O God, who am I now? Once, I was secure in familiar territory. in my sense of belonging, unquestioning of the norms of my culture, the assumptions built into my language, the values shared by my society. But you have called me out and away from home and I do not know where you are
It’s been a little busy around here the last few days. On Sunday, I did a presentation about my upcoming trip (one week, 3 days), in my church. It was really great to get the chance to talk about what I am going to do, as well as present some of the voices of the
This is a piece I wrote for my internship at the Christian Reformed Centre for Public Dialogue this winter. The original is here. Enjoy, and check out other articles available on Mobile Justice. If you are interested in learning more about the challenges facing Aboriginal people in Canada, check out Mythperceptions, a great MCC site!
Over the past month, in preparation for Colombia, I have been reading both Paulo Freire’s Pedagogy of the Oppressed and a collection of essays, Peace, Democracy, Human Rights in Colombia, edited by Christopher Welna and Gustavo Gallon. In his book on popular education, Freire states, “The oppressor is solidarity with the oppressed only when[s]he stops
Let Daylight Come (Little Rock, circa 2008) -after Jane Kenyon Let the moon untangle itself from the clothesline, as coming daylight diminishes its lamp to memory. Let the cicada vow silence as a woman stirs her grits and beats her eggs. Let daylight come. Let school children shuffle into yellow buses. Let the asphalt roll
Things have been pretty serious around here. This is not. Enjoy!
I love the juxtaposition of these two videos. From 7 billion to 1.
So often, I am told to believe in something, whether it is the power of a certain brand or the image of reality portrayed by my favourite movie, politician, religious leader or news station. Life seems to become a struggle of belief, of trying to force myself to have faith in something, and feeling guilty
Before I get to Colombia, I’ll spend a week in Nicaragua for orientation to MCC. Our Father Who Drowns the Birds In memory of Nicaraguans killed by the Contras, 1980-1990. By Barbara Kingsolver There is a season when all wars end: when the rains come. When the landscape opens its own eyes and laughs at