Giving

There is a critique of downward mobility (I'm taking this term from Shane Claiborne) that says, as we remove ourselves as best as we can from a position of priviledge and power, we are ultimately being self-righteous and self satisfying. In other words, it is well and good for us to renounce the luxuries that we could have and live lives that strive for weakness, but someone is still going to have to feed the girl in Africa who is starving. Instead, we should place good people in business that will make money and do good with that money.

I don't all together disagree with this. The world needs fair and righteous business people, CEO's, and companies in general. However, I still think these people need to embrace an ethic of downward mobility. Is it wrong to think of a CEO living a modest, simple, and relatively meager life? Is it impossible for us to think of people who could be making millions, instead giving up their priviledges (not necessarily jobs) to live a radical life?

However, the original question remains, what about the girl in Africa who needs a meal? Shouldn't we use our money to take care of her? Well, I think the fundamental problem with this question is that it assumes someone who lives a life of downward mobility is unable to give to that girl.

There is a strand of Anabaptist thinking that says there is always enough. Enough for ourselves. Enough for others. No matter how far we push downward, we will always be able to give more. It would be wrong to assume that "the poor" (whoever that really is) are unable to give. In fact, its really quite arrogant.

One of my greatest moments of shame was when a Ugandan friend, Erinah, called me from Uganda to say hello. She called a few times just to say hello and tell me she was thinking about me and praying about me, then the phone call would get cut off after 2 minutes because she would run out of money on her card. Eventually, I said to her, "Erinah you need to not use your money to call me. Use the money for school fees and books. I'll call you instead." Click. She hung up. I talked to her later, and asked what the problem was. She said to me, "Dan, I'm not a poor person, I'm your friend. I will call you when I want to." That was that. She still calls me. And so maybe we should strive for downward mobility (though with grace on ourselves) and as we give up ourselves, we can continue to give more.

Was King Arthur Kind or Kind of a Bastard?

Thoughts on a few events in my day:

Situtation #1: I went out with a friend a bit ago and paid for her meal for the third time in a row. In my head I was thinking how swell of a guy I was, and that she'll probably just fly over the table and kiss me at any moment in gratitude. But as I waited with puckered lips, she instead says, "I don't like that you pay for me all the time, its patronizing."

Situation #2: Homeless man comes up and asks for money. She relucantly gives but says she hates to later. I ask why, assuming she thinks they'll go spend it on booze (which for God's sake, let the poor drink some beer). Instead she says, "Its just such a power issue. Its keeping me above and him below."

Conclusion: Our (the historically "priviledged") attempts at blessing others seem to be marked with hierarchy and oppression. Both micro and macro...giving to the poor (even using the term "the poor") seems to be a way to keep those historically in power, above those historically not. In gender, a man being kind can actually be an attempt at keeping himself in control. Its an attempt at dicating the feelings of the person we are with. We want to dicate how the world works. Thus, kindness is given with expectation. In "development" we create a system of charity in which the priviledged can remain priviledged so long as they are charitable. In other words, make all the money you want from whoever you want, so long as you donate some to a "good cause." The powerful stay powerful.

Question: How do the priviledged bless the world? Certainly we can't just drop off the face of the earth?

Answer (maybe): Instead of development, maybe we should deconstruct. Concentrate not so much on making the world as rich as us, but in making us poorer. Allow ourselves to be blessed, to be given to, to be shown love. Destroy the catagories that keep the world in boxes, and begin to encounter the world. Don't give to "the poor" but give to people. The business of saving the world just needs to end. I believe a better model to be for us to enter into the deep crevase of the world where sorrow and joy co-exist. As my friend Erik says, the opposite of love is economics. Love in the encounter of everyday life.

Thoughts not Credo

The Beach

I've spent the last week or so on the North Shore of Massachusetts, visiting friends, relaxing, regrouping before the new semester. Lately my mind had been working past its capacity. I was a bit depressed, and was feeling a great need for some sort of retreat or escape from Philadelphia. So I left for Mass, where I spent the days watching my friends kids, and my nights drinking Chimay and/or box wine. The nights were heaven, but relaxation can be a tricky thing when you are spending your days with kids from the ages of 4 to 9.

It rained the majority of the week there, which I liked since I have this strange conviction that rain makes me a better person. I think my melancholy sometimes forces me to stop. It produces silence. And most importantly it encourges me to drink obscene amounts of coffee- a source of joy. On one particular day the rain let up, though the clouds didn't, and we decided to take a chance at going to the beach. So off me and the three kids went.

The beach, called Crane Beach, was strangely beautiful. It was large but not crowded. We set up our beach display by the water, and I sat down with Anne Lamott on my lap, and the nice ocean breeze forbidding me from further activity. The water was much too cold for anything to live in without turning to ice (so I thought at least), but the two older kids decided to brave their way into the water anyway. The youngest daughter, Annika, stayed by the water, chasing the outgoing tides, and fleeing the incoming tides. I sat with my book, taking in the whole scene, relaxing, watching, reading with no patricular hurry. Pure bliss.

Then Annika, shame on her, came up to me and asked if I wanted to make a sand castle. I pretended not to hear her at first (I know I'm a bastard), but she just kept on asking every few minutes. Then I tried to convince her that she should make her own castle, and that I could judge it. She said ok, but clearly thought it was an aweful idea. I went back to my blissful scence.

Then Anne Lamott quoted Martin Buber, the Jewish philospher who I just so happened to be reading at the time, "All actual life is encounter." I thought to myself how nice a quote it was, then moved on. But the quote kept ringing in my head- all actual life is encounter. In my head I thought, "What the hell God, you are really ruining the only solace I've had in weeks." I'm convinced that God is really a poor thinker. But I embraced the idea anyway and asked Annika, "So you still want to make that castle?" Of course she did.

We worked on the castle, and I got pretty into it. Our castle turned into a village, which turned into a town, then eventually a city with roads, houses, castles, government buildings, and so on. Pleased with our work, and chilled from the weather, we journeyed home for lunch, where I told my friend Paul, Annika's father, about my experience with the need to encounter actual life, and the lesson Annika gave me.

We sat down for lunch, and got ready to pray. But before we could pray Annika picked up her chair and moved it so close to me that it was actually touching my chair. We proceeded to eat our lunch, awkwardly and happily close to each other. Me and my four year old theologian. Paul smiled at me and said in his very Canadian way, "Good quote, eh?"

Why I'm a Mennonite

I've spent much of the last year thinking about things like peace, justice, the church, governments, and so on. I haven't made all that much progress, but I did start attending a Mennonite church, and embracing Mennonite values. What has really attracted me to the Anabaptist tradition is the stress on discipleship. As Arthur Gish wrote, "The Anabaptist were more interested in living a Christian life than in speculating about it." The stress on discipleship has lots of implications; most attractive to me (as I grew up in an academic reformed tradition) is the stress on simplicity, love, stewardship, silence. But I'm really interested in talking about the stress on non-violence. I'm awfully curious about pacifism, and have even called myself a pacfisit at times. I've been challenged by a few people on this, and thus, have tried to explain my thinking. I'm hoping there are some insights others have as well.

Most critics of pacifism say that 1. It doesn't work 2. It's selfish. These criticisms are pretty true. At least rationally, pacifism doesn't work- though it can, and the hope is that it will, but that is not the point. The point is in discipleship. As Christians, pacifist refuse to use means that go against the teaching of Christ to achieve an end. It's sort of like a fundamentalism that takes the words of Jesus literally despite what earthy rationale says. I really think pacifism's appeal is that we live in a post-modern world, and to think that anyone can get such a handle on justice that they have the right to kill another person is simply absurd. So, yes, pacifism may not work. But war doesn't seem to be working either. So pardon my oversimplification, but it seems to me that if our fight for justice isn't going to work, it might be good to lean to the side of pacifism.

As for it being selfish. This is the most serious attack against pacifism. The criticism is that pacfism is sort of an ultra piety that ignores the needs of the poor and oppressed. The real problem as I see it, is that Anabaptist pacifism came out of their own suffering. As they were being persecuted and killed post-reformation by Calvinists and Catholics, they chose to respond to their own suffering by turning the other cheek. As they migrated into America and Western Europe, and are finding themselves in freedom, peace and prosperity, they are facing a new challenge of being pacifist from the ivory tower. To be passionately pacifist in a peaceful nation is no great feat.

So why do I hang out with mennonites? Why do I call myself a pacifist? Does it mean anything? Well in some way I think I am standing in solidarity with Christians around the world, in places of war, who are choosing to "turn the other cheek." I'm a Mennonite out of respect for the many thousand Mennonites scattered through the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and throughout Northern Uganda, and the world, who are responding non-violently to their own oppression. It's not self-righteous. I don't think my pacifism means much of anything in America, and thus I've tried to be careful about how I talk about it. If anything I'm a agnostic or curious Mennonite: one who is fascinated by mennonites and wishes he could be one. Or to rephrase Kierkegaard, "I'm becoming" a mennonite. I think that people who are able to "turn the other cheek" have a better understanding of Christ than I do, and thus I'd like to learn from them.

What's absurd about my pacifism, is that, yes, I think I would kill a member of the janjaweed, Hitler, a terrorist, and many other people. The only difference is that I would never call it just or righteous. I would kill because I don't really believe God is active and working. I don't trust God so I take matters into my own hands. Pacifists pray for God's justice. Maybe this is what Christ is talking about with faith moving mountains. That's not to say we remain passive to people's oppression. Christian Peacemaker Teams are being killed while they stand up for those who are being oppressed. The mennonite church is very active in justice matters around the world. Possibly more so than any other church group.

So to conclude, part of why I'm a mennonite is out respect the way in which the church has historically responded to their own persecution, and is continuing to do throughout the world. I'm not really a mennonite because I'm a good pacifist. Its more that I think I can learn from people who are active pacifists. Try your hardest not to think of Relevant Magazine, Sojourners, Tony Campolo, Jim Wallis, Haurewas, Yoder, and especially myself, when you think of pacifism as a response to global injustice. Instead think of people who chose pacfism as a response to their own oppression. It's my hope that one day in my life I could respond the same way to my own oppression. I can't now though. Thoughts?