Julian's Heart, Christa's Angels and Hope for Haiti

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I happen to  have a remarkable young man as a housemate. About a year ago he realized something was missing in his life. He knew he could make a difference in the world, but how and where? Somehow Julian's heart was touched by Haiti. In his head he thought, "Haiti's small and not too far away, I wonder what good things are being done there by Haitians, themselves, that I could support?" No sooner had he asked these questions than people with the answers started showing up. He was put in touch with a young woman from Baltimore and a church there that was involved with a group called Haiti Partners.  By May he was off in Haiti for 4 weeks, taking most of his summer vacation time to go and see what he could do.

He came back in love with the town of Fayet and just about every Haitian he met. He could not stop sharing about Gerald and the Heads Together group that ran adult literacy programs and free elementary schools in rural Haiti not far from Port Au Prince, the capitol. Nearly every waking hour he isn't working since then, he devotes to raising money, refurbishing little netbook computers, praying for Haiti and learning Creole.

On January 1, 2010 Julian and his sister, who he recruited to his cause, left for a two week trip to Fayet and surrounds. Christa is a graduate student in sustainable growth and the environment.  Among other things they were going to look at the feasibility of building a retaining wall for the river that flows through Fayet and regularly floods during hurricanes, washing away soil, trees and houses.  Two days before they were to return the earthquake struck.  Unfortunately they were only a few miles from the epicenter, but fortunately they were in a small two story building.  Julian, Christa, Gerald and Wenson were all on the second floor checking email and chatting together when they felt the first shock wave of the quake.  Julian and Christa having grown up in Alaska where all school children participate regularly in earthquake drills, knew what it was.

They warned the other two urging them to get out of the building fast and ran for their lives. Julian made it to the first floor dorway, just steps infront of his sister as the wall and roof colapsed trapping her. Gerald and Wenson were still at the top of the stairs and miraclulously neither of them was badly hurt.  Julian sustained some deep cuts to one foot, but Christa's legs were under a pile of rubble and slabs of concrete. It was another miracle that only her legs were affected, the stair railling and a metal cabinet had save her from being crushed completely!  Julian could barely hobble around, but hobble he did.  Christa remained calm.  After a few seconds of conferring, Wenson left to find help and Julian and Gerald tried to find tools nearby.  It was not long before Wenson came back with a pick ax and was able to break up some of the concrete enough that the other two could begin removing it.

After an hour Christa's legs were free but one was nearly severed a few inches below the knee and she was bleeding badly.  Christa instructed her brother to use some electrical wire to tie a turnicate just above the crushed part of her leg. She needed medical help and needed it badly. A complete stranger took Christa on his motorbike, cradled in Wenson's arms to the base of UN Peacekeeping forces stationed a few miles away where there was a hospital of sorts.  By that time it was night and very dark. Gerald took Julia to the soccer field in Dabon where everyone gathered to sleep out in the open.  Few houses were left standing, but no one dared sleep inside as the aftershocks went on all night!

The next morning brother and sister were reunited at the UN base. The soldiers were all Sri Lankan and spoke no French and not much Creole, not even the commanding officer! The doctor put a splint using part of an old fence post on Christa's leg and gave her some sleeping pills, but there was not much else he could do.  There was intermittent internet access at the base and Julian emailed family and a few friends, begging for a medevac plane to be sent.  Christa actually had insurance that including medevac services, but the problem was how to get her to the Port Au Prince airport to a plane. The situation became more desperate, Christa was not looking too good. The Sri Lankan Comander somehow begged a ride to were he knew there was a US/UN ambulance some 20 miles away and convinced the driver and a doctor to come and get Christa and Julian.

By that evening they were at the airport and sometime during the night Christa was flown to the hospital in Miami that was receiving earthquake victims from Haiti.  But it was not a medevac plane.  It was a private jet that a Miami resident was flying back and forth!  The next morning Julian was also evacuated on the same jet and once again reunited with Christa.  Unfortunately her leg could not be saved and was amputated a few inches below the knee. By some miracle and the help of many friends and strangers she was alive!

Though the news from Haiti continues to be desperate, there are many other astonishing stories.  Of course, most them focus on the many and varied efforts of foreign volunteers, which should be noted and praised. What I am absolutely certain of, is the many other stories that do not get attention, the stories of Haitians helping Haitians, or as in this one Haitians helping foreigners.  Here in lies the hope for Haiti; Haitians have suffered so much, and now have been delt this horrible blow, but they are resourceful, and amazingly optomistic people on the whole.  Over and over again the survivors can be heard praising God that they are alive and that they have the chance to live another day, grateful for what they still have.

May we all pray for such heart.

What good is prayer?

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Today in morning worship I tried to pray for folks in Haiti and also for a young man in our Quaker Meeting who has had such a severe concussion that he must stay home form school for 3 more weeks. First off these 2 things seemed so incongruous.  Three hundred thousand dead from an earthquake and a million(?) wounded survivors vs a relatively privileged young man with a painful, life changing, but not life threatening, concussion.  Second, I couldn't, at first, get over the 'I don't think prayer actually helps' hump. It took sharing my thoughts out loud, in what we call vocal ministry for my real prayers to come genuinely from my heart, not my mind.

I prayed that the American young man's suffering, be not more than he can bear and that he will find the meaning of this suffering in his life.  I prayed that he will grow stronger in body from this experience, but more importantly that he grow- just grow, in spirit.  Basically I prayed the same for the people of Haiti. 

There are a few I know by name via my housemate, Julian, who was there during the earthquake and was injured himself, though not seriously. I pray for Wenson and Gerald, and Gerald's wife and children.  I pray that they have not been given more than they can bear and that they can learn from and find meaning in it.  I pray that they grow in faith and in body and in spirit. I pray for all the Haitians, that when and if they feel that they have suffered beyond endurance that they pray for and receive the help they need from each other, from us and from that which we call God.

Being a Quaker, I know, that is, I experience (not always but enough to 'know'), the light I have within me.  We call it many different things, the inward teacher, the inner Christ, the Presence... It is that which is in us, but not of us, yet which makes us kin to everyone and everything. Sometimes I experience it as a spaciousness as deep and wide as the universe itself. When I pray, when I truly pray from my heart, it is as if I give that light, that spaciousness back to God, asking, sometimes wordlessly, that it be used for those I love who are in danger or pain or who are suffering; knowing that [God]* will use it where it is needed most- not necessarily where I ask.  I know that I can't really give this light away, but the act of loaning it or offering it, let's [God] know, and perhaps more importantly, lets me know just how much I care.  It can be hard to let on, even to myself, how much I care, because then I must bear some of the pain and I might even feel compelled to do something about it!

So, what IS the use of prayer? No use at all if it does not come from the heart.  No use at all if you are not willing to let the praying change you. So don't think about it too much, open your heart, allow yourself to care and don't be afraid of what may happen.

Just one last note: at our Quaker Meeting there is a lamentation group, a group that meets once a month before worship on Sundays, that encourages honest, loud, if needed, prayers, or cries of grief or anger to God, however you experience that which we call God. I had never been to this group and hadn't felt that need, at least not since it was formed about 10 years ago, but I went the Sunday after the earthquake.  I needed it and it was helpful!

*sometimes I use [God] as short hand for "that which we call God"

Blessed Yoke

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When two people consent
the yoke of marriage becomes a beautiful burden
Over time it restrains our impulses
makes our work easier
helping us to pull together
"Harambee!"
So much more can be done when we are yoked as one
by the grace of God
(and this is merely an hors d'oeurve to God's banquet
should we accept)

Blessed are those who are extremely sensitive
to the tugging of God
-one tug, one nudge and they respond
as a horse to a bridle command
The bit of God is not bitter, though at times tastes bitter-sweet
when we consciously take it into our mouths
For they shall inherit the empire of God
the heaven among us, named and called out
with such precision by Jesus
(He knew the bit and bridle, perhaps, better than anyone since Moses)

May you and I be so blessed
choosing to respond, so, to the Rider of the heart
distinguishing between our own small desires, writ large
and the tugs and pulls from the One Who Knows
and is the master of my soul
and yours

How can it be that this yoke brings such peace and freedom?
contradicting all I have ever been taught?
We of these currents, have come to believe that freedom means choice
when its meaning is closer to having none!
Thy will, not my will, becomes a love song on my lips
Now, I understand why the Cubans shout
"Jefe, comandante, ordene!"
mistaking Fidel for the One Who Truly Liberates

Thy will be done
Thy empire come
Now, here, among us
Yoke us together
and to You
Comandante of my heart!


Come Home (On the Bus)

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 Our future is on the bus,

if we have one (as Quakers, as humans)

Its easier to care for each other on the bus

on the trolley, or subway

Smile, chat, give up a seat

to someone older, or to a dad with 3 kids

There is a community, ready made

on the bus

For two or three hours

or just 15 minutes

We are there together, forced

to be neighbors

A little too close for comfort

but its not really about comfort, is it?

This community, this time and space

we're given 
           

to connect, to resist 'passing in the night'

 

Private cars isolate us, deny us

the comforting uncomfortable closeness

Needed to  understand what

the human journey is all about

Remembering, re-connecting

Re-membering who we are

Who we really are

On the bus we rub up against each other

We fall asleep and lean on each other,

even when we don't really want to

We are given that opportunity

 

Did you loose someone dear to you?

Is that why you have teardrops tattooed

on your cheek at the corner of your eye?

How will I ever know you or your story?

How much alike we are? How different our

lives have been? What gifts we have for each other?

 

On the bus is our future, our life

The chance to be what we are meant to be

Individuals experiencing all the joys and sorrows

of our collective lives, joined by grace

by love, by longing, by a common destiny

We are all going home.

 

Get a transpass and come home

while you are coming home

 

 

 

Meeting for Worship as Sermon

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At Quaker Meeting for worship this morning I had a startling thought- this is, somehow, like a sermon or homily. In our form of worship, based in stillness and silence, at its best, we become one, we  are as one being. And each Sunday it is different, though similar enough. If we individually and collectively listen with what I call the third ear, or the ear of Spirit, each voice, even each sound, becomes a part of the spontaneous sermon.  Even if no one speaks a word, a homily can be heard, if we listen, if we have ears to hear.

In some ways using the word spontaneous is not quite right, for like all good sermons, much goes into its preparation. In the British little red book of Advices and Queries, we are asked if we come to worship with hearts and minds prepared, and it is worth noting what we do to accomplish this individually.The quality of the sermon deepends equally on this preparation and on genuine openess to the Holy Spirit during the appointed hour. It is my experience that much of the preparation we do is unconscious, such as a walk in a park or a talk with a particular friend, or listening to music that speaks especially to us. There are other more conscious practices, regular times of prayer or meditation, mid-week worship, and week-day morning worship also. There are as many ways to prepare as there are members and attenders!

This morning the sermon that we heard and became a part of included the humming of the mystery machine, baby Alma's raspberries, the sirens and the creak of the floorboards as well as the vocal ministry and the deep silence.  For me, this morning and increasingly, every Sunday, it included the joys and sorrows and introductions, too.

Not long ago, I listened to a CD of the book The Great Awakening, read by the author, Rev. Jim Wallace. In the beginning, it may have even been in the introduction, he tells of an early preaching experience.  He had been invited to preach at ML King, Jr.'s church and felt not quite up tot he task. He started out weakly, and his voice faltered, and he grew faint-hearted. Suddenly a voice from the front row called out, "Help him Jesus!" And another joined in, "Yes, Lord, help this young man preach!" Jim describes a sense of love and encouragement reaching him and giving him strength, and when he took a breath a few sentences later, heard a loud, "Amen!" At that, a sense of power flowed into him, and the congregation continued to respond appropriately and effusively throughout the rest of the sermon. It was a unique experience for a young white preacher and one that has stayed with him, even when subsequent congregations were not so vocal.

What is our Quaker version of this? How can we encourage, support and help those who receive the call to speak on a Sunday? There may well be as many answers  as there are members and atttenders to this querie. Here are a few that occur to me.  When someone rises to speak, say a prayer in your heart that the speaker will faithfully relay the message.  Beam love in his or her direction.  Say a prayer that you will hear the message with Divine ears. Deepen your stillness, your listening, your connection to that which we call God at one and the same time as you focus on the words being said. And last but not least, leave a goodly amount of space before rising to speak, after someone else has, should you receive the call yourself.

As I write an awareness is dawning that the above attitudes can also be used when listening to each contribution, the sighs and cries of our little ones, the rustling of leaves in the wind, yes even the sirens and perhaps the humming of machines as well.  Listen for what is being spoken, in words or otherwise. Listen to what Spirit is saying to us in Meeting for Worship.  Try to hear the sermon that is being born.  Each one of us in attendance has a vital role to play.  We are  both congrgation and priest, we are both mother and midwife to the sermon-song that God longs for us to hear, and together, we can hear with more depth and clarity if only we have ears to hear.