a hope like no other.
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Welcome to advent, Lord.
(don’t know if I’m ready, don’t feel it)
but welcome.
You make me nervous,
(been listening to Amos, Matthew and Jude)
you do,
really,
make me nervous,
just jumped right in,
didn’t ask to be invited,
though you’d invited us.
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O come
O come Emmanuel
but be still.
Be still and know
Be still and know
I am exalted
But be still
like a child
awake early
on Christmas morn.
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“It is at particular times in particular places and in particular people that we meet God.”
Canon Mark Bonney
The Pacific Northwest of the United States is my home. I live in the “NONE ZONE.” According to the “Religion By Region Series” that looks at religion in eight different regions of the United States, we are called the None Zone because we are the least churched region of the country. When filling out the 2000 census most of us in the Northwest (a whopping 62%) checked, “NONE” with regards to our religious affiliation. Welcome to my home – the NONE ZONE!
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Prior to coming out to Denver to begin seminary I was a case manager for mentally and physically disabled adults. During the two years invested in that job, I played many games of Jenga. I had one particular client who demanded we get at least one game in before talking about anything serious. He loved to play Jenga, but he was hopeless at the game. His hands were gnarled and extremely unsteady, and he might have removed two or three blocks before the entire tower would come crashing down time after time.
As I trudged through my seminary years and still now I often see folks who approach Jesus much like the game of Jenga. The goal for many is to position their blocks just right, neatly and squarely, so that their construction will stay standing. They may look with fear and resentment upon those who take risks in removing some of the key blocks from the foundation. Others thrive, and even pride themselves in taking the risks. They enthusiastically test the construction, removing as many blocks as possible to show others their tower will still remain upright.
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As the sun settles safely
Beyond the day
Leaving behind a gradually fading beauty
And warmth
For a more foreboding time
Called night
Questions wash upon the shore
Of the lake side
Does sin cause death?
Or does death cause sin?
Asks the seven geese
That arrive for the evening
On the banks of this place
Like the seven deadly sins
There question is rhetorical
But I’m undecided
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I live and teach at Joshua Station, a Christian community housed in a renovated motel that provides “transformational housing” for homeless families in Denver. In the process of tutoring and providing homework help for the kids here, I find I’m getting educated.
I’ve been struggling to relate to one of my neighbors, a second-grade boy. This is a bright, capable kid who usually finishes all his homework, all by himself, but still somehow needs a tutor sitting right next to him. He wants to be recognized for the things he’s good at, but shuts down immediately when things get challenging. (Should I tell you how much I relate to this kid?!)
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