9 posts tagged “evangelism”
A couple of weeks ago, I broke down and purchased a lovely polynesian-style fish hook, hand made by a local Hawaiian artist. It's wonderful swirls match my tattoo, and the koa wood that is mixed with cow bone to make a stunning, creative design is endemic (I think) to Hawai`i, and has a beautiful grain. I bought it to wear on liturgical occasions... occasionally.... part of the emphasis on discipleship I learned as a Methodist, and the imperative of our closing ritual at one of the summer youth mission trips I went on several years - "Mt. T.O.P." - fishers of men.
Amersterdam's Schiphol is a lovely airport, and I arrived a little too late in the evening to fool with going into the city, unless I were just going to crash. I'm still young enough to sleep on an airport floor if I must, so I planned to crash there. Fortunately, they have wonderfully comfortable chairs that are pretty decent for sleeping. I won't think so twenty years from now, I'm sure.
It took me some time to wind down, and I had some wonderful conversations with folks from a variety of places. The man at the coffee counter where I bought supper (crispy bacon and egg sandwich, just like those in my memory from London - I've done a lot of cheap gas station sandwiches, and those are the best!). He grew up in Ghana, and I asked if he liked it here. He got really quiet, and then showed me his wrist: a yellow band was on it, and it said "Jehova-Jireh". He said, 'do you know what it means? The Lord will provide, man. The Lord will provide.'
I could have strolled the red light district, and watched drunk people all night. But I've had my fair share of Bourbon Street. Instead, I got the wonderful treat of a pleasant meal, and the soul-food of a witness by one man to his faith that God is with him, so far away from his homeland.
It would have felt nice to have had the luxury of a private room and clean, warm shower - especally as I have another 12 hours of flying and airports, but it was nice to stay here in the airport and meet some of the people who work here, or are travelling through.
Several folks have come in today, and while some are probably just grateful for a free bed, I think that a few have a need to talk and share about their experiences. Whether or not this is key to integrating the pilgrimage or not is something I will learn later, but for now, I am enjoying the privilege of being a person with whom pilgrims talk about some of their experiences. Today I had a person take me up on the offer to wash their feet. I'm a little surprised people are hesitant, but I shouldn't be - at church, on Maundy Thursday, people don't like the intimacy of having their feet washed, at least many don't. Last night we had a grand dinner - will not do that every night (cost of the Euro has everything at twice the price for me on my American dollar).
Feet are interesting. Washing feet is serious business. As I look ahead, I anticipate a ministry that is grounded in washing feet – and I hope literally. Having been a pilgrim, I can tell you I know the power of soaking feet, and as a Christian, the metaphorical and actual power of ritual foot-washing. It’s something we do not do often enough.
Tonight, it struck me for the first time the importance of the call to the disciples to kick the dust off of their heels against those who do not welcome them. Is there a reference embedded in there about a lack of following the hospitality-norms of the day – washing the feet of strangers or guests who have completed a long journey? If our heart is on the pilgrims’ way, we will surely be about welcoming pilgrims in ways that help them remove the gritty dust of hard travail/travel off their blistered souls/soles.
If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you,
as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.’
Mark 6:11
Tonight, at the diocesan conversation "Building the Beloved Community," Bishop Marc Andrus delivered the homily, in which he shared the story about fifty schools identified by the apartheid gov't in South Africa, years ago, as trouble-making - they were the schools that formed and lifted up those who spent their lives working for justice in South Africa, who eventually helped bring about the end of apartheid there.
As I contemplate the readings for this coming Sunday, the phrase of the woman to Jesus stuck out to me. Walking in Spain, in the heat of mid-day, I often started to worry when my water bottle began to empty. Desperately, my eyes became more focused on looking for signs that said "potable" more than I was concerned with following the correct path on the pilgrimage.
How delighted I was when a woman would come out of her home, as though this were her daily vigil - helping pilgrims who looked like they would die if they didn't find a fountain in ten minutes. They would always point me towards some hidden fountain I had missed, as if placed there by them so that it could only be found by their angelic apparition and guidance.
I can't imagine myself saying, "Woman, I have water like you've never had!" Now, of course we can't give this water like Jesus, so it is hard to imagine. But it ought not be so, because if I am living into my baptismal covenant, I carry that water with me, just as sure as I've been spurged. So Christ's evangelical imperative is to share this living water, to let it flow out from Christ to us and onward in a chain of creative life, like a tiered fountain of potable water for life's holy pilgrims.
Last Friday, at our healing service, the homilist preached about memory being the location of being real. In a way, it is like the fox in The Little Prince, the being made real in the memory between the fox and the prince.
I love having friend's with completely different theological training - they know how to ask the questions I overlook.
