Its after 12am so this will be brief. I delivered food for food and friends, an agency that provides 3 meals a day to over 1700 clients a year who are dealing with life threatening illnesses like AIDS and cancer. Others prepared meals and packaged them there, and others went to a womens transitional shelter and program and did some work there.
In the afternoon, I went to a smithsonian museum and visited with eric, our host, about his future ministry. The rest of our group experienced the holocaust museum. We capped off the night with a Nationals baseball game in their beautiful new stadium.
A good day of service and lesiure. Time for bed!
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
live from DC (briefly)
while I was hoping for several posts a day from our mission and education trip in washington dc, my hopes came crashing down as I am unable to connect my laptop to the church's internet. So...this is coming to you through my phone, which means I will be brief.
I will try to post more frequent tweet-like posts from here out.
Today 7 of us went to food and friends to prepare and deliver meals to people who are dying. The other 5 of us spent some of the morning selling newspapers. Street sense is a newspaper that has articles written by the homeless and addresses city issues. A homeless person buys the papers for 35 cents each and sells them for a dollar, pocketing the rest as income. There's more to be said about this program, as we had a powerful yet challenging experience.
We also talked religious liberty with the BJC and had a beautiful visit to the national cathedral. Currently most in our group are playing dominos in the church library.
Wednesday a group is going back to food and friends and the other group is going to N street village, a womens shelter and transition center. In the afternoon we will visit the holocaust museum and some will take in a Nationals baseball game. You knew I'd find a way to make that happen.
Pray for endurance of energy and grace as we continue this journey of being a part of God's mission here in DC. It is a humbling and moving place to be.
I will try to post more frequent tweet-like posts from here out.
Today 7 of us went to food and friends to prepare and deliver meals to people who are dying. The other 5 of us spent some of the morning selling newspapers. Street sense is a newspaper that has articles written by the homeless and addresses city issues. A homeless person buys the papers for 35 cents each and sells them for a dollar, pocketing the rest as income. There's more to be said about this program, as we had a powerful yet challenging experience.
We also talked religious liberty with the BJC and had a beautiful visit to the national cathedral. Currently most in our group are playing dominos in the church library.
Wednesday a group is going back to food and friends and the other group is going to N street village, a womens shelter and transition center. In the afternoon we will visit the holocaust museum and some will take in a Nationals baseball game. You knew I'd find a way to make that happen.
Pray for endurance of energy and grace as we continue this journey of being a part of God's mission here in DC. It is a humbling and moving place to be.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Running? Did you say running?!?!
Yes...I'm preaching Sunday, and yes...my sermon title includes the word "running." We're going to talk about running. Stop snickering as you imagine me in a headband, running shorts, and tennis shoes.
The scripture is from the first few verses of the gospel of John, and I'm going to talk about the opportunity we have as a church in the next year to really "stretch our legs" and move out into new territory. I will try not to beat the metaphor to death, but no promises there.
And yes...I promise I will try to update this more often. Apparently the one person that reads this blog was getting impatient!
Come to church Sunday. It could be a good thing.
The scripture is from the first few verses of the gospel of John, and I'm going to talk about the opportunity we have as a church in the next year to really "stretch our legs" and move out into new territory. I will try not to beat the metaphor to death, but no promises there.
And yes...I promise I will try to update this more often. Apparently the one person that reads this blog was getting impatient!
Come to church Sunday. It could be a good thing.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Ok, I admit it. I'm a Garrison Keillor fan. That fact probably bugs my wife more than anything else about me. His voice drives her nuts...but I'm always better after I hear from him or read something written by him. Had to share this beautiful story of grief and hope:
March 4, 2009 | My brother Philip died in Wisconsin on Friday while I was in Rome, and after I got my ticket changed to fly back for the memorial service, I went into a church off the Piazza Navona and lit candles for his aching family and stood in the piazza beside a fine fountain, with lots of splashing and nudity, the Fountain of the Four Rivers, which made me think of the Mississippi, where he and I used to skate in winter and once when the wind was whistling down the valley he opened his jacket and held the corners taut and the wind blew him away beyond the island and he didn't come back until after dark.
He died while skating. He fell backward and hit his head and died 12 days later. A heroic thing for a man of 71, dying in action at sport, though I believe he would rather have been in Rome, looking at Bernini churches. He and I almost died together once, canoeing on Lake Superior. We paddled into a deep cave under one of the Apostle Islands, possibly Judas, and explored it, ducking our heads under the low ceiling, and emerged a half-minute before the wake of a distant ore boat came crashing into the cave, which would have busted our heads but good, no need for the EMTs.
He was an engineer, having grown up at a time when boys were still romantic about machinery. Our dad and uncles loved cars and knew how to fix them and also do basic plumbing and wiring and carpentry, so he grew up admiring competence. The incompetent stood and cursed the problem and kicked it and caused more problems. The engineer studied the problem, devised a solution, and when it failed he made intelligent revisions. I never heard my brother curse anything or anybody.
Of all things mechanical, he loved sailboats the most, planing into the wind with a sheet of canvas, a centerboard and a tiller, which he picked up from perusing the Horatio Hornblower novels. When he was a kid, he rigged one of dad's dropcloths to a toboggan and sailed it at tremendous speed down the ice of the Mississippi, a death-defying feat. He switched careers from mechanical to coastal engineering so as to get himself out on boats on Lake Superior and Lake Michigan, purportedly to study thermal runoff from nuclear plants and shore erosion, and he owned a swift sailboat named the Dora Powell after our grandmother.
My brother was her first grandchild and so he was well loved and extensively photographed, a curly-haired boy with dimples and a modest smile, taken against many backdrops since our family moved often in the decade after he was born (1937), renting here and there, squatting with relatives, moving on, which maybe stimulates a keen love of family in a kid, as you keep waving goodbye to your friends, and Philip practiced the delicate art of brotherly love. He always knew what you were doing and he kept his critical opinions to himself. He called me once to ask how I was doing and I knew without his saying so that he knew about some nonsense I was up to and wanted me to stop it and I did stop it without his ever mentioning it. That's how he worked, no motor, just angles. His ties to family went back to his ancestor Elder John Crandall, who preached religious tolerance and peaceful coexistence with the Indians in colonial Rhode Island, and it included his hockey-playing granddaughters and fundamentalist cousins and his lawyer brother and his Chinese granddaughter who was skating with him when he fell.
When your brother dies, your childhood fades, there being one less person to remember it with, and you are left disinherited, unarmed, semi-literate, an exile. It's like losing your computer and there's no backup. (What it's like for the decedent, I can't imagine, though I try to be hopeful.) If I had died (say, by slipping on an emollient spill and whacking my head on a family heirloom anvil), I believe Philip, after decent mourning, would've gone about locating a replacement. If your brother dies, improvise. Someone you run into who maybe doesn't fit the friendship profile but his voice is reedy like your brother's, the gait is similar, he takes his coffee black and his laugh is husky, he starts his sentences with "You know," and the first words out of his mouth are about boats. I didn't run into him in Rome but I'm sure he's out there someplace.
I think we learn something very real about our need for community in these words. I hope you enjoyed.
March 4, 2009 | My brother Philip died in Wisconsin on Friday while I was in Rome, and after I got my ticket changed to fly back for the memorial service, I went into a church off the Piazza Navona and lit candles for his aching family and stood in the piazza beside a fine fountain, with lots of splashing and nudity, the Fountain of the Four Rivers, which made me think of the Mississippi, where he and I used to skate in winter and once when the wind was whistling down the valley he opened his jacket and held the corners taut and the wind blew him away beyond the island and he didn't come back until after dark.
He died while skating. He fell backward and hit his head and died 12 days later. A heroic thing for a man of 71, dying in action at sport, though I believe he would rather have been in Rome, looking at Bernini churches. He and I almost died together once, canoeing on Lake Superior. We paddled into a deep cave under one of the Apostle Islands, possibly Judas, and explored it, ducking our heads under the low ceiling, and emerged a half-minute before the wake of a distant ore boat came crashing into the cave, which would have busted our heads but good, no need for the EMTs.
He was an engineer, having grown up at a time when boys were still romantic about machinery. Our dad and uncles loved cars and knew how to fix them and also do basic plumbing and wiring and carpentry, so he grew up admiring competence. The incompetent stood and cursed the problem and kicked it and caused more problems. The engineer studied the problem, devised a solution, and when it failed he made intelligent revisions. I never heard my brother curse anything or anybody.
Of all things mechanical, he loved sailboats the most, planing into the wind with a sheet of canvas, a centerboard and a tiller, which he picked up from perusing the Horatio Hornblower novels. When he was a kid, he rigged one of dad's dropcloths to a toboggan and sailed it at tremendous speed down the ice of the Mississippi, a death-defying feat. He switched careers from mechanical to coastal engineering so as to get himself out on boats on Lake Superior and Lake Michigan, purportedly to study thermal runoff from nuclear plants and shore erosion, and he owned a swift sailboat named the Dora Powell after our grandmother.
My brother was her first grandchild and so he was well loved and extensively photographed, a curly-haired boy with dimples and a modest smile, taken against many backdrops since our family moved often in the decade after he was born (1937), renting here and there, squatting with relatives, moving on, which maybe stimulates a keen love of family in a kid, as you keep waving goodbye to your friends, and Philip practiced the delicate art of brotherly love. He always knew what you were doing and he kept his critical opinions to himself. He called me once to ask how I was doing and I knew without his saying so that he knew about some nonsense I was up to and wanted me to stop it and I did stop it without his ever mentioning it. That's how he worked, no motor, just angles. His ties to family went back to his ancestor Elder John Crandall, who preached religious tolerance and peaceful coexistence with the Indians in colonial Rhode Island, and it included his hockey-playing granddaughters and fundamentalist cousins and his lawyer brother and his Chinese granddaughter who was skating with him when he fell.
When your brother dies, your childhood fades, there being one less person to remember it with, and you are left disinherited, unarmed, semi-literate, an exile. It's like losing your computer and there's no backup. (What it's like for the decedent, I can't imagine, though I try to be hopeful.) If I had died (say, by slipping on an emollient spill and whacking my head on a family heirloom anvil), I believe Philip, after decent mourning, would've gone about locating a replacement. If your brother dies, improvise. Someone you run into who maybe doesn't fit the friendship profile but his voice is reedy like your brother's, the gait is similar, he takes his coffee black and his laugh is husky, he starts his sentences with "You know," and the first words out of his mouth are about boats. I didn't run into him in Rome but I'm sure he's out there someplace.
I think we learn something very real about our need for community in these words. I hope you enjoyed.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Wow--what a slacker
Yea, so I'd like to say I've been busy...I'd like to say I have lots of good reasons for not keeping this blog up. But I don't. I'm gonna have to pray about this--to see if this is something I want to keep up. It is well-intentioned!
It isn't like I haven't had stuff to talk about! The DC trip was phenomenal--words cannot express how wonderfully our group worked together, how exciting the work and learning was, and how powerful it was to be in that city at the start of the new year.
It is looking like we are going to try another trip, doing the same things in DC with a different group from Trinity, possibly in July or August.
So where am I today? I'm excited about the next few weeks. I'm preaching at a sister church this Sunday (my first experience preaching in an African-American congregation), starting an evening study on the life of St. Francis of Assisi this Sunday night, going to a USC basketball game Saturday, and getting ready for a great Christian Educators conference in Orlando. Funny how this works out--the conference ends right as Spring Training baseball is beginning: God is good!
Ok, I promise to make a strong effort to do better. We'll see how that plays out.
It isn't like I haven't had stuff to talk about! The DC trip was phenomenal--words cannot express how wonderfully our group worked together, how exciting the work and learning was, and how powerful it was to be in that city at the start of the new year.
It is looking like we are going to try another trip, doing the same things in DC with a different group from Trinity, possibly in July or August.
So where am I today? I'm excited about the next few weeks. I'm preaching at a sister church this Sunday (my first experience preaching in an African-American congregation), starting an evening study on the life of St. Francis of Assisi this Sunday night, going to a USC basketball game Saturday, and getting ready for a great Christian Educators conference in Orlando. Funny how this works out--the conference ends right as Spring Training baseball is beginning: God is good!
Ok, I promise to make a strong effort to do better. We'll see how that plays out.
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