Beautiful Brokenness

One of the themes of our staff covenant this past year was “beautiful brokenness,” the idea that God is present in even our deepest flaws and greatest weaknesses. This spring, I studied a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins in my Victorian Lit class that sums up “beautiful brokenness” better than anything I can think of. It’s dense, but I’ll unpack it a bit, just as my professor did in class.

God’s Grandeur

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

The poem begins with two images for how God’s greatness is present in brokenness: God’s grandeur is like an electric charge in shaken metal foil, and it’s also like oil, which is produced by the action of crushing. Something to ponder: what does it mean that God shines through things that are “shaken” and “crushed”?

“Why do men then now not reck his rod?” means “why do men not regard or obey God?” The following lines give a description of our broken world and our separation from society. Linger a bit over these words. Hear how their sounds echo their meaning, try to see the images they describe, feel how their rhythm gives the sense of trudging through a devastated landscape.

“And for all this, nature is never spent.” God’s presence and hope wells up from the things that are broken. The sun sets in the west, but it rises with the morning in the east. God is present in our brokenness.

One reason I love this poem is that it offers hope, but this hope doesn’t come cheap. Hopkins was intimately acquainted with both personal and communal brokenness. When he converted from Protestantism to Catholicism, he became estranged from his family. For years, he suffered from depression and doubt. It could not have been easy to see God in his brokenness.

The temptation is strong to avoid pain, to try not to see how broken our world is. As I leave this community and move into the unknown, I am facing the fact that my life will become less comfortable, that I will face challenges that will force me to confront the brokenness in society and in myself. What this poem communicates to me is that we can acknowledge brokenness for what it is and still possess a rebellious hope that God is restoring what is fallen. We will all feel “shaken” and “crushed” in life, but it is my prayer that we will be able to see, or at least trust, that God’s beauty is made manifest in our brokenness.

--Maria

Graduation and Saying Goodbye

For this blog entry I’m going to write about graduation and saying goodbye. Many of you are before or after that threshold so your perspectives may be keener and wiser than my own. The future works on my brain like a highway sign works on my eyes. As it draws closer my eyes fuzz over and zone out. When the sign is directly next to my car window there is not a good chance I’ll see that the speed limit is 70 (while I’ve likely been pushing 90). Now I can imagine what it would be like for a road sign to come closer and closer and then actually hit me in eye. I don’t think I would be able to focus on the sign or any other aspect of my worldly surroundings. Likely I would have closed my eyes and tensed up my muscles the moments before initial contact. Right now graduation is coming closer and closer and it’s about to hit me square in the eyes. Both of them. And it’s going to hurt a little bit. So naturally I have my eyes closed and my muscles tensed up. In other words, bear with my impaired sense of vision on my own future happenings.

I’ve been wondering, while considering how to go about saying goodbye to my dearest friends and colleagues, notably the ones in the S-LC, whether goodbye is actually a word. By this I mean, what does the abstraction actually imply? To me it sounds like “have a good bye”. A bye must mean something significant, but on Wikipedia it’s defined as a special kind of point one can score in the game of Cricket. That doesn’t make sense (maybe it does, but to say “have a good cricket point” is a bit too flippant a phrase for what a serious graduation ceremony requires). Whenever I say goodbye to someone I think, oh that was a formality—something to fill in the silence. So maybe it’s just a value-empty human grunt meant for little more than its utility in breaking silences. But in the context of a ceremonious and poignant departing (like leaving friends after graduation), something needs to be said that has meaning, not just a grunt. And for people to have used the word “goodbye” for so many generations, the term must hold some significance sufficient for such a circumstance.

All of this internal conversation, though, is getting old. I would rather spend time telling my revision of the Biblical parable, the Good Samaritan, as it takes place at Calvin College, Grand Rapids, MI. The story begins on an early fall evening, sometime in September, when college bound Jane Smith walks onto Calvin’s campus for the first time. She is beginning her first semester at Calvin. All alone and with high anxiety levels, Jane Smith finds herself in a void of healthy social interaction, a ditch of sorts. As she sits in her room, a local resident walks in her room to say hi. This person is very kind and outgoing, a modern “priest” of sorts. She is clearly high on some social ladder Jane isn’t aware of. “Hello” she says, and as Jane starts to talk, the priestly girl zones out and cuts off the conversation early. Later the resident Barnabas for Jane’s floor comes up to her. The Barnabas was clearly put into the position because of some great personal qualification, which she undoubtedly possesses. She is a modern “Levite” of sorts. This Levitical resident says hi, asks if Jane would like to become involved (a very kind gesture), then leaves with Jane’s appropriate response (“yeah, sure I’d love to. Let me know when you’re doing stuff”). Lastly, another girl walks in. Her name is Liz, and she’s not from around here. In fact, her situation is quite similar to Jane’s—lonely and alienated. After a brief introduction, the new girl walks into her room, sits on an unmade bed, and quietly the two go on biding their boredom together. >> FAST FORWARD >> It is now three and three fourths (?) years later and Jane is graduating. Jane recollects her first interaction with the priestly girl. Still very appreciative of that first encounter, Jane goes up and gives the priestly girl a big hug. The priestly girl, says, “Wow, it was great to know you. I hope you have a great future! Never change! Goodbye.” Then they hug and part ways. Jane makes her way over to the Levitical girl and taps her on the shoulder. The girl says, in a very spiritually tempered manner, “Thanks for everything Jane. God will bless you in your future.” They shake hands, say goodbye, and part ways. However, Jane doesn’t see Liz anywhere that day. No worry, Liz is her best friend. Goodbye isn’t necessary at this point.

Why do I relate to this story? Because I rarely say goodbye to my best friends. I say goodbye to the people for whom the formality of our relationship requires closure. But to say goodbye to a friend isn’t fitting. And then, why do I compare a friend to the subtly alluded Samaritan in the narrative above? Because the story of the Good Samaritan ends like this: “The next day [the Samaritan] took out two denarii [money I think] and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have’.” It is important to note that the Samaritan left when the main character was not fully conscious and able to respond. But the Samaritan promised a return. And further, upon his return the Samaritan promised to pay off his debts. What is the content of their relationship? It is the closest friendship, one that is bound by service. The Samaritan left with the promise of a future where he would continue to serve, continue to care, and never really be gone from the side of his friend. When I leave my friends and colleagues after this year, I will not say goodbye and mean it (if I say it that’s because our conversation got to that awkward silence—sorry). Instead I’m leaving my friends with the promise of a future with them. And in this future I’m going to be there serving them, in whatever form service will present itself. I’m looking forward to that. And like Jeff Bouman playing whirly-ball, I say, bring it on!

Hope

One of my cousins is currently working in Maputo, Mozambique. I try to check her blog once in awhile, and the other day as I was skimming through the blog I ran across an interesting topic: hope.

I was particularly drawn to this because at one of our staff meetings at the S-LC this semester the idea of hope was brought to light. In that instance we were all a little shaken by the fact that there are just some things in this world that we don’t have control over and can do very little to change. As much as we want so badly to bring hope, life, and success to others sometimes there is nothing more we can do. With the more recent events involving Libya and Japan, I think this idea of lost hope hits home even more now than when our original conversation took place.

After reading this aforementioned blog from my cousin’s experience in Mozambique, I think I have a slightly better grasp on this difficult topic of hope and Christian longing for change in our suffering world. My cousin’s words are hard to summarize because she says them so well, so I’ll let you read a portion of these powerful words for yourself.

Upon reflection of the many cases of children struggling with HIV and the constant state of death surrounding this African community, my cousin wrote these words:

“But this death doesn’t mean that people stop living. In fact, it’s quite the opposite in these parts. I have found more community, more love, more beauty and more friendships here than in any other part of the country I’ve visited. One night, a few weeks ago, I was dwelling on this agape kind of love I was feeling God draping over us while sitting outside admiring the stars, conversations and food of the evening."

Yet, talking to a co-worker, Ruth, brought a different sense. Ruth gives medicine and check-ups at a local orphanage of HIV+ children. Ruth began to break down as she explained the story of one girl with stage four AIDS who still had not received treatment. When Ruth called the local government to demand distribution of the free medication to the orphanage, the officials on the other end of the line lackadaisically said they would be there by the end of the month. She knows these kids don’t have that long.

So there we sat. The joy, the tears, the heartbrokenness and the love all hovered there in the air around us, mixing together and getting hazy. But the weirdest thing was that it was totally okay. Pain held hands with beauty, and joy pulled up a chair next to sorrow. And there we all dwelled. I didn’t feel guilty for the laughter we had a few moments before her story, and the breaking of Ruth’s heart in no way diminished the love it still contained. I still knew that I was exactly where I should be, and despite all of the death around me, I didn’t want to be anywhere else. Around this same time, a dear friend from home shared with me a quote from a pastor of the church we used to attend:

‘Ultimately our gift to the world around us is hope. Not blind hope that pretends everything is fine and refuses to acknowledge how things are. But the kind of hope that comes from staring pain and suffering right in the eyes and refusing to believe that this is all there is. It is what we need—hope that comes not from going around suffering but from going through it...It is in the flow of real life, in the places we live and move with the people we're on the journey with, that we are reminded it is God’s world and we’re going to be okay.’

This is what hope means. Sure, babies still cry, funerals still occur and the water still inexplicably goes out in the middle of a dinner party. BUT the sun still rises every morning and joy is still available in the presence of utter destruction. And I think God stands in the messy middle between suffering and bliss and says ‘It’s alright. I got this.’ “

Wow. Powerful stuff, right? Every time I read this I have to sit back for a second because still don’t know exactly how to respond to such a deep thought other than to feel completely awed and amazed that we serve a God that holds this broken, struggling, damaged, hurt world in the palms of his comforting hands and offers not only hope, but love in abundance as he takes all our pain – every single ounce of it no matter how small or how insurmountably painful – and says He’s got it under control. I have realized that I must everyday dwell in this reassurance.

Peace and Blessings,
-Emily

Living in the Tension

ten·sion noun \ten(t)-shən:

1. the act or action of stretching or the condition or degree of being stretched to stiffness

2. either of two balancing forces causing or tending to cause extension

3. inner striving, unrest, or imbalance often with physiological indication of emotion

What is it about human nature that craves simplicity? We categorize our world by race, class, nationality, gender, religion and countless others until our lives are so black and white that we forget what the color grey looks like. When this delicate world of dichotomy is disturbed, we riot, lynch, segregate, debate, and condemn in an effort to scratch and claw our way back to equilibrium. What about tension do we so dread that we are willing to avoid it even at the cost of community, genuine relationship, justice, and equality?

Last week, over 130 Calvin students chose to embrace tension. On Friday, March 18 the Service-Learning Center commissioned 136 students, staff members, and faculty to travel to 10 communities across the U.S. to seek out and embrace ambiguity and complexity. Students traveled to Kermit, West Virginia and learned that mountaintop removal gets complicated when they meet people whose livelihoods depend on it. Students went to Knoxville, Tennessee and learned that not all at-risk women are strung-out crack addicts; victims of their own self-destructive lifestyles. Students visited Boston, MA and discovered that the roots of urban poverty are far too complex and interconnected to be boiled down to a sweeping condemnation of personal irresponsibility. For one week, these groups lived firmly in the tension. They did not seek perfect answers or even tangible solutions. They simply experienced and participated in the lives of those that we all too often try so hard to avoid and, believe it or not, they lived to tell about it! More than simply living through it, however, these students were challenged in ways they never had been, grew in ways they never imagined, and learned more than they ever anticipated. Can it be that tension and ambiguity aren’t all that terrifying after all? Are there lessons to be learned from embracing the grey- from asking the tough questions without seeking the absolute answers?

All this point, the cynics cry, “How much good can a week of ‘living in the tension’ possibly do? There’s a distinct possibility that your week of grey only made the lives of those you came into contact with worse. A week is not enough time to do anything of consequence in a community”. My response: You’re absolutely right…sort of. Certainly, the dangers of short-term missions are in play when we send groups of college students to communities for only 7 days. A week of tension-living is undoubtedly unsatisfactory in a world so desperate for engagement and relationship. My critique of the cynic’s critique is this: Cynicism is easy; hope is hard. Cynicism gives in; hope rebels. In the face of a broken world that, at every turn, reminds us that our efforts are futile, hope perseveres. Last week, 130 plus students witnessed the stubborn hope of faithful Christians throughout the United States who are refusing to believe the cynics. Faithful Christians who have made a commitment to the grey and are resting in the hope that somehow their work is making a difference. In fact, isn’t that the call of every Christian? To be faithful, no matter how persistently the world tells them to give up, trusting that God is powerful enough to take their broken, imperfect efforts and do the rest. After all, “This is what we are about. We plant seeds that one day will grow. We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise…We are prophets of a future not our own.” (Ken Untener)

-Kyle Schaap

Finding My Place

This past year has been hard in so many ways for me. Over New Years, someone asked me what the hardest part of the past year was, and to be honest I didn’t know what to say at first.

Studying abroad was something that I had always planned on doing. In fact, Calvin’s high numbers of students who travel abroad is what finalized my decision to come here. As my Senior year approached, I knew it was now or ever. With the encouragement and support of family and I friends I applied and was accepted to the Hungary Semester! This is what I had wanted, this is the reason I came to Calvin (or so I thought). The next six months I spent learning more about Eastern Europe and dreaming about all the places I would see.

Last August, I packed up my bags, said good-bye to my family, my fiancé and my friends and boarded the plane to Budapest. What was next, I really had no clue. As the plane landed in Budapest, the excitement grew as me and other Calvin students looked excitedly out the plane windows at the city that would be our home for the next four months.

Budapest, for those of who have not been there, is lovely. We spent the first week exploring the city and all its main spots and registering for our classes and such. We balanced home-sickness with excitement for the things our new home had to offer. This was not so bad until I spoke with my family.

I will never forget sitting at my computer reading the news. Could this really be happening? Someone very close to me fell ill and I wasn’t there. I wouldn’t be there for four months. The thought of this seemed impossible. So I had a tough decision to make, do I leave this great opportunity or do I wait in see what happens?

And with that I was once again boarding a plane. Only this time, I was alone and even more unsure. Was I making the right choice? Why is this happening? This doesn’t seem fair, I always wanted to study abroad and just when I get here life is calling me back to the US. The plane ride back to Grand Rapids is long and feels even longer when your head is full of doubt, sadness, relief, frustration, anger and just plain uncertainness.

The hardest part of last year wasn’t leaving Budapest. Or dealing with the changes in my family. Or adjusting to being at Calvin when I wasn’t supposed to be here. Yes, these things were all hard. But the hardest part was to remember to choose joy. My life felt pretty broken. Things didn’t go according to my plan. But through the hard times, I had to remember that God brought me back here for a reason and that I had to keep living my life.

And to be honest, God brought me so much Joy that semester. I fell in Love, for the first time in my four years at Calvin, with the city of Grand Rapids. I have found out that I am staying in Grand Rapids for the next four years and I could not be happier. I have realized that God brought me to Calvin not to send me on an adventure, but to discover Grand Rapids and all it has to offer.

-Savannah

Continuous Beginnings

It may seem like I am "cheating" the system by using an old blog post, but I have thought back to it multiple times in the past couple of weeks and am amazed at God's ability to teach and re-teach through past experiences and thoughts.

I always want to say something profound or reach some kind of revelation when I sit down to write [a blog]. Why is that? Why do any of us have the desire to say profound things or to do profound things? To be people who change the world and "make their mark." Can we not be more happy if we simply humble ourselves and stay quiet? Won't God teach us more through this than through constant meaningless chatter? And if we ever reach that point where we are no longer intentionally trying to say profound things or be profound people, this is when God will shine through us most and speak truth into our lives. Isn't it ironic how that works? We need to be willing to give it up in order to recieve and obtain what we desire. And of course that very lesson is portrayed through the verses of Matthew 10:38-39:

"and anyone who does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it."

It is easy to look at those words and ignore the truth in them. But once you take a deep look into yourself and what you are striving for, their relevance speaks clearly.

Over the past few days I've been thinking about this concept and wondering what my ultimate goal is. What am I striving to be? More importantly, who am I striving to be? The person God made you to be is not too far from the reality. The question is are you going forward and actively trying to be that person and make it reality? Are you trying to bring the eternal to the mortal and live out God's kingdom on earth, like Jesus did?

Are you bringing joy, peace, happiness, positive energy, patience, kindness, and wisdom to the table? Or are you bringing the opposite?

I know for sure that I am messing up and making plenty of mistakes along the way, but the important thing is that with every day I am trying. I want nothing more than to bear and bring the fruits of the spirit to those around me. And although it is messy and not always the most fun and again, mistakes are made...it gives life the value that it deserves and makes it worth the struggle. 

"It is not that we are perfect now or that we will never have to struggle. Or that the old person won't come back from time to time. It's that this new life involves a constant, conscious decision to keeping dying to the old so that we can live in the new."
                                                                                         -Rob Bell, Velvet Elvis

So you've messed up. Ask God's forgiveness, apologize and make amends with those you need to, forgive yourself, and then pick yourself up and move on. Move foreward and put the past to rest. Continue to strive to be the you that God intended you to be and bring the best he has blessed you with. God is doing a new thing now."

Our lives consist of continuous beginnings. We are constantly starting new phases and making new discoveries. We are forced to find a balance of old and new. We make mistakes and start over. We experience the vibrancy and beauty of life right alongside the death and darkness. We must die, to truly live. What a mystery.

Spring is on the horizon. Praise the Lord for another new beginning.

-Melanie Roorda

Turning Love into Action: Sowing Seeds and Reaping Justice.

A few weeks ago I had the privilege of attending the Faith and International Development Conference on Calvin’s campus. The theme this year is "Turning Love into Action: Sowing Seeds and Reaping Justice" based on Christ's mandate to "love not with words or tongue but with actions and in truth" (1 John 3:18). Keynote speakers included Carlos Hernandez (Association for a More Just Society), Nicholas Wolterstorff (former Calvin philosopher, also professor at Yale), Dirk Booy (World Vision), and Michelle Tolentino (Compassion International). Representatives came from organizations such as Mennonite Central Committee, International Justice Mission, and CRWRC, to name a few. Lectures and breakout sessions ranged from human rights to charity, from justice to holistic development. I was inspired by courageous individuals who persevere in the face of struggles against violence, corruption, and injustice.

For me, the conference reinforced ideas that first smacked me in the face last year, at exactly this time. I was in the bustling city of Tegucigalpa, listening to enticing beats of Regueton, eating baleadas* and pupusas, speaking slang with my host family, learning about a different way and pace of living life. This was the first time I took a development class; a starting block on a journey of understanding what it means to be an agent of reconciliation, a catalyst for change, and a faithful presence in a community. My ideas of what it meant to engage with another were shattered and rebuilt.

Thinking about International Development has caused me to re-examine local development at Calvin and in Grand Rapids. I think the Service-Learning Center is a place where the core of good development is addressed. Service-Learning is a powerful means of fostering civic engagement and a healthy pride in one’s neighborhood and community. There is space for service no matter where we are in the cycle for understanding Service-Learning, from naïve to charity, to reciprocal and generative (Educating for Citizenship, By Carn McTighe Musil).

In reflecting on last year and attempting to be present in this year, it seems to me that it was easier for me to engage in a culture that was far different from my own. It was easier to find the strengths and be patient with areas for improvement in Honduras. Taking a step back seemed simpler as it was not a permanent space for me. When I think about North American culture, it is easy for me to be critical of a fast pace, consumerist, efficiency-driven society. Service-Learning (among other things) gives me a moment to take a step closer to my community, and simultaneously a step back to ask deeper questions about how we got to where we are.

I learned so much going abroad and was reminded of that through the conference. But I really think most of the learning has been in returning, especially experiencing Grand Rapids in a new and deeper ways through Service-Learning. There is great importance in acknowledging where we are in a cycle of learning, always on the lookout for the next opportunity to gain head and heart wisdom.

*Fresh handmade flour tortilla with beans, eggs, and mantequilla crema (sour cream) in the middle=yummy!

Posted by Liesje