talking about people who don't have any power

I have about three dozen Facebook friends who shared video clips of Stephen Colbert appearing as an "expert witness" before a congressional hearing about undocumented migrant workers. (You can read the full story here.) I’m assuming that if you’re reading this you have at least a passing familiarity with Mr. Colbert’s appearance and the amusement, praise, offense, and general befuddlement it has caused. I watched a few video clips from his testimony and was mostly disappointed to find it to be less funny than I expected. Instead, it was generally just awkward.

But in the midst of all the awkward jokes met with strained pauses and stoney faces, Mr. Colbert made one statement that set goose bumps on my arms. Toward the end of his interview, a representative from Monterey Park, California asked Mr. Colbert why he chose to focus on the issue of migrant workers. The simple profundity of his response knocked the wind out of me:



“I like talking about people who don’t have any power.”





(I’m going to let that quote hang there by itself for a moment.)





Here’s his response in full (video here):

“I like talking about people who don’t have any power, and [it] seems like [some] of the least powerful people in the United States are migrant workers who come and do our work but don’t have any rights as a result, and yet we still invite them to come here and at the same time ask them to leave. ...That’s an interesting contradiction to me, and, you know, ‘Whatsoever you do for the least of my brothers,’ and these seem like the least of our brothers - Right now, a lot of people are ‘least brothers’ right now because the economy’s so hard, and I don’t want to take anyone’s hardship away from them or diminish [it], anything like that - but migrant workers suffer and have no rights.”


Colbert mentioned a Scripture in passing in his response, specifically Matthew 25:40. Here’s the biblical reference in context, since these words are more meaningful than any pithy commentary I have to add:



“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.

Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’


Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’ They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’ He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’ Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.”
(Matthew 25:31-46 TNIV)


I have two thoughts in response to Mr. Colbert’s appearance before Congress, one more theological in nature, one more political.


My first thought has to do with the biblical context Mr. Colbert gave to his comments. Whether or not he intended to call to mind this Scripture or even knew the quote came from the Bible, I don’t know. But Christians and churches would do well to keep in mind what Jesus had to say about caring for “the least of these brothers and sisters of [his].”

It’s interesting to me that Jesus put no qualifiers on which of these needy people received aid. He didn’t say, “You fed the hungry people who were honest and worked hard.” He didn’t say, “You visited the people imprisoned unjustly.” He didn’t say, “You welcomed the stranger with whom you shared things in common.”


It seems here that being hungry, being thirsty, being a stranger, being naked, being sick, or being in prison - these qualities, in and of themselves with no qualification, merit redemption. Jesus identifies himself with people in these situations. Jesus not only had close relationships and meaningful interactions with the wrong kind of people - prostitutes, tax collectors, zealots, lepers, Samaritans, etc. - but he goes as far as to consider himself one of their kind.

This is why I love Mr. Colbert’s sentiment: “I like talking about people who don’t have any power.” Jesus did, too. The Church as institution ought to. Christians as individuals ought to.

This definitely includes migrant workers, both legal and illegal, a reality that hits on one of my passions. I believe there’s room for a diversity of opinions on what needs to be done about illegal immigration; pretty much the only thing on which there seems to be a shared consensus is that it is a problem and things need to change.

However, what disturbs me about the response many people have to illegal or undocumented workers is that it allows nothing for the humanity of the people involved. Either migrant workers are petty criminals who need to be shipped back to their homeland or they’re helpless creatures who can do nothing for themselves.


However we interact with migrant workers, we must respect their dignity as people made in the image of the Almighty God. This involves an inherent respect for their rights as human beings. We can argue over what that respect looks like, but I cannot compromise on that basic foundation for a conversation.

And as Mr. Colbert points out, this isn’t the only issue that needs this foundation. “There’s a lot of ‘least brothers’ right not” - it would be redundant for me to list off more flashpoint issues since you’ve probably already thought of whatever person or people or people group you passionately believe needs help. The important thing is that we start talking about people who don’t have any power, and then from that conversation we move on to action. As a Christian, I don’t do this out of some ill-defined commitment to “social justice,” but rather because I desire to follow the example of Jesus Christ. And Jesus spent a good chunk of his ministry talking about (and interacting with) people without any power.


My second thought has to do with avocados.

A couple of days after watching this video of Mr. Colbert, I was peeling and slicing up some avocados. My girlfriend is moving to a house with an avocado tree in the backyard and I was trying out a recipe that I might be able to use with this new source of fruit. As I peeled and pitted the avocados, my mind wandered to numerous farms I recently saw on a road trip to Northern California, my first time driving through the agricultural heart of the state. I thought of the many vineyards, farms and orchards I saw, all tended by workers who have to work long shifts in the summer sun, many of them migrants, both documented and undocumented (or legal and illegal, depending on your language). I then read the sticker on the avocado I was peeling: "GROWN IN CALIFORNIA."

I try to be aware of international trade issues and buy fair trade commerce whenever possible, especially in regards to food. With fruit and vegetables I always try to buy the American-grown option if it exists. I guess I’ve unconsciously assumed that if it’s made in the US, everything must be fine with it.

But I remembered Mr. Colbert’s report on the state of migrant workers, and then felt more eager to start using the avocados grown in my girlfriend’s backyard, where I know exactly where they came from and what was involved in growing and harvesting them. “In the meantime,” I thought, “I should do some research on the conditions of the workers who harvest this fruit and other fruits and vegetables I eat.”

I bring this up because there’s been a good amount of debate on the merit of Mr. Colbert’s testimony to Congress. I believe that’s a perfectly reasonable thing to discuss, and a good case can be made that bringing in a Comedy Central television star was little more than a publicity stunt by Democrats whose popularity sorely lags in the current political environment. (I read one conservative blogger who denounced the hearing as little more than “a side show Dems will regret,” and was surprised at how convincing I, a person with admittedly liberal leanings, found most of his argument.)

But the brilliance of Mr. Colbert’s testimony was not in the incredulous silence from the congressmen and women listening to him; it was in the broader audience that has been exposed to the working conditions migrant workers in the United States face as a result of his routine.

The real difference that Mr. Colbert’s appearance could make will have nothing to do with whatever decisions this congressional panel makes or doesn’t make; those who liked what he said (mostly Democrats) weren’t turned off by his celebrity and those who disagreed and/or were insulted by his presence (mostly Republicans) weren’t won over by his words. But if citizens and consumers like me use this as a springboard to become better educated about the issue and let what we learn influence how we buy, how we vote, and how much we get involved, then Mr. Colbert’s appearance was well worth it, awkward humor and all.



I'm only starting to graze the surface of this issue and I'm still not sure what I can do as an individual to make a difference. But whatever else has been achieved, I’m hearing more people talking about a group of people that doesn’t have any power. Americans would do well to talk about people who don’t have any power more often. The Church ought to initiate many of those conversations.

towers around the mall: thorncliffe park vs. joel kotkin

Yesterday I visited Thorncliffe Park, a community in the East York area of Toronto of which I am creating an ethnographic profile at the request of my supervisor. The neighborhood has a very high immigrant population, with over half of the residents having lived in Canada for five years or less. Most of the people in the community are South Asian, but sizable populations of East Asians, Caribbeans, and Greeks are also evident. Today the community is laid out in a horseshoe shape, with the tall residential towers forming a loop around the East York Town Centre mall.

the Leaside Towers, the tallest and most famous of the Thorncliffe Park apartment buildings

The enclosed feeling of the community with its residential towers oriented around a commercial center brought to mind a book read earlier this summer. Before I came to Canada I read Joel Kotkin's The City: A Global History. The book is tiny but dense, following the historical development of urban areas from Mesopotamia to present day in just about every cultural context imaginable. As I walked through the neighborhood, I was reminded of Kotkin's categorization of cities as “places sacred, safe, and busy.”


Kotkin observes that ancient cities typically centered around temples, cathedrals, or other religious buildings, and that secular cities today still invoke spiritual myths of power and authority with imposing structures and dramatic skyscrapers. He also notes that cities need to provide their citizens with a sense of security, something that has been true since ancient cities kept invading hordes out with large walls. Finally, he remarks that cities must have a vibrant commercial base to attract and sustain large populations of people; this is probably the most obvious of the three characteristics in contemporary Westernized urban areas.

While Thorncliffe Park is part of the city of Toronto, it appears to operate as a microcosm of these historical urban realities. Just about every apartment building has several large “No Trespassing” signs at every potential entrance, and entrance is only allowed to those who either know the access code or know someone in the building. Most of the buildings have a Y-shaped design that almost invokes a fortress, standing tall and imposing over passers-by. As a highly immigrant community, I suspect that in many ways Thorncliffe Park serves as a "safe place" for immigrants, as evidenced by the large number of culture-specific restaurants and stores and the presence of offices that offer services to aid recent immigrants. This is the function that many Chinatowns and similar ethnic enclaves came to have, and while Thorncliffe Park is by no means an exact parallel I think some common ground could be found there.

It's also hard to separate the need for safety and the spiritual function in a community like this. I was in the neighborhood during the first days of Ramadan, and being a majority-Muslim neighborhood I suspect it was much quieter than on a "typical" day. Many of the South Asian shops were closed and I happened to pass by a mosque as many people were leaving. In a neighborhood like this where their spiritual practice is the norm, I suspect many people, particularly the recent immigrants, have a comfort level that does not necessarily exist in other areas of the city.

Finally, the central role of the East York Town Centre and the large number of businesses catering to specific cultural niches reinforces the role of commercial interests in keeping Thorncliffe Park a growing and dynamic community. I suspected from research I had done about the community that the mall, being the geographic center of the neighborhood, would operate also as a community center in many ways. (For another example, I've heard locals in Brownwood, Texas argue that the closest thing they have to a community center is the local Wal-Mart, and I believe they're correct.) Sure enough, the mall appears to be not only a shopping destination but a place where everyone, regardless of background or age, finds themselves at some point. The entire bottom floor of the mall is medical services, something I haven't seen before, and the indoor architecture gives the building more of a marketplace feeling.

this picture isn't great, but it's the best I have from the mall interior

Almost of all of this is based on speculation rooted on some demographic research and one observational visit to the neighborhood, so I may be off-base on some of my thoughts here. Nonetheless, I'll be playing with this idea some more as I learn more about the area in conjunction with my practicum responsibilities.

This was also the first time I've actually been in Downtown Toronto, as I had to go through Union Station to get to the neighborhood. Here's a some gratuitous skyline shots:

retreating and preaching

This past weekend I joined the Church in the One for their summer retreat up in the country north of Mississauga. This is a yearly tradition for the church, although due to scheduling issues and timing it was apparently smaller than usual this year. Nonetheless we had about forty people staying at a cottage near Mono Mills, complete with a trail in the woods, a campfire for roasting marshmallows, and a swimming pool. Unfortunately it rained much of Saturday, but that has been pretty standard for the weather in Ontario since I arrived. At least it didn't hail, which it did in Mississauga last week.

Anyway, Pastor Jon of CTO asked me to speak a couple of times the Saturday of the retreat, giving short devotionals/sermons to the group. In the morning I spoke about the Golden Calf story in Exodus, remixing a sermon I gave at my home church a few years ago, and in the evening I spoke about Stephen's speech to the Sanhedrin in Acts. I intended the sermons to go together, focusing in the morning on being aware of what God is doing and not exchanging devotion to him for something less, and focusing in the evening on recognizing patterns of disobedience and giving those over to God.

The evening sermon in particular was pretty close to things with which I have been wrestling this summer. A common pattern for me is being completely disappointed in whatever I do or try to do in ministry. A little bit of this can be productive and helpful, assuring that I am never content with taking my responsibilities too lightly and that I am always striving to do my best. However, I tend to take it too far and have no confidence in anything I do, regardless how much preparation I make or how gifted I may be in a certain area. If I preach and give a wonderful sermon but make one slight gaffe while speaking, after the sermon I'll only remember the mistake.

After both of my sermons, but particularly after the second one, I felt this down feeling that is so familiar. With the second sermon, I feared that I had not been clear enough in what I tried to say and that I had just thrown together some unrelated points in a confusing way. As I looked over my sermon before the night meeting I felt like it just didn't work on some level, and after speaking I felt that I hadn't resolved the messiness.

(ASIDE: Incidentally, I had conversation about this with Pastor Jon a few weeks ago, and he observed that he often experiences what he calls "post-sermon depression," the feeling after speaking where one recognizes all of his or her mistakes and fears that the hearers didn't care or didn't get it. Often the speaker knows and recognizes everything he or she said wrong, while the majority of the time the audience remains completely oblivious to these errors. It was encouraging to hear that I am not alone in experiencing this.)

In spite of this down feeling, I was encouraged, by some very gracious and affirming feedback from a few of the people at the camp. A fellow seminary grad said that the sermon gave him a few ideas he had not considered before. An older woman told me the next morning that a group of the older people had stayed up that night discussing what I shared, contemplating what it means for their church. I was totally floored by that comment, as I don't recall ever being told that about anything I've said, ever.

It probably sounds cliché, but I really have to give the credit for that one over to God. Nothing I said was that profound, even if it was the best sermon of my life (which it wasn't... I hope). One verse that has always stuck with me comes from 2nd Corinthians, when Paul, while lamenting some "thorn" that has plagued him for some time, declares that God told him, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." The whole idea of power made perfect in weakness is a classic example of the paradoxical truth that underscores the whole Good News of Jesus, and it gives me relief and strength to think that even when I have no confidence in what I do, God has given me some abilities and will bless what I do when I do it for him. This summer has been fairly difficult so far with so much downtime, and it's easy for me to let myself get discouraged by what I view as my own inadequacies or failures. Fortunately God can use me anyway.

So the retreat was good, it was nice to spend some time with the CTO church family and get to know many of them better. I roomed with about a dozen teenage boys in a barn renovated into a game room, which was an interesting experience. Having been a teenage boy at one time I knew to expect that I wouldn't get much sleep, and I was correct, but what else would you expect on a retreat? It was still fun, and I'm glad I got to the chance to go and be a part of it.

Pastor Alex, one of my supervisors, returns from The Philippines sometime tomorrow, so hopefully my activities will be picking up in the weeks to come. I have only a month left here, which boggles my mind. I don't know why I'm surprised - these kinds of experiences always pass quickly - but I feel overwhelmed when I think about the time frame. We'll see what happens.

goin' fishin' - ruminations on pursuing the pearl

About a year or so I got stuck on the topic of Asian American theology for a while. I am not exactly sure why I did. I took Dr. Hanciles’ “Immigration, Religion and the American Church” class and ended up focusing my class project on generational dynamics within Chinese American churches, and then I took Dr. Dyrness’ “Theology in Global Perspective” the following quarter and participated in a group project on Asian American theology. Born out of that class, I became involved in a newly formed Asian American Theology Fellowship at Fuller, and have continued to be faithfully involved at most of their events.

All this, yet I am a white American who does not participate in an Asian American church.

At one of AATF’s events, an LA-area pastor named Ken Fong came and spoke about issues in multiethnic Asian American ministry. Fong pastors Evergreen LA, a church that transitioned from being a Japanese immigrant church to being a multiethnic church mostly made up of people from numerous Asian groups, and (perhaps most remarkably) people across generational lines. His insights were borne out of his experiences in pan-Asian ministry, but most of what he had to say has implications for anyone working in a church in a contemporary North American setting.


All this to set up: I finished reading Fong’s book Pursuing the Pearl: A Comprehensive Resource for Multi-Asian Ministry a few days ago. Fong wrote the book about a decade ago so the information does appear somewhat dated today, but the insights and implications remain quite relevant. Much of what he said in person at the AATF meeting dealt with the themes he explores in the book. In many ways it felt like Dan Kimball’s The Emerging Church: Vintage Christianity for New Generations with an Asian twist (though since Fong’s book predates Kimball’s, might The Emerging Church be Pursuing the Pearl with an Anglo twist?), as both books deal with what church looks like in changing North American cultural contexts and range from describing the culture to giving practical advice on points such as preaching, music direction, aesthetics and design, and so on.

Fong weaves an central analogy of saltwater and freshwater fish throughout the book, suggesting the acculurturation of immigrant groups resembles a freshwater river - settings that are largely homogenous for the immigrant group, such as an immigrant church - running into a saltwater sea - settings that are dominated by Anglo American norms. In Fong’s model, the first immigrant generation functions like imported bass, swimming in the new freshwater rivers of a new setting, attending church in their heart language and staying close to others of the same ethnic origin. Their children, the second generation, might be more like salmon, moving downstream from the freshwater streams and mingling in the saltwater bay, able to function in both conditions. Their children, the third and subsequent generations, live more like cod, swimming only in the saltwater, speaking only English and being unable to thrive in a “freshwater” setting. This flow can be seen in just about every immigrant group that comes to North America, but of course Fong applies this model specifically to Asians.

(compiled family portrait)
The problem comes in when freshwater churches (immigrant churches led by first generation immigrants) attempt to “dam up” their saltwater descendants (their Americanized children, grandchildren, and so on) in an effort to preserve their cultural identity and pass on their faith. While well intentioned and completely understandable, this reaction only leads to tension and hardened feelings on the part of everyone involved. Fong suggests the solution that the first generation should release the subsequent generations and bless them in their own way of experiencing and living out faith and community. This model has continually informed the ministries of Evergreen LA.

I suppose I have been stuck on Asian American theology despite by own ethnic identity in part because I think many white or multiethnic churches can learn from the thinking that many Asian Americans actively do about generational dynamics. Most long-established white churches more or less let their church ministries flow on while operating in autopilot, occasionally tempering the music or changing some offered ministry programs but never really taking into account how their younger people experience God and participate in the faith. I have seen some Anglo churches that also “dam up” their young people, making well-intentioned efforts at retaining their youth but simply driving them farther away and often hardening them against the faith altogether.

I am hesitant to simply apply Fong’s model to white Americans whose ancestors may have come to the US or Canada centuries ago (although some Asians can claim North American lineage for just as long) and blend into the "mainstream" of society, but when I heard him speak at AATF Fong himself made a comment to that effect. He cited the recent book unChristian by David Kinnaman and Gabe Lyons as one example (of many) of a book showing that cultural shifts mean emerging American and Canadian generations do not necessarily have any cultural connection to the Christian faith and thus have different perceptions of the faith and different ways of processing, experiencing, practicing, and interpreting spirituality and religion.

Perhaps white Americans do not have to consider generational shifts from a “foreign” culture to North American culture, but we may have been experiencing the shift happening beneath our own feet for a while now. As the first generations of North Americans grow up who do not have Christianity as an assumed cultural constant, the way that church looks and operates in society has to change. This does not mean that our values or compromised; quite the opposite, we have to learn how to be true to our values in a new type of context. This changing of the way church looks intends to maintain the integrity of the church, not to diminish it.

As I get involved with these churches in the GTA, I see a diversity of approaches - some comprised mostly of first generation immigrants, some of a mixture of generations, some made up of second and subsequent generation Canadians from various ethnic backgrounds. In the midst of this I see churches that bless each other and work together while allowing each other to maintain their own identity and sense of calling, and that encourages me. Perhaps this kind of networking will be one way that churches learn to reach out together in the years to come. I am not sure exactly how this looks or what problems and benefits this may pose, and I know that no "one size fits all" solution or approach exists, but it gives me something to look for this summer and to consider as I participate in future church ministries myself.

adventures in bible study

So I preached at a Filipino church this Sunday; it's been a few years since my last sermon, if I remember correctly. I was to preach on The New Heaven and The New Earth in Revelation 21-22, which is of course a very safe and easy topic about which to preach. So, I borrowed a couple of commentaries from a pastor here and racked my brain to remember everything I learned in my Revelation class in undergrad with Dr. Allen. (Basically I remembered the importance of numbers, and yes, a good portion of my message was all about the number twelve.) I would've relied on my fancy seminary learnin', but my Acts-Revelation class with a professor who shall remain nameless was the worst class I had at Fuller, if not the worst class I've had since high school, which is saying something since I took a Malaysian Language class that was almost entirely in Malay (which I don't speak) while studying abroad.

Anyway... I worked on my words for Sunday over most of this last week, spending hours at a nearby coffee shop or the local Tim Horton's composing the message. In the end it turned out to be much more academic than I like, but with all the symbolism and imagery it was hard not to spend a lot of time explaining.

Now, when it comes to public speaking, I am a meticulous planner. I like to know all of the details about my venue and my purpose for speaking: to whom am I speaking? how long should I speak? should it be more serious, more light, more intellectual, more emotional? do I need a PowerPoint, and if so how detailed should it be? etc. etc. etc.

I didn't know most of those details going into this sermon. I knew that it was a church made up mostly of older Filipinos who speak English, that they had been going through the book of Revelation, and that a PowerPoint would help. I also know from previous experience and observation this summer that Filipinos, while being very lively and loud people at social interactions, tend to sit silent and stone-faced while listening to someone talk, so don't rely too much on audience feedback as a gauge.

So I was nervous going in, but I always get nervous before speaking, with a tendency to freak out directly before I speak and then calm down once I actually start talking. That Sunday morning we arrived at the school where the church meets about half an hour before Sunday School, which starts an hour or so before the church service. (Remember that Filipinos are typically event-driven, so actual starting times remain flexible.) And as I glanced over my sermon text around 9:40, the head pastor of the church approached me and mentioned casually, "You know that Filipinos like to do things at the spur of the moment, right?"

I froze. "Um, yes..." I answered tentatively.

"Well, could you say something about church, about how important it is to come together with others for worship?" he asked.

I relaxed. In my sermon I planned to talk about how church today should be a reflection of the New Jerusalem to come, so this idea should still flow with that added in. "Sure, you want me to add it into the sermon?" I replied.

"Oh, no," he laughed. "We need someone to lead the adult Sunday School. It starts at 10."

I stared back in silent response. "Um... how, how long?" I stammered.

"Oh, forty-five minutes, half an hour," he answered, smiling. "You can do that, right?"

At this point my eyes had probably grown to be the size of small plates. I said nothing, merely standing with my mouth agape. He clapped his hand on my shoulder. "You'll be fine. Talk about Hebrews 6 or something," he offered. He then walked away.

I wasn't exactly nervous at this point, I was more just shocked. I now had about twenty minutes to find a Bible passage, prepare some talking points, and think of something to say for forty-five minutes to a group of Filipinos mostly twenty or so years older than me who probably wouldn't be too keen on speaking up in a group. This is basically a culmination of every fear I have about speaking or teaching that had rolled into a tidy package and dropped squarely on my head.

So I looked up Hebrews 6, tried in vain to come up with a handful of profound points, and Sunday School got off to a start around 10:15, just me and fifteen or so people. I'm not going to go into the details of what happened in the lesson for it's just too painful. Suffice it to say that out of thirty minutes of the lesson, at least fifteen minutes consisted of awkward silence. It was without a doubt the most humiliating and humbling small group experience I have ever had.

After this fiasco I gave my sermon and it was OK, not my most wonderful effort but not bad either. The flexibility of the timeframe for the sermon actually proved to make me less nervous, as I felt more free to take my time, make my points, and move on as necessary. Usually I tend to rush through my sermons, so this was a welcome change. I also played a hymn on the violin, so I guess I had triple duty. Regardless how I personally did, the people were very gracious and supportive. After telling some people here about my experience, several of them gave me a very easy and welcome piece of advice: "Next time, just say 'no.'" I wasn't sure if this was actually an option, but now that I know that choice exists, I will probably be exercising it in the future.

I don't preach anywhere this Sunday (at least I haven't been recruited yet), so my next speaking engagement will likely be at a church retreat for Church in the One the following weekend. In the end, sometimes you just have to embrace the awkwardness and roll with it.

community vs. consumerism - ruminations on the suburban christian

I bought Albert Hsu's The Suburban Christian: Finding Spiritual Vitality in the Land of Plenty on a whim from The Archives Bookshop in Pasadena, CA, as I was simply looking for anything even casually related to my practicum so I could put together a bibliography to meet my academic requirements. The book also seemed like it would fit in well with a one-week class I took before I left for Canada called "Encountering the City," which focused on urban mission and ethnographic research. For something I purchased more or less based on their titles alone, I was amazed at how interesting and useful it was. Sometimes, I guess you can judge a book by its cover.


Albert Hsu brings up the interesting notion that suburban living represents a spiritual quest, a theme that incidentally was often referenced in my "Encountering the City" class. He suggests that the development of suburbia represents a spiritual quest on the part of its inhabitants: the never-ending pursuit of security, financial stability, community, a place to raise the kids, and so on - it’s all an expression of the "American Dream," with a nice house surrounded by a picket fence replacing the rural country homestead. The dream is a place that you personally own where you live that you don't have to share it with anyone. This is underscored by one of the more shocking asides I've stumbled across in any book:

"In the 1950s individualistic single-family houses were seen as the American antidote to communism. Communal housing was seen as suspicious and a dangerous step toward the loss of individual identity and freedom. So suburban developers and architects encouraged individualistic homeownership as an expression of American freedom and one way to fight the Cold War." (p. 39)

Wow. I might point out how ridiculous and reactionary this was, but weren't we encouraged to do our patriotic duty and go out and spend lots of money to reinvigorate the economy in the wake of 9/11? Oops, now I'm getting political. Moving on...

Anyway, suburbs are basically defined by two philosophies: consumerism and isolationism. It is functionally impossible to live in a suburban area and be self-sufficient - malls, strip centers, restaurants, and so on define the suburban landscape, whether you are in Mississauga, Pasadena (the Houston one) or Pasadena (the Los Angeles one). It is also rare to know your neighbors or interact with the local community much at all. This is why we have "commuter churches" where almost all of the members drive from other parts of the city and involvement with the local setting is slim if present at all. With personal cars and nearby freeways (not to mention cell phones and internet access to keep in touch with those who may be physically distant), why bother knowing the people physically close to you?

Hsu makes a wide variety of points that are still running through my mind, but one that has been encountering me during my practicum is the role of immigrant communities in shaping the suburban landscape. Speaking of how different ethnic and immigrant groups change the complexion of typically white suburbs due their frequently different living patterns, Hsu observes:

"Immigrant families with multigenerational households, including aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents and other relatives, demonstrate family values and identity not often seen in typical (white) American families, where relatives beyond the nuclear family rarely live under one roof. [...] Rather than asking immigrant families to conform to fragmented, isolationist Western models of suburban family life, it would be a collective benefit to our suburban status quo to be more accommodating to multigenerational and extended families. Such healthy cultural diversity has the potential of invigorating our communities with more dynamic ways of civic and communal life." (p. 43-44)

This strikes me because these are the housing patterns I have observed amongst the Filipino families I am encountering here in Canada. I am living with a family whose house is home to a mother and father, grandmother, one son, two daughters and a son-in-law. More than that, in this house and others I have visited it is common and normal to have visitors drop in unannounced or with little warning, sometimes spend the night, share food, and so on. The idea of "this is my house" appears to be conspicuously absent.

Being an introverted, private person (and one with a white American cultural background), this is not the kind of living situation where I feel most comfortable. But I think I have something to learn about being welcoming and understanding community. I may never live in a multigenerational home or have a proverbial revolving door of residents in my home, but I can learn to practice some of these principles. Another area where I am seeing this in Mississauga is in the role of house churches, where the communal expression of faith is not limited to a foreign building on Sunday morning, but is rather part of the DNA of the community, being shared between the people of the church in their own homes. I experienced this aspect of counter-cultural Christian living some with my church in Brownwood, where small groups were much more important to my weekly worship than attending Sunday service. That openness can go a long way to break down the isolationist, consumerist lie that we are defined by our possessions and by what we own.

The biggest challenge to Christianity in most suburban contexts is the temptation to be owned by the things that own us. It is the temptation to be content and comfortable with our space to live and our own things to have. I hope to learn more from my Filipino friends this summer about letting go of these material things that too often define who I am.

recapping week one

I have been in Canada for a week now, and have spent most of my time so far meeting lots of people and getting acclimated to the new surroundings. Everyone I've met has been very hospitable and supportive and willing to help and give me an opportunity to serve. I gave a devotional at a house church meeting last week and will be giving another tomorrow night, in addition to attending a wide variety of meetings, doing some heavy lifting at the WorldTeam office in preparation for renovations, and tagging along for a farewell party and a baby dedication ceremony at two different family's houses. In the coming weeks I'll be working mostly with a church body called Church in the One, which has its Sunday gatherings in a local mall.

The biggest adjustment I'm having to make so far is getting used to the Filipino sense of time. I am a very time-oriented person, meaning that I tend to take deadlines seriously, show up on time if not early to events, and get stressed out if I feel like I'm late or taking too long. This is pretty typical for most white Americans. Filipinos, on the other hand, tend to be event-oriented, meaning that deadlines and timeframes are flexible and that personal interactions take precedent over any schedule. (In Malaysia they call this "rubber band time," meaning time can be stretched as far as one needs.) For most of this week I have had to rely on others to give me rides, provide opportunities to serve, and so on, and my own ideas of when these things should happen or how long they should take don't fit into the equation. Overall, I think this is a healthy thing for me, but I'm definitely still in the state of adjusting and probably will be for a while.

Also, I'm definitely going to be well fed this summer - I think the biggest fear of the average Filipino is that someone somewhere is currently not eating. Every conversation is punctuated by the refrain of, "Have you eaten yet? You should eat something. Are you sure you're not hungry?" Filipino food is good though, so I'm OK with that.