Archive for the ‘Featured Article’ Category

When Saying Nothing Speaks Loudest

Monday, March 1st, 2010

By Rebecca West

Truth does not have to be expressed in words when standing up to power. At times it is far more powerful when nothing is spoken at all.

In the mid-1990’s, the hotels along Century Boulevard in Beverly Hills, California, joined together to prevent hotel workers from organizing a labor union. With one exception, the leaders of these hotels were stalling with hopes that the union efforts would dissolve.

The hotel workers, who are primarily female Hispanic immigrants, represent one of the most marginalized groups of people in the United States. Many of these women work full time, raise their children on their own, and send remittances back to their families from any remaining money they can pinch out. With rising rent prices, though, remittances are not always a possibility; most of these women end up living paycheck to paycheck. With little time or resources to spare, these hotel workers have no power to stand up to the greed of corporate giants. Well, no power if they stand alone.

The C.E.O.’s of the hotels knew that the hotel workers were powerless without a union. Fortunately, these hotel workers had faith—a faith beyond the power of US legal system and beyond the rules and regulations of businesses. Joining with the organization CLUE, Clergy and Laity United for Economic Justice, these employees came together and organized a procession. The procession was not sanctioned by laws and did not require official recognition. The group of people—even altogether—had no power to change the system, to raise wages, or to get the contract signed. But they did have the power to speak truth to these powerful C.E.O.’s—to remind the C.E.O.’s of whose world this really is and why they are here.

And so, as the calendar approached Holy Week, the procession of employees brought milk and honey to the single C.E.O. acting in good faith to work with the hotel workers. To the other C.E.O.’s, they brought bitter herbs, part of the offering the Israelite slaves made in the first Passover meal when Pharaoh still had not listened after ten plagues.

A simple act. They said nothing. Yet the workers’ action spoke of a higher Truth than the leaders were ascribing to. One of the C.E.O.’s, an observant Jew, took this symbolic act to heart. Reminded to “act his faith” he took up the fight for the hotel workers. With the C.E.O. who received milk and honey, he helped turn the fight around and won a union contract for the employees.

As Christians it is our responsibility to stand up to those who forget whose they are. The organization, CLUE, uses symbols, rituals, traditions, and art as a moral authority. These symbols of the faith do the talking for the marginalized. They speak to a Truth that we can only point to. But this Truth is the ultimate authority and we must point to it, clearly and publicly, and pray that those acting out of faith will remind those in power to remember whose they are and to return to the Truth.

Rebecca West until recently was the Editorial Assistant for Alive Now and Weavings. She has left that position to follow God’s call in a new direction. She blogs at http://www.westsgonesouth.blogspot.com.

For Thee I Live . . .

Friday, January 1st, 2010

By James Schwarzlose

The prayer got stuck in my mind, like an old vinyl recording repeatedly playing one phrase over and over: “Lord Jesus, for Thee I live. . . .” That is as far as I could get into a simple prayer given to me forty-two years earlier when I confirmed my baptismal vows. In its full form, it continues “for Thee I suffer, for Thee I die. Grant me, O Lord, eternal salvation.”

For the moment, I had known a good deal of suffering; but death had to wait. The staff in the cardiac care unit had just removed six liters of fluid from around my heart and lungs! The staff cardiologist assigned to my case had somberly pronounced, “Congestive heart failure” and a heart performance efficiency of 20%. As I regained strength he spoke of a variety of intrusive procedures, including implanting a pace maker and a defibrillator to jolt my heart back into rhythm when it went astray. He wanted to act quickly but agreed to give me time to “ponder my options.”

Those options seemed to short-circuit the possibilities of God for my life. They were about survival. They would have forced me into a sedentary lifestyle and prevented me from doing the work that God had called me to do. Yet the prayer of commitment to Jesus is not one to just “survive.”

The days and weeks that followed were not easy and oh, so slowly drawn out. Yet, they were filled with the presence of God. I was guided to a cardiologist who believed in multiple avenues of healing – including radical changes in diet and exercise. He jolted my heart back into rhythm. Then he sent me home to walk… and walk, and then, walk even further each day. I took some medication and dramatically changed the way I ate and drank. It meant saying “no” to much “good” food and finding patience to read a myriad of nutrition labels. But I had no intrusive procedures done, and I soon returned to full pursuit of my pastoral ministry.

Too often churches and individual Christians choose the path of survival rather than looking deeper and further for the possibilities of God. A church moves to a new location rather than live for Jesus in the one that has evolved around it. Individuals cluster with those who are like them rather than encounter the diverse family of God. Both will continue to live the same way they always have rather than trust God to lead them down new paths.

Called into the Realm of God, we are called not just to stay alive but to live fully as God provides. As my physical resources decline with age, my options change; yet “to survive” is not among them. Rather, trusting in God to provide what is necessary to thrive, I still seek discernment for the next path with that prayer given me so long ago: “Lord Jesus for Thee I live….”

James Schwarzlose continues to seek to live the path that Jesus set, caring for refugees and immigrants all in metro Atlanta where he lives with his wife, amd journey partner of 30 years, Myrna.

One Man’s Story

Sunday, November 1st, 2009

The following is excerpted from an interview with Gat Luak, who immigrated from Sudan to the United States in 1995, settled in Nashville, and eventually helped found the Sudanese Refugee Center.

I’m a family man now with a wife and two kids. My wife is not working; she just had a baby. I work here at the Sudanese Center, which I founded with a group of the guys. It’s not really a bad life to be honest. Every day I receive thanks from the people I serve. It makes me feel good about what I do. So my life is happy. I may not be making enough to support my family, but we are supporting one another. I might not be living in a very fancy place, but I live in an apartment and I like the apartment that I live in. I might not have the kind of car that I could drive, but I like the car that I drive. Nothing is more challenging to me than dealing with what is going on in other people’s lives. I don’t focus a lot on my own personal problems as I do with other people.

I was born in a village in south Sudan. I grew up playing with my brother. We lived in the village and I didn’t go to school. My dad was a farmer.

I did not know how Christianity arrived at my village. But for me it seemed that my family and the family that was close to us were the first to embrace Christianity. So my dad was not really a Christian, but he allowed us to go. We did not have a preacher and we did not even have an evangelist, but a man in my village called himself an evangelist.

I liked beating the drum and I liked singing, so we went every afternoon to sing. I can envision now that it was me, my other two brothers, my cousin, and some other boy that were there and then two girls came and joined us. Then this guy would sing a song for us in my language. He told us about Jesus, but we really didn’t know about Jesus. I would look and wonder what kind of person Jesus was. None of us could read or write, and he could just tell it like history. When we went home, the only thing we could remember were the songs. Then the next day we would go and encourage another boy to go join us.

I was six years old when the war came. When the war came, I was scared. Places that were not attacked were afraid they would be attacked. In the places that were attacked, people would run away. There was a lot of fear because people heard about people being bombed and killed, children being kidnapped, women being raped, cows being destroyed. Bombs just started falling on you and killed you. My village was attacked several times. This was a war between the government and rebel soldiers. It happened to be fought at our place. When that happens, you run with nothing on your body. You run with who you are. You don’t even grab something small.

There were two occasions when this happened. One time it happened at night, the other time in the morning. So we had to run, and not all of us returned. Some of us survived, but those who did get killed were gone.

After the attack we were trying to move around place to place to find somewhere to settle. At the time, my older brother was not with us. My other brother was there, and so it was me, my other young one, and my dad. We had to leave together with my dad. I remember walking at night and we came to a river and we did not know how to swim. So my dad put sticks together and put us on top of it to cross the river. It was a difficult time. In the middle of the river, the sticks came apart and my mom had to try to hold my neck above water and my dad had to hold my brother.

Those were the hard days, when you don’t have anything with you. You don’t even have food. Sometimes you would find meat somewhere. Sometimes you depend on fruit on the trees. If you find a place where no one was there, you could try to find whatever you could—dried beans, dried fruit. Your clothes are what you have on your body and your fear everybody. You never know if someone you run into on the street is an enemy.

I think I got to a refugee camp in 1988. Camp life was difficult because you are depending on someone else to assist you. It was a UN camp but the security was provided by local government. Ten families would be put in one tent. People were getting rations, but it would not last a day. A lot of people in one place with no sanitation. If one person gets sick, everyone will. For drinking water, people take water from the river, where people go and take baths. There was no hospital. There was no education.

The older kids were taken by the military for training to go to war, so you had to be very careful. The rebel army would come and collect the kids because they would support them during the war. You had to look as young as possible, because they take from six years old up. So there was no exception for me. I was taken. By then I think I was about ten. After a year a group of us sneaked out. I came back to the camp and tried to make a life with my family.

During that time, whenever I had a problem, I had a song that I sang that said, “My God is my savior and there is nothing that I fear.” You probably know that song in English. And it says, “Anywhere I am, anywhere I be, He is there with me.” So I look at that as “oh, ok, that is the God that is here with me, and nothing can be more powerful than that.” It was outside of Sudan. That was when we got to the Ethiopian border.

It was hard to leave my country. I didn’t really know much about “country” because I was young and in the village. But I liked the things we did in the village. I had the protection of my parents and I was thinking that nothing was bigger than them.

There were times that I had the feeling that “we can go back.” But there were other times that I felt, even if I could go back it would not be the same. I would think, “You can go back and see your home, but if I go back I will have the memory of everybody and everything thing I had lost.”

When we moved to the camp in Ethiopia, we still had all our family together. But while we were at the camp Sudanese refugees became victims. The only place to run was back to Sudan, which was still in the war. After family went to back to Sudan, my dad left me with my young brother. It was 1992-3. My brother and I had to leave Ethiopia to come to Kenya. We had heard that if we went to that camp we might be able to get away to America. I was about seventeen and my brother thirteen. In 1995 we got permission to come to the United States.

But to come to the United States is a long process. After being approved to come, you have to go through a process that included doing an interview, doing some orientation, doing a medical check up. Once you do this and all this is clear for you, you have to work on how to come to the United States. Who in the US is going to receive you and be responsible for you? The person had to work with an agency that is the local state or region and they had to have your name.

In our case, after we got this process completed, we had to go to South Dakota. It was springtime. We saw the snow and it was like “wow.” We had never seen snow before. It was so cold. We had clothes like this—just a jacket. When we got there, our sponsor took us to where we were supposed to live and helped us. But things did not work out for us there. We were not there long. It was too cold. Neither of us could speak the language. By that time my brother was fourteen years old and had to attend high school. So I am the “parent,” and must take my brother to and from school, and I had to be the one to provide food for him at school. But I had to work and I didn’t have a car. I told my sponsor that I don’t think this works for me. I need to find another place to go. But the conversation between me and my sponsor was difficult because we needed someone else to translate.

But then a friend who lives in Nashville told me that there were jobs here that don’t even require you to speak the language. So I asked my friend to send me tickets for the bus. When we came we didn’t really know where we were going to be. So we had to get permission from the sponsor and we could share information through the sponsors. After we got here I got a job but there was no direct bus from my neighborhood to the job. So I caught a bus to downtown and then another bus from downtown, and then another bus to my job. Then at night I took the bus part way back but had to walk some of the way. I did that for more than three months. After that my friend and I bought a car.

I had a feeling that one or two jobs would not be enough. I think there was a reason I came to the United States, and I did not feel comfortable just supporting myself and my brother. I found myself saying, maybe there is something bigger than this. I had to learn how to read and to write. So I started taking English as a Second Language. I tried for two days a week. It was not enough so I did three days a week. Three days was not enough so I did four days a week. Four days a week was not enough so I did five days. Five days a week was not enough so I did six days a week. Six days was not enough so I did seven days a week. I did two hours a day for seven days a week.

After that I earned a high school diploma, and I decided to go to Tennessee State University with a major in computer science and a minor in math. I earned a dual degree in three and a half years. So I graduated with that and people were shocked. Just shocked. They just knew me yesterday and then they see me today as a very different guy. From there I decided, well I’ve got a job, I had become a supervisor, but I found that doing the computer was not my passion. My passion was to do something for other people.

At that time I went to Africa and got married to a girl that I knew in the camps. We did not keep in touch until a few years after I had left. When I brought her here she was not educated. So I bought a chalkboard and put it in our apartment to teach her the alphabet. Then some ladies joined her, my cousin’s wife and some other women coming to my apartment. I thought that we needed to rent a place where they can learn. The problem at the community center was that those learning places had not been designed for people with no education; they start with people who have dropped out of high school.

We started by collecting $5, $10 a month. Then we got enough money to rent the place. Step one to step two. And that was the origin of the Sudanese Center. [need a description of that here] From there the center has been to help people. I decided to go back to school to get my masters, because I knew how to work with machines but not how to work with people. So I went back and got my masters in public service in 2007.

I considered myself a refugee when I first came to Nashville. I didn’t have the kind of support that I would have had if I were back home – especially if I were in my village. Then again, with some of the cases that I’m dealing with now, I think when there is a need for someone to be educated, someone else also needs to know about that. I feel that I am very blessed that I can be here doing things for myself and other people. I feel that I cannot be a refugee because I’m thinking of helping people instead of having people help me. I can’t even be still calling myself Sudanese. You can be born of the nation, or your grandparents can be born of the nation, but you don’t have this much opportunity.

A Reflection

Thursday, September 10th, 2009

by Kirby Wallace

Read Romans 12:1-2

We can be shaped, like a cookie cutter shapes dough, to fit the world’s expectations. Or we can be shaped like a seed shapes a flower. Paul appeals to us, “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God.” That appeal gives us the courage to make some tough decisions.

When a sudden storm arose at camp, sixteen-year-old Stephanie raced for shelter. Lightning struck a pine tree, and the bolt ran through her body. She lay in the intensive care unit of the hospital for a week, kept alive by a machine that breathed for her. The medical team knew her brain was dead. When Stephanie got her driver’s license, she had decided to become an organ donor. In light of their daughter’s decision, her parents consented to cutting the breathing machine off and allowing her organs to be harvested.

Bob’s drinking had caused the loss of community respect, the loss of his grocery business, and almost the loss of his family. He found it hard to admit he was the cause of these losses. He did seek help, however, through Alcoholics Anonymous. Six years after that decision, he had regained his self-respect, the respect of the community, a new business venture, and a stable family life. Stephanie, her parents, and Bob made decisions not to be “conformed” but to choose a more godly way.

A student was admonished by the college president because he had broken a campus rule. His defense: “Sir, I’d wager that there are not ten men on the whole campus who wouldn’t have done exactly what I did under the circumstances.

The president replied, “Young man, has it occurred to you that you might have been one of those ten?”

Prayer: God of Grace, renew our minds so that we may discern your will when we have to make tough decisions. Amen.

Kirby Wallace is a retired United Methodist Pastor living in Asheville, North Carolina.

Reprinted from The Upper Room Disciplines 2008. Copyright 2007 by Upper Room Books. Used by permission from Upper Room Books.

An Interview with Cheryl Avery

Monday, May 18th, 2009

“When the kids asked me about doing something to save the people at the dump, I thought there was no way I could make something like that happen. But their urging made me imagine…and the more I imagined, the more I felt God was calling me to do it.”
-Cheryl Avery

In her article, “Rejecting the Limits,” Valerie Foster wrote about the creative work that emerged from the pleas of a high-school-aged youth delegation. Willing to imagine the possibility, Cheryl Avery founded Project Chacocente in January 2003, and currently works as the Executive Director. Cheryl describes her experience thus:

“After visiting the vast, smoky wasteland of the Managua dump, the kids kept saying, ‘We have to do something.’ At first, we tried to tell them how futile it would be to rescue people without the help of the government or a large NGO. But they insisted, and finally I stopped saying ‘But…’ and started asking ‘Why not?’”

[You can read more about Project Chacocente in the July/August issue of Alive Now and by visiting their website at http://www.OutoftheDump.org].

Cheryl graciously answered some follow-up questions for us about her work.

What went through your mind when the high school students demanded that something be done?

I could certainly understand how they could be so upset, and I wanted to help them process their feelings. To me, that was the most important issue at hand. But in the back of my mind I thought, “They have no idea what they are asking.” There existed no avenue for truly helping the people of the dump. Sure, there were and are groups that feed the kids or offer education to the children; but that’s not a solution to the problem. I felt the kids were asking for a solution, and I didn’t know of anyone actually trying to change the reality of those people’s lives.

What are some of the most difficult obstacles you have faced?

How many dozen would you like to hear about? (Smile…) We knew we’d have obstacles from the beginning, and we have. We tried to get the Nicaraguan government interested in our project, hoping they would give us some land or help in some other way. They just wanted our money and total control.

Many of the people who live at the dump have been there all their lives. It may not be PC to say it, but many of the children are like the fabled boy who grew up with the wolves. They are wild and undisciplined, with short attention spans and little respect for others. Sometimes the parents can be as bad, or worse. We’ve had children throw their chairs at our teachers, and we’ve had fathers wave their machetes in our teachers’ faces.

I have been sued several times by men who were ejected from the project because of their violent behavior. I still have two lawsuits pending, and sometimes it’s impossible to find attorneys and judges who are really interested in justice.

When I started Project Chacocente, I tried to get a second mortgage on my house so that I could buy land. Unfortunately, I was a volunteer with no income, so even though I had a really nice house worth seven or eight times what the loan was worth, I kept hearing the word “no.” My own bank, with which I had been banking for more than twenty years, told me, “We’re not in the repossession business.” This was one of my biggest disappointments, because I had been a Town Meeting Member for ten or so years, a little league coach, a volunteer in the school system, and a volunteer for Meals on Wheels. I had never paid my mortgage late. So I was pretty crushed by their total lack of interest or concern. (An officer at Bank #8 was able to hook me up with an alternative source for the loan, so eventually I was able to buy forty acres for the project.)

I’ve also been attacked five times in the streets of Nicaragua. (Nicaragua is actually the safest Central American country, but when you’re a blonde, blue-eyed North American woman in a country with 80% poverty and 70% unemployment, if any mugger is looking for a target, you make a good one.) Just for the record, I’m 4 and 1, having lost only to a gang of young men with bamboo poles who surrounded me in my truck.

Some of the most difficult obstacles have little to do with my actual work. There is so much corruption among the police, judges, and government. One police officer accused me of “thinking about crossing the yellow line” on a divided highway, and demanded a pay-off. Another officer grabbed money out of my hand and ordered me to go. Another officer got in my car and told me to drive to a secluded area, and then asked me for money. I’ve also met some good cops, but it’s frustrating to go to the police station to ask for help and have a senior officer tell you they’re not interested in helping you.

I see that there was a fire at the offices last fall. How has recovery going?

Thank God, we retrieved our computer files. We lost almost everything else, such as brochures, fund-raising materials, and Nicaraguan crafts that we sell. But we have a new office and a new address (P.O. Box 128, Lexington, MA 02420), and thanks to our incredible supporters, we didn’t miss a single monthly “grant” to the project.

Now that the first class has graduated, what will you do?

All of our efforts are going toward getting another ten to fifteen families out of the dump. We are first evaluating what we have come to call Chacocente I, looking for financial and programmatic efficiencies. We are also gearing up to raise the money to buy another ten to twenty acres of land, as well as to fund Chacocente II. We’re definitely not standing still.

Will Project Chacocente still be involved with the people who graduated?

Absolutely. Those families still live at the project, and their children still attend our school. We are committed to educate any adult or child through college, if they are motivated to study. We also continue to help them with their small businesses, be it teaching them about loss leaders, or even providing some.

Perhaps the most satisfying connection with the families who have graduated is their constant desire to help the new families. Two of the fathers are employed by the project, one as a part-time teacher and the other as an administrator. And until the new families arrive at Chacocente, the older families are still working with our delegations so that their visit to the project can be a rewarding as ever.

How many volunteers do you have, and how do they help?

We currently have two volunteers working with us, but we will receive more during the summer. We have maybe ten to twelve volunteers a year, some staying just two to four weeks and others staying as long as a year. We try to involve the volunteers in ways that fit with their own skills and experiences. Some teach English, Art, or Music in our school; some teach other skills through club-like groups. Some work primarily with the children, and others help the adults. Some volunteers work side-by-side planting the fields, and some teach first aid or family gardening.

Where are the volunteers from and what motivates them?

Most of our volunteers are from the US, although we’ve had a couple from France. Within the US, our volunteers have come from all over - New England, New York, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Colorado, Texas, you name it. Some are college students, some are high-school seniors who spend six months or a year with us before they go to college, some are older people (in their 40s and 50s) who just want to help or teach.

Many of our volunteers are motivated spiritually to participate in the creation of God’s Kingdom on earth. Some want to make a difference in the world, or simply help people who have less than they do. A few admit they are looking to make their resumes more interesting. But they all have been committed and sincere about helping.

How can others get involved?

Volunteers may contact us through our website [www.OutoftheDump.org ] or by email (chacocente@yahoo.com). We have never imposed an age requirement, but it’s important that the person be a self-starter and independent. One reason we need volunteers is because we are always under staffed, but that also means we don’t have folks to accompany you every day. Contact us and we’ll send you an application!