Dwelling in the Grey

We were talking at our staff meeting last night about part of Dan Butin's "Service-Learning in Theory and Practice," particularly about what it means to dwell in the grey. In the chapter we read, Butin is writing about various ways to theorize service-learning, one of them being an approach he calls "antifoundationalism." This obnoxiously-long phrase means something just as vague as the word itself: it's about challenging our biases and assumptions, avoiding an end goal which is too-easily achieved, and forcing us to remain open to different ideas and continue hard discussions. In short, antifoundationalism is about seeing the world in shades of grey.

Which is hard, eh? (I don't know why my Canadian side is coming out so much right now... hmm, maybe it's an unconscious attempt to challenge your assumptions! Just for clarification since I will continue to refer to the US as "our country," etc., in this post: I'm American, but my mom is not. And sorry to any non-American readers--it's a convenient shorthand, though an ironic assumption for this post...) Anyway. We were sitting at our meeting wondering how well our office does at the job of encouraging dialogue on the 'greyness' of life and service, which is an important question to ask, when I realized how inadequate I am to help lead that discussion. I struggle with allowing grey in my own life.

Personally, I am far too prone to trying to figure things out in my head, reducing them to black and white so that I can form an opinion about them and proclaim it boldly. It's tiring to dwell in the grey! It can be exhausting to never settle, to continuously probe for the other side of the story, to sweat long and hard in the dirty dig for truth. So, sometimes I long for easy answers that simply work, no matter what. But I don't think they exist. We're often guilty of thinking they do, but the reality is that things in life are never--yes, I think that's an appropriately-strong word--black and white.

This interim I took a class on war. I had been to Vietnam and Cambodia last interim to study the Vietnam War (or, in their words, the American War... interesting switch of perspective, eh?). I also was able to spend time in Bosnia this summer studying the war there and reconciliation efforts in the wake of the violence. My worldview was literally exploded this year, expanding so fast that I'm still not even sure what's happened--sometimes, all I know is that the world is much bigger and more complicated than I once thought. It hit home again over interim: war--in fact, all of life!--is not black and white. My war class frustrated me because of its over-simplicity, because of the way we often focused exclusively on the American military, neglecting to engage really deeply with 'other' (non-mainstream-American) traditions, voices, points of view, beliefs about what is just and right. Maybe we would still end up in disagreement. But the 'other' still deserves legitimacy. To assume that the story of our own country's interests is the only proper metanarrative to use in explaining war--and the rightness and wrongness of what happens there--is a scary, scary problem.

I think there's a connection here to the work of the Service-Learning Center. Part of our work is to take Calvin students, a majority of whom still come from the same socioeconomic, racial, and educational background, and expose them to the 'other.' It doesn't stop there, of course--from that exposure we hopefully move to relationship, challenge, questions, acceptance; hopefully we move from focusing on our own ability to serve to humbly being served ourselves, and from giving charity to learning how to really love. It can be a transformative process, a really beautiful and challenging thing. But a large part of that process is the difficult and terrifying piece in which we let go of our assumptions. In studying war, that means acknowledging that the 'other' was fighting for a cause he or she believed in just as legitimately as your own country's soldier, and that the lives of 'other' soldiers and their families are just as valuable as the lives of your own people. It's a difficult (and often unpopular) thing. It challenges the way we act, if we really believe it. In service-learning, a similar thing happens, but in our context, it means asking difficult and terrifying questions that challenge our assumptions about our own motives, privilege, efficacy, pride, and wisdom--asking whether or not, at the end of the day, we actually have offered anything to to our neighbors after all. That's not always popular either, but it's the greyness we must dwell in if we're going to be engaging our community as authentically as we ought.

It's not simple. There are too many people with heart-wrenching stories and valid perspectives for life to ever be simple. War is not simple, once we start to hear the stories of refugees and Iraqi soldiers and Afghani store owners and American Marines. Loving and serving and learning with our community is not simple either, once we start to hear the stories of partner agencies, homeless alcoholics who have been abandoned by their churches, pastors who sacrifice every evening to work with refugees, parole officers, store owners involved in urban renewal, and refugees from wars... no, none of it is easy. The truth is not black and white. It's complicated and grey, and this is the reality of the world we live in. Thank God we're in a place where we can embrace it. Let's keep doing so.

Posted by Kelly

Institute on College Student Values

I had the privilege of attending a small conference last weekend - the John C. Dalton Institute on College Student Values at Florida State University in Tallahassee. There were about 200 other conferees in attendance, from as far away as Alaska and Maine and California. Keynote speakers included Parker Palmer and Marcia Baxter Magolda, both of whom were excellent in their own ways. Workshops touched on topics ranging from Reflective Practices, to a better understanding of the Strengths Inventory, to an explanation of Aristotle's ideas about Eudaimonia. Two other workshops were offered by Calvin folks, in addition to mine, which was on Covenant-Making as Orienting Practice.

Ashley Pace, Calvin senior and Service-Learning Center student staff member, gave what may have been the only presentation by an undergraduate student at the conference - she talked about her summer research on findings from the CIRP and NSSE national surveys - trends that relate to how students are affected by service-learning practice on college campuses. And a group of three Resident Directors - Aaron Einfeld, Kyle Heys, and Annie Mas-Smith - presented on 4 practices in Calvin's Residence Life experience that foster benevolent purpose in Calvin students. I learned a lot, met new people, and came away with a deeper appreciation for the work that is done by way of the Service-Learning Center at Calvin College.

So many of the ideas that were presented were ideas that are essentially already underway, if not well established, in our office and among our students. For this we can be grateful. Do we have much to learn from others in different institutions? Absolutely. I made contacts and took notes, and have plans for sharing information and strategies with our group over the next several weeks. For now though, I am grateful for the opportunity to attend the Institute, yes; but more importantly, to return to work. 

Adelante.

A Quote to Ponder

“The poor who walk on the roads and through the deserts and rough places of this world call me to humility – derived from the Latin word “humus,” which means earth or soil. I have to remain close to the soil, the earth. Often I look up into the clouds and daydream about a better world. But my dreams will never bear fruit unless I keep turning my eyes again and again back to the earth and to all those people walking their long, fatiguing walks and inviting me to accompany them. But what does it mean to walk with the poor? It means to recognize my own poverty: my deep inner brokenness, my fatigue, my powerlessness, my mortality. It is there that I am connected with the earth; there that I am truly humble. Yes, it is there that I enter into solidarity with all who walk the earth and discover that I, too, am loved as a very fragile, precious person.”

-Henri Nouwen

Quantifiable Justice

Can we count or weigh justice? For the purposes of this discussion, let’s first agree on what justice means. How about this: Justice is correcting something that’s not right. Alternatively, justice is giving something what it deserves. Yes?

Consider justice in context. Say you’re driving to office one morning and an elderly lady is crossing the street rather wobbly. (You're actually running late because your dog ate the project proposal that you were supposed to present that morning.) Your vehicle is approaching her but she’s still struggling. Suppose that granny wasn’t using a pedestrian crossing, how would you respond? (a driver’s rights may vary in different jurisdictions, but assume you have the right of way.)

Whatever your response may be, you’d have probably consulted with your beliefs and/or values. Whatever your response may be, it is what you’d consider as a just reaction. Can that reaction, a just act given the circumstances, be quantified in any way?

Perhaps your dorm is serving at one of the local agencies, or maybe you have participated in an ABSL class or have went on a S-LC spring break trip. Can your service -- an act, or a series of acts, of justice -- be quantified? If yes, in what terms?

Or consider from a public health policy angle: Is it just to spend a few million dollars of tax money on a nation-wide vaccination program if it could only save 10 lives?

This Square Inch

"[T]here is not a square inch in the whole domain of our human existence over which Christ, who is Sovereign over all, does not cry: 'Mine!'" -Abraham Kuyper

This oft-quoted phrase around Calvin College has been ringing in my head this summer. We (Megan and I) have invested deeply in our neighborhood for the past seven years or so, because we saw a place for which Christ was crying, "Mine!" There have been days when I've seen Christ's ownership manifest, and times when I've wondered if the tenants are paying rent to a different landlord.

This Summer, with bemused joy, I watched as young women and men with hearts beating strong for God's Kingdom came out of the woodwork to set up residence on these streets. This place that for several years has felt so lonely, so barren, to us is now trod by new feet who want to garden empty plots, renovate neglected homes, share lawn and kitchen equipment, speak the gospel. And I say with confidence, "This square inc, is yours, Christ. You are claiming what is rightfully yours!"

Then I see a family from church vacate their home because of the raucous nightly noise from across the street. My neighbor's hand is broken in several places after intercepting a trespasser's jaw. I witness a half dozen drug deals go down from the stoop of the church. A girl my daughter's age pushes a wagon down the middle of the street with no parent in sight. A rock intended for someone else shatters my friend's windshield. And I say with disappointment, "This square inch is yours, Christ. Why don't you claim what is rightfully yours?"

We live in this in between. Every square inch does belong to Christ. He is claiming it. He is claiming the vacant lot, the broken metacarpals, the renewed home, the newly empty one, the drug dealer and the pusher, the little girl and me.

Reflection on the StreetFest Theme 2010

“How beautiful on the mountains
are the feet of those who bring good news,
who proclaim peace,
who bring good tidings,
who proclaim salvation,
who say to Zion,
‘Your God reigns!"

The theme for StreetFest this year is “Beautiful Feet” which is derived from the verse Isaiah 52:7. The passage describes the beauty of the feet of those who proclaim peace, bring good tidings, proclaim salvation, and praise the reign of God. The theme “Beautiful feet” was chosen for two reasons. First, we wish to urge students to develop beautiful feet, by proclaiming good news and working towards peace in their communities. And second, and more importantly, urging the students to recognize and show gratitude towards the people in the Grand Rapids community who have beautiful feet.

People with beautiful feet are those who have a willing heart and have taken action in pursuing service to their community. These people are walking in the mud of a community garden, the cement slabs of a city block or the overgrown grasses of abandoned homes. People with beautiful feet are those who work in the desolate areas, the developing and the crowded areas of the world.

People with beautiful feet see the potential of neighbors gathering in the community garden to plant fruits and vegetables, see the cement slabs of city blocks as canvases for local artist and children to draw on, and see the community pulling its resources together to revitalize overgrown grasses of abandoned homes.

We hope that StreetFest students will catch a glimpse of people with Beautiful Feet and see the harmony of Grand Rapids communities, so that they may be inspired to recognize their place in this community and develop beautiful feet of their own.

We at Calvin College’s Service-Learning Center thank all of the organizations of Grand for your commitment to service and to the beautification of the city of Grand Rapids, we thank you for seeing this world as redeemable and taking steps to bring about peace. You have beautiful feet.

Christina Crider

When the Kings Come Marching In

Each summer, the S-LC staff is sent out with a collection of carefully selected texts to tuck under their arm and read in between camp sessions, in the airport on a layover, on the beach, or wherever their adventures may take them. I've been diving into the summer reader primarily on the Rapid to and from work. We hope that by reading some of these passages, the staff will be provoked to new thoughts, brilliant insights, and critical reflection.


I just finished reading several chapters by Richard Mouw. Re-reading these passages took me back to my days as a member of the S-LC student staff when the campus focused on Isaiah 60 for an interim, and our staff read and discussed "When the Kings Come Marching In."

Mouw draws the reader in to a rich and complex theology, that I think at the time was pretty groundbreaking for me. I think that this is one of those cases wherein I've been cultivated to understand theology from a certain (perhaps narrow) perspective, and when presented by an alternative I'm initially resistant. "What do you mean, Mr. Mouw, when you say that Christ's redemptive act on the Cross was for more than my individual soul (and the individual souls of all the elect)?"

I recall a degree of grappling with this idea, considering how it would impact my broader understanding of the world, of myself, of God. Eventually these words from Mouw, along with others, started to make sense. And now having accepted what at the time seemed like a radical shift in my worldview, this idea of God's love for the cosmos, for all of human culture, and for each human person comes naturally to me.

In fact, now as I read and engage with Scripture I wonder how I could have ever understood things another way. God's all encompassing love for and redemption of creation is reinforced everywhere I turn, and this is exciting! Each action and choice is now infused with meaning where before they may have been hollow or merely perfunctory.

Embracing this theology is at once overwhelming and relieving: God's intention for the New City is so vast, and so beautiful, and so far from the present experience and yet we can rest in knowing that in God's time it will be fulfilled regardless of our human efforts.

Come Lord Jesus!