This week I’ve been at Mt. Angel Abbey in Oregon, which is a place for work and prayer. Following the rule of St. Benedict (480-547 A.D.) that “all are to be welcomed as Christ,” I have been welcomed into the daily prayerful rhythm of this place as I take a working retreat. The monastery is on a hilltop flanked by giant sequoia trees, overlooking fruit orchards in the Willamette Valley. Most mornings, heavy fog hangs among the trees and buildings. Yesterday it burned off for a view of snow-capped Mt. Hood against the blue sky. Needless to say it’s hardly a rough place to work, and I’m thankful for friends who provided the opportunity.

The primary work of the Benedictine monks at the abbey is prayer. Six times a day, summoned by the loudest bell I have ever heard, they scurry to the abbey church for the liturgy of the hours, which are prayers sung beautifully in unison (Gregorian chant style). Their prayers consist primarily of the psalms and other portions of scripture, as well as theologically-rich ancient hymns. A few are in for a temporary period (simple vows), but most are lifers (solemn vows). Table-talk among visitors inevitably surfaces the question, “what if your son or daughter decided to make a life of this?” I suspect that’s quite a dim possibility for my own kids, but it does make you consider whether “the work of prayer” is something worth devoting an entire human life to.

We applaud people who devote their daily lives to brilliance as violin players or baseball pitchers or countless other pursuits, but prayer? Is the world a better place because a very few hold it in prayer with singular devotion through the hours of each day? Are such lives well-lived?

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one thing i am struck with, more than ever, is just how counter-to-the-ways-of-the-world-and-so-often-the-church, too, a life of descent really is.  it just isn’t all that popular.  it doesn’t sell.  it is hard.  it is messy.  it is costly.  it’s a sure way to shrink a church.  but in so many ways, as Jesus reminds us of in the beatitudes, we’re somehow blessed living down here. in all kinds of weird, wonderful, unexplainable ways, once we’ve tasted it, nothing else really satisfies.

some of what’s in this post is in the chapter in down we go called “we may look like losers.” it was based on this original blog post with the same title.  this past week as i’ve been reflecting on how much i love my little beautiful refuge community & all i learn through it each and every day, i have been reminded just how easy it would be to miss what’s going on if you only looked on the outside.  honestly, we look like losers.  we really do.

but when it comes to relationships & community & learning-to-live-in-the-trenches-of-real-life-together, oh, there’s a lot of beauty & healing going on!

i sometimes tell friends that i wish i had “church amnesia” so that i could erase most of what i formerly learned about “success,” “ministry,” “leadership” and what makes things “viable.” in my old circles, valid ministry means constantly “growing,” “getting financially stable,” and “building up new, stronger leaders.” when i look at the refuge against this list, i tend to get a little embarrassed. i hear the words of successful Christian leadership books and see how we are
falling short.

slowly but surely i am learning that none of the old rules apply.

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“There are those that look at things the way they are, and ask why? I dream of things that never were, and ask why not?” This is a paraphrased quote attributed to George Bernard Shaw  that fits with my thoughts today.

Over the years I have struggled to understand what my call is. I sometimes think it’s just to have fun with Mathare kids or help them go to school through sponsorships. Sometimes I think I should enter politics to change the institutions of power. I guess I still do not know precisely what my call is. Five days ago I received solemn news from one of the single mothers in the slum of Madoya which is next to Mathare. Her son, who was 11months old, had passed away while she went about looking for job. As is often the case in my community, she is a teenage mom heading the family as the child’s father is also deceased.

I gave my contribution as usual and offered my condolences to the bereaved. The family had invited a “pastor” who had agreed to conduct the burial ceremony. The so called “pastor” wanted to be paid for his services and had even offered to provide transport for the family to the cemetery for a “small” fee of $60 (which is double the normal price.) I am sometimes ashamed to be called a pastor since my predecessors and peers have not lived up to the name. The “pastor” in question backed out on this family at the last hour. Last year, I was ‘privileged’ to conduct my first burial ceremony for a father of one of the boys at Inspiration Centre. The same issue now faced me again. I was called by the family in tears, three hours before the burial. I guess I was the only wild card they were left with.

To me, it didn’t matter that I was the last choice and had not been given enough time to prepare. I wonder if God wants us to serve him when we are ready or not – wearing a great suit, nice tie, or just jeans and sneakers, using an amazing vocabulary or ghetto slang?  The list is endless and I am very sure that I am totally unqualified to fit in this league of who a “pastor” is. For starters, I rarely wear suits, ties, office shoes and always use “sheng” (slang) even when preaching. I guess the family was right for not putting me as their first choice.

Conducting a ceremony to bury baby Easter (who was born on Easter) was special to me since it confirmed to me that as much as I may try to shy away from being called “a man of God”, it is evident that I can run but I can’t hide. It reminded me of a quote I heard that says “knowing others is intelligence but knowing yourself is true wisdom. Mastering others is strength; mastering yourself is true power.”  My prayers are that all men and women will know their call and trust that the God who called them to His duties, like He did in ancient times, will be gracious enough to provide them with whatever needs they may have in the present.

Moses Okonji is the director of Inspiration Center located in Mathare Valley in Nairobi, Kenya. He is also a member of the CTM Nairobi Cohort working toward his Master of Arts in Global Urban Mission from Bakke Graduate University in partnership with CTM.

When I took up the cross, I recognized its meaning….  The cross is something that you bear, and ultimately that you die on… And that’s the way I’ve decided to go.                          

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. May 22, 1967, Penn Community Center, Frogmore, South Carolina

During my second year of Bible College, working in the informal settlements in Guatemala City, I thought I was going to save the day. All the knowledge I was acquiring at that time gave me a false idea of power and capability to provoke systemic change. The academy had become my reality to the point that I was omitting the reality outside the walls of the seminary, which was fueling my ingenuity. I was so cloistered and my view of life and ministry was so conservative that I thought the experience of a people and their anxieties was not as important as the “message of salvation.” That idea also paved the road for me to ignore God’s work and stop being surprised by His grace.

When I first started serving in the informal settlements in Guatemala City I though that I was going to change my country; I was going to be the liberator for those living in poverty and oppression. To my surprise, I was completely astonished by the magnitude of the issues facing my country. I was a middle class college boy trying to save the low income kids living in poverty,[1] surrounded by violence, pain and suffering.

After one year I realized that Guatemala was too big to change by myself. I decided Guatemala City would be a more attainable target for transformational ministry. I really thought I was capable to affect the city in some way, and that systemic change was possible through struggle against the oppressive structures created by those in power and the ruling social class.[2] As the time went by, I started noticing that change as I expected was not happening at all. The kids I was working with were not changing their lives and following Christ. Instead, they were getting more involved in the organized crime that rules the city. Then, I decided that Guatemala City was way too big, so I chose to focus my efforts in zone 3, which is the section of the city where drug dealers and other kinds of organized crime mix with ordinary hard working people who live in the slums. That didn’t work either and I ended up working in one street of an informal settlement called Anexo Aguilar. The work among people living in poverty and despair pushed me to find a way to ponder and rejoice in God’s work in a way that constantly challenges my worldview.

In my short experience there are four steps that I have taken in order to reflect and celebrate God’s work among the people I serve; and I have to admit that they are very important in my personal process of doing theology. The first step, as Karl Barth would say, is the “astonishment.” It is very important that everything that has to do directly with theology must be vivid, because the theology cannot be something static. Theology always is a history that becomes flesh within the experiences and actions of human beings.[3] Theology must be lived! Therefore, it’s important that the object of every theological study and existential reflection changes its focus from ethereal and abstract ideas to the experience of our people, our relationship with God, and the images of God that are constantly shattered. That is why I need to understand what happens when the theology gets closer to the human being, when it touches me, when it becomes a part of me. Theology astonishes and amazes the human being.[4]

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Power & Passion: Six Characters in Search of Resurrection  
by Samuel Wells

When Andrea and I made the move from Tacoma, WA to Durham, NC for her to pursue graduate studies we did not imagine we would end up calling Duke Chapel our church home. Duke Chapel is a grand gothic cathedral that physically is the central focal point of Duke University. It is beautiful and hard to miss. But we thought we were looking for a church that represented the full spectrum of the wider community of Durham not the formal high setting that is Duke Chapel. However, we decided we would start there and in the end we never left. One of the reasons for this is the Dean of the Chapel, Sam Wells. Wells’ preaching and leadership anchor Duke Chapel and contribute to it being a vital part of Duke University. Being located on the campus of a ‘prestigious’ school like Duke with a well respected Divinity School  means that the opportunity to hear great thinkers and speakers is never in short supply. Just in the past few months, N.T Wright and Walter Brueggemann have spoken.  Wells himself is considered one of the leading theologians in the world when it comes to issues of ethics but it is his thoughtful communication, intentionality and ability to make connections between scripture and daily life that continually call me back to be challenged and encouraged.  

I’m not sure Sam Wells ever thought he would be leading an institution with the powerful platform that Duke Chapel and Duke University provide. Much of his early pastoral call was spent serving in economically and socially challenged neighborhoods in his homeland of England. (Personally this is of course another reason that I was drawn to Duke Chapel. Having a British accent in a beautiful gothic church is good for this dual citizen and reminds me where part of me is from!) I am grateful and encouraged to see that even with this very visible platform and position Sam’s heart still beats strongly for the marginalized in the world. Yet most of those who attend Duke Chapel would not be thought of as marginalized or the least, last and lost in any material sort of way. Most of us who fill the pews each week are privileged if not powerful by most of the world’s standards. But in a wonderful way, Sam always invites us to enter a world where we are all broken and our shared calling is to walk with each other and carry each other’s burdens. Sam Wells is a brilliant thinker, but brilliance means nothing if it does not move us to practically engage with the other – those who are most different and even those who most threaten us in some way.

As I have sat in the pews and in other public gatherings listening to Sam I have realized that ultimately all his thoughts and words come down to the fact that he believes the resurrection is true. And he has spent a lot of time thinking about the ramification of this. If the resurrection is true, the ever present question is how will this change the way we live our lives in the world today? Wells is able to continually bring this question to life and to reality in a way that is convicting and challenging while also being lovingly invitational. He weaves stories from scripture together paying careful attention to place and context and then makes the connection to our modern day. Wells is able to make living and profound connections in a way that shows deep insight into the human condition.

In 2007 Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams invited Wells to write a book for the Archbishop of Canterbury’s official Lent book series. The result of that invitation was titled Power & Passion: Six Characters in Search of Resurrection. Wells’ intended title was “Power & Passion: The Resurrection of Politics” but the publisher didn’t want the word ‘politics’ in the title which ironically only serves to highlight the weight and complexities of these four focal words: Politics, Power, Passion, and Resurrection. In the six chapters of this book (one for each week of Lent) Wells takes on power, passion, politics, the past and the present seen through the resurrection and through the words and actions of six characters present during Holy Week. It is through the lens of the lives of Pontius Pilate, Barabbas, Joseph of Arimathea, Mrs. Pilate, Peter and Mary Magdalene that the reader is invited to a life of repentance, empowerment, and encourage­ment.

In this book Wells explores the different kinds of power that exist in the world. As he highlights each of the six character’s words and actions during the week leading up to Jesus’ crucifixion, Wells contrasts the politics of resurrection (and subsequent abundance) with that of the power that ultimately denies the resurrection producing a politic of scarcity.

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Editor’s note: In light of the recently revised Huckleberry Finn we thought this article was timely.

“All right, then, I’ll go to hell.” 

These are the courageous words of Huck Finn in Marks Twain’s classic Huckleberry Finn.  Huck is a 13 year old white boy growing up in pre-Civil War American South, helping a runaway slave, “nigger Jim” escape to freedom.  Huck’s declaration is the moral center of the story and a beautiful illustration of Good News.  

The 1850 Fugitive Slave Law made it illegal to aid or abet a runaway slave and required that every U.S. citizen assist in the capture of runaways.  Huck believes (as he was taught) that by helping Jim he will not only suffer the wrath of the law, but also the wrath of God himself.  Huck is convinced that he will be sent to hell for helping Jim escape slavery.

Suffering under the weight of this moral dilemma Huck decides to write a letter to Jim’s “owner” Miss Watson, and turn in Jim.  By returning Jim to slavery Huck would free his conscience and his soul from eternal damnation.  After writing the letter Huck begins to reflect on his relationship with Jim, their journey together down the Mississippi river, and the deep friendship they had formed along the way.  Yes, Huck had become friends with Jim.  This realization does something to Huck – something for which his upbringing, culture, theology and even his God had not prepared him for – that “nigger Jim” is not just a runaway slave.  Nigger Jim is a human being.  Unthinkable! 

Huck is completely undone by this realization.  He tears up the letter, convinced that by doing so he is condemning himself to hell.  As a result, Huck’s adventure takes a huge turn.  Huck is undergoing grace – the kind that empowers one to risk it all for the sake of those we love.  The kind of grace that frees us to forsake our culture, our religion and even our God when they keep us from doing good. 

“All right, then, I’ll go to hell,” Huck declares.

 Salvation has come and it has come to both Huck and Jim.  They are of one piece.  Their stories are bound together and inseparable.   These fugitives become radically united symbols of freedom in their rebellion to the powers that hold them hostage.

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For years all CTM training was done on an informal basis with no degree status tied to any part of our training menu. As the years have progressed, while continuing our informal training with grassroots leaders, we have also had opportunities to accept invitations into formal educational opportunities. This process began in Nairobi, Kenya with a partnership with Bakke Graduate University (BGU) where there are currently 33 Masters students and a doctoral student working on degree’s in Global Urban Leadership. There are also other cohorts of BGU/CTM Masters students in Anchorage, Alaska and Cincinnati, Ohio.

In Latin America, we were invited several years ago by the Central American Theological Seminary in Guatemala City (SETECA) to develop an Urban Missions Emphasis track using our training menu as part of SETECA’s Masters in Ministry Degree. The desire of many in the seminary is that this would expand into a full-scale Masters Degree in Urban Ministry. At this point, we are teaching two intensive classes a year at SETECA and just last week we led a course called “Poverty, Diversity and Social Justice in Latin America.”

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I was invited to be the guest preacher one Sunday this summer at a church in a suburb of my city, Denver, Colorado. My text was Mark 2:13-17, which tells a story of Jesus offending religious leaders by dining with “sinners” in the home of Levi, a government tax agent.

I felt that I could not preach this passage with integrity without mentioning some of my own relationships that others might find offensive. Had I been to Levi’s house, myself? I was tempted to use “pseudo scandalous” examples, like maybe homeless kids or gang members who have been my friends over the years. But I knew that, rather than scandalizing my audience, these kinds of examples would actually elevate me as a ministry role model.

So I confessed instead that in our work with homeless families, Mile High Ministries has unmarried couples living in our facility. I knew this wouldn’t be particularly good news for many in this particular evangelical congregation, but I was just warming up. We also serve undocumented immigrants, knowing full well that they are in the country illegally. Not only that, but I’ve been politically active in supporting changes in America’s immigration laws, including speaking at a rally denouncing a new anti-immigrant law in Arizona. The room was now very quiet, so I encouraged everyone to exhale.

After my final story, about how much I enjoyed a birthday party for a loved-one at a lesbian bar, I was confident that people would have some words for me after church was over. Sure enough, some thanked me, because they too have a relationship with an undocumented person or a loved one who is gay. Others were chagrined that I could be so wrong on the critical issues of our day, or even that I had such poor judgment as to speak of such things in an audience where children were present.

One man promised to try to get our transitional housing facility shut down, and another told me that I was preaching from the wrong version of the Bible. A careful reading of the “authorized” text, he said, would clarify that Jesus had gone to Levi’s home precisely in order to preach repentance. I wonder why Pharisees would find that so offensive?

In accepting an invitation to dine with sinners at Levi’s home, Jesus risked taking-on the shame of those with whom he chose to share table fellowship. Indeed, he chose to be one of them, in the eyes of his community. As Greg Boyle says in his wonderful book, Tattoos on the Heart, Jesus was not a man for others, he was one of them.

For my part, I am a novice on this journey of being so closely identified with outcasts that I risk taking on their shame. But I have a feeling that if I continue to follow in the footsteps of Jesus, they’re going to lead me, more and more, toward the house of Levi.

Jeff Johnsen
directs Mile High Ministries
listens to Miles and John Lee
looks (and sings) more like Willie Nelson

Two weeks ago I was involved in what I would call a “real time moment.” I call it real time because it happened in real time and out of the blue. One of the kids that I have been mentoring and helping by paying his high school fees lost his father. This was a double tragedy considering that two years ago he had also lost his mother. His aunt who lives in the rural part of western Kenya called me to let me know. I was the one to break the bad news to the 16 year old boy who lives with me. After calling his closest friends around, I broke the news to him and arranged for three people including myself to accompany him for the burial. This was to take place 450 kilometers away from Nairobi.

As we were traveling, I recalled talking to his dad while he was still alive and how he emphasized that I should not give up on his son who at the time was skipping classes. This was not my son and I didn’t understand why he was telling me all that. He was the father and he was supposed to be more responsible than me, at least that is what I thought. Little did I know at the time that AIDS was already at work  ending his life.

We arrived at the village which is next to the Kenya-Uganda boarder in the morning. Our journey had taken eight hours by bus. I wanted to know the program of the day so that I could plan my return back to Nairobi. I found out that the deceased was a Catholic who had not been giving his tithe regularly. This led to the local priest refusing to conduct the burial ceremony. This didn’t make sense to me. I felt like the church has lost the moral duty to guide people and trust in mystery.  This mystery to me is God. The thought of clergy men and women following the dead into their graves in search of payment  for their outstanding debts was unbelievable.

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