When Prison is Called Hospitality OR When Word Falls on Deaf Ears

Children watching video at The Inn

Pictures by migrant children at The Inn (church-housed care provided by The United Methodist Church) Note: The pictures children draw when not in lock-down facilities.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s been a couple of days.

When it was unveiled that the Catholic Church was going to accept an offer from Pima County to utilize an empty wing of a Juvenile Detention Center to house asylees who had just been released from detention, my skin just crawled. We all knew they had been looking for a facility, but none among us could have imagined they would take these vulnerable families just released from lock-down facilities onto a compound that is an operating detention center.

They spun a story: “It’s all we have. Nothing else could’ve worked. We can make it pretty. We have no options. The families will love it.” And, the most surprising one: “We are the only game in town that has been caring for families.”

The compound is in an industrial area that is apart from the life of the community: hidden from anyone who might not want to see migrants. It is surrounded by concrete, fencing, and guards. It is not hospitable.

It is a Prison.

Several community members spoke out and went into meetings to change the plan: to ask for a better plan than this one. But every word fell on deaf ears. The Catholic and County Powers had already made up their mind, and they were just going through the motions: the appearance of listening when words only fell on deaf ears. (In fact, they went from this meeting of “listening” to a prescheduled press conference to announce they will be moving into the detention complex.)

Even when a courageous young woman spoke out about what it is like to be in these lock-up facilities and how horrible it is for us to think about sending migrants to another such place for “care;” even when she reminded the powers-of-the-moment that they are complicit in causing more pain; even when she boldly called for a new solution…they didn’t hear. Instead, the Power tried to stop her from talking further. Powerful words are sometimes too hard for the powerful to hear.

There is a better solution…there are many. But sometimes a better way is not the goal. Sometimes the goal is too dark to say out loud. Whatever the end game, it is being “won” on the souls of little children and their parents.

And so my skin crawls and I am creeped out. And yet I still believe in hospitality of the best kind, and in purity of souls, and in the possibility of words bringing about a better way.

That didn’t happen these last few days. But there’s still today and tomorrow and the next day.

Crowdsourcing the New Thing

There are many ways to solve a problem; and many ways to dream a new thing into being. Typically, problems are solved by a few “experts” who determine the best solution and then train the wider group on new practices. But there is another way to solve problems: crowd (open) sourcing.

Crowd sourcing is an idea that involves taking problems out to the wider context (even beyond one’s company or corporation) so that many people can add input, and so that creativity and innovation can take a wide swath of possibilities.

We have been closed-sourcing the current state of The United Methodist Church. Before and after the Judicial Council ruling on General Conference 2019, small groups of people have been meeting in closed settings to begin to find solutions. Meanwhile, a wide berth of people are waiting to hear the results that seemed shrouded in the unknown.

But there are other ways to move forward. We can crowd source the possibility of a new church. To crowd source is to till a rich soil for thousands of seeds to be thrown into the wind as they seek the soft, brown earth. It creates a garden of possibility for our future. Who said the “experts” can figure this out better than the movement of the Spirit?

The beginning of the Methodist Movement happened because a ground-swell of people joined a new idea of grace, caring for the poor, and being methodical about spiritual growth. It was a movement that could not be stopped and was propelled by an Unknown Force.

So what if we begin a platform of small meetings, large gatherings, and video conference conversations for the whole world to join? In this way, we could see how the Spirit is moving us collectively, and not only focus on ways the delegations strategize to change the minds of GC2020. The work of the delegations is important, but it is a very small part of the solution.

Instead we need to be collectively dreaming the new church into existence. This is the time to be outwardly curious, and not inward-focused. Obviously we are no longer “United” Methodists. But what does this new movement of the Spirit and of the hearts of Methodists look like? Will you dream out loud with us? The invitation is open to all: much like Communion.

What does She look like?

 

What does she look like (this new life being born)?

She’s beautifully diverse.
She’s malleable.
She rides the wind of the Spirit.
She detests Robert’s Rules and Political Maneuvers.

She’s powerful and vulnerable.
She lives in buildings, cafes and bars and on the street.
She is fluid.
She refuses to exclude one soul.

She crosses borders with grace and strength.
She mixes up the order for the good of creativity.
She has the seed of Jesus, and the shoot of Wesley.
She will not suffer abuse anymore.

She is colorful, including all colors of the rainbow.
She gathers, encourages, creates, and sends.
She centers with the humble, poor, and left-out.
She lives not by law, but by grace.

She sits at table with strangers and loners and lost ones.
She loses herself in love.
She cares for the earth.
She will do no harm.

She is beautiful.

Entering the Darkness of Holy Week

So this is the week.

The week when we brave the entry into darkness. Every other week in the Christian calendar, we celebrate the possibility of life from death. But this week, we start with the sounds of a parade (bands, horns, crowds gathered, food shared, excitement in the air) and we end with the passion of Christ (betrayal, bullying, court proceedings, and crowds jeering at the One who claims Messiah). We quickly go from anticipation and exultation to dashed hopes and despair.

All in one week.

It’s like we understand that we are walking into the dark spaces of life. We go with hesitation but determination. We take faltering steps, with hands out to touch what we cannot see. We encounter our fear head on.

Jesus rode a donkey and ended up on a cross. We ride the joys of life and end up in the darkest and bleakest of holy spaces. Dark is an unknown, but a trusting space. We stop talking in the dark so we can hear the distance of our echoes. We go into the black because there is something we need there. We step into deep silence where our world is quiet but our soul hears God.

Welcome to the dark week. It feels scary, but it is sacred. God meets us here.

On Lenten Lane

The first week of Lent, our church gave up mirrors. We found out how much we check our exterior image and compare it to our interior reality.
The second week we gave up social media and emails. We found out how often we reach for our social apps and how much time we now had to have real face-to-face conversations.
This week we are giving up talking (as much as we can). On Sunday, Pastor Jamie gave a non-talking sermon (with the help of screens). The world seems very quiet…and this is just Day 1. I found myself singing, and thought, “Is that ok? Is it ok to sing?” I decided that, for me, singing was a good thing. On Day 1, I talked to my coworkers a few times, and two family members, and one friend. Some of it was necessary and some of it was habitual. Talking is a hard habit to break while living in the real world.
We are social beings living in a technological and material world. That’s not bad or wrong or evil. It just is our current state. What matters are the choices we make in this world of tools, habits, and sounds. Our life is shaped by the decisions we make to engage in things or connect with those near us. This is how we are formed.
We give up these things so that we can make space for God. Because sometimes we crowd out God with the things in our lives. And so, on this road called Lenten Lane, we wait. We listen. We hope.

Dreaming a New Church, What does She look like?

The baby in this picture was found in a NYC Catholic church manger in 2015 (story here). Baby was found alive and well, and ready for a new home. Sometimes babies are born out of great difficulties. But no matter what, when they are ready, they launch into the world.

Since coming home from General Conference 2019, I’ve had my head and heart in a pondering space. That’s where I go when dreams are laboring within. That’s where I go when I don’t understand. That’s where I go for refresh, renewal, and reforming. You could say I’ve been doing some dreaming.

The dreaming and wondering I’ve been up to is around the question, “What does She look like?” “She” is the new baby church that seems to be breathing around us. She whispers to us in the Michigan Statement(here), and the German Statement (here). She has courage and she is waiting for no one, not even for General Conference 2020. She is already here.

But what does this new baby church look like? I can imagine her acting like Jesus in our world; sounding like Wesley in his depth of grace; and structured similar to the original movement. To act like Jesus is to care for those who are passed over. Jesus today would center the church on the edges: the LGBTQAI-edge; the ethnic-edge; the indigenous-edge; the female-edge; the poverty-edge; the immigrant/refugee-edge; and the earth care-edge. And when these edges become the center, Jesus would go out to the edge again, and draw in the new edge-dwellers.

I can imagine the new church having the voice of grace stirred up by Wesley. That grace that will not let us go, that is detailed in all its forms, that centers us in love and screens out our bent towards judgment. I can hear her words bringing hope to a world that needs to know God really is all about Love.

I can see the new young structural bones that are flexible and strong. They provide for quick movement and decisions; for unique shapes in each context; for people who meet together, sharing life in Christ with each other. They open doors to the lonely, the gifted, the young, the questioning, and anyone who wants see this new baby stay near during their dark night of the soul. She will be so nimble and mobile that her parents won’t be able to (micro)manage her.

She will locate herself in strange places: in buildings, in parks, in cafes and bars, in tail-gating parties and parent nights out. She will be brimming over with children and the elderly who love them. She will be led by all colors of the rainbow, and all varieties of skin tone. She will be unlike what we have known; and all that is mystery and wonder. She will be led by leaders who have spiritual integrity and wisdom; informed by laity with a heart for the unnoticed; and served by clergy who love deep enough to risk forward.

Baby Church has not been named yet. But she is alive. She waits for no one. And this very day, She is being fed by God’s spirit and nurtured by the Edge-Dwellers among us. Soon we will know more of who she is and how she operates and what she has to say to our world. For now, we know that out of great difficulty, a baby was born. And soon, we will know what She looks like.