Ultimate Workout- India 2008

Forgive the loooong delay. So much has happened I last wrote. I'll have to go back to retrace my steps. I'm in Kazakhstan now, substitute teaching at an English language institute for a week and a half. Wow! Life is so weird. I'll have to write more about my adventures in both Kazakhstan and Kyrgizstan next time. Below is a little meditation on Maranatha's recent Ultimate Workout India project. For those of you who don't know, UW is short term mission trip designed to challenge teenagers in the areas of spirituality and leadership. It had an enormous impact on me throughout my teen years. I mean, ENORMOUS. Anyway, here's what I wrote for Maranatha's magazine-- it'll help you understand where my heart has been this summer. I don't know what it will look like after they edit and publish it:

We just had an Ultimate Workout. It was rigorous and real: that’s what made it a workout. And it broke even my most wild expectations. After years of advising other fellow Ultimate Workout participants not to box in God with narrow hopes and calculated plans for personal growth, I still find myself falling for the game. God graciously smashed my dreams this year, delivering a truth more lasting—more ultimate—than any short-term spiritual high I could have asked for.

Two days after the project I am left sitting here in an air-conditioned room tracing the face of each participant in the jumbo-glossy group photo we had taken in front of the Taj Mahal. Each teen came with a story and went home with an added chapter unique to their own. 17 year-old ______ signed up from ____ because of her fascination with Indian culture and her desire to make a difference in the lives of others. Recently the idea of studying theology after high school entered her mind. Ultimate Workout gave her the opportunity to think that possibility through in a compelling environment. _______, 18, challenged me with his boyish energy and generous laughter, but most of all, with his genuine pursuit of a loving and compassionate God. ___ hopes to return to India as a school teacher one day.

I will never forget these people, and I don’t think they will soon forget Ultimate Workout-India, either.

Ultimate Workout-India introduced its first annual project last year in Orissa. The target volunteer group has been teens with past mission trip experience—particularly Ultimate Workout experience—and those young people seeking the most intense leadership and spiritual growth opportunities. We came to the project this year with lofty ideals. But by the grace of God, we fast found ourselves confronted with the reality of our human brokenness. The project scope was to help prepare for the opening of the Kadapa Adventist School in Andhra Pradesh, a new facility working closely with a program called Adventist Child India (ACI). ACI provides sponsorships for Adventist village children whose families make less than two dollars a day to come and study as borders at the Kadapa School. Our work for this UW-India had five components: interaction with the children at the school, construction of a wall around the compound, landscaping and beautifying of the campus, sanding of the new 3-child bunk beds for the dormitories, and prayer and visitation in the local villages.

We hit day one hard, mastering the art of block-laying and bogenvelia-bush planting in short order. The teamwork and group camaraderie was terrific and I remember being extremely grateful for the teens God had brought to India this year. But warm fuzzy feelings get stretched on mission trips where the sun shines hot, personalities grate, and unfamiliar living conditions strip away the comfortable borders we build for ourselves at home. One particularly sobering setback came on day three of our project: a wave of the stomach flu washed through our group, knocking two-thirds of the participants down flat on their backs. Discouragement threatened as we watched our newly-planted bogenvelias wither away under the hot sun.

Though undesirable from a human standpoint, these circumstances gave us a hard, honest look at ourselves. We struggled to comprehend how as individuals we deal with discomfort, heat, illness, and the reality of life and death in something as simple as a flowering tree. Sometimes the revelations were disappointing. We found ourselves to be complainers. We were tempted by exhaustion and apathy and the weight of our shattered expectations. Other times found us deeply humbled at what God was able to accomplish even through our limitations. After the sickness passed we made our way back to regroup by the bogenvelias. Brokenness begs teachability, and day by day—through trial and error—we learned how to keep our plants alive. First we regulated our watering times. Next we tried manure. Finally the school children taught us to build little circular walls around the bushes so that they could retain moisture better. The work we did was not grand or earth-shattering, but it was truth-telling in that it required such virtues as patience, discernment, consistency, and faithfulness. For me the plant nursery was a marvelous parable of how we nurture people, indeed, how God nurtured our group bit by bit in spite of our incredible resistance. His hand prevailed.

Generosity is God’s response to our clenched fists. It pours over us whether or not we receive, because it is his initiative. We saw it at work so many times this year. It came through in glorious sunsets watched from rooftops with new friends. It poured from the hearts of villagers who invited us into their homes for prayer and shelter from monsoon rains. The girls on our team slept in the same building as the young students of the Kadapa school. One morning I was feeling particularly grumpy— a trio of girls came up wanting to know if I could remember their names. I was incensed. With hundreds of children swarming the grounds of the Kadapa school, how could they actually expect me to remember each of their names? I brushed past them with obvious annoyance, seeking a room where I could close the door to their pushy demands. But before I could reach such mock security I was ambushed by twenty little girls who pulled my bewildered face down to their level and showered me with kisses.

The holiness of these moments pressed upon me with final clarity during the last Friday night worship our group shared together. We organized a communion service and decorated a rooftop with candles for special ambiance. But that evening was particularly windy, and even our best efforts couldn’t stop the lights from blowing out. We were angry and disappointed until we looked up into the night sky and saw the stars. They shone much greater and more luminous than the silly wax candles we were trying so hard to keep lit. God must have been laughing.

Looking back now, again, on the faces of this year’s participants, I am filled with wonder and gratitude over the joy that is available to those who recognize their inadequacy. Hardships invite broken people to stop and recognize the active and unchanging presence of God in all circumstances. This is the greatness of our weakness—the kind we boast in. And I do boast now, two days after this UW- India. I boast in the God of surprises—the God who showed us the truth that he is greater than our weakness. Indeed, it is in our weak places that he is most strong.

A Frustrating Speaking Experience

Don't worry, I'm back. I haven't drowned in the sea. I went to Hawaii and spent as little time as possible on my computer. One day soon I may write about the Dalai Lama, but it won't be tonight. I'm too tired.

Still jet-lagged, I woke up early this morning and drove 2.5 hours to speak at an academy about New Light (a home for the children of sex workers in India), and about how the Gospel compels Christians to engage in issues of social justice. It was an extremely disheartening experience. First, I spent $70 to get there and back in my family's gas-guzzeling behemoth vehicle. Then when I got there, I found that the person who'd invited me had been called away on an emergency. (I should add that it was a very valid emergency.) A student worker greeted me timidly on his behalf, took my DVD, and disappeared to have it set up. After getting lost, I found the gathering myself and forged my way into a room full of rowdy students who looked like they would rather be anywhere else besides a chapel program. A smily-looking lady shook my hand and then introduced me to the students, telling them (with evident dis-ease) that I would be sharing some "perhaps uncomfortable" things about my "work" in India. I was highly amused. I don't think she was entirely pleased with my presence.

When I got up to begin I was immediately intimidated. (I am extremely crowd sensitive.) During preaching assignments at a certain county church near WWU, I used to stutter all over my sermons because of a bald man who always snored in the middle left-hand pew. But despite snickering and whispering and paper-ball throwing (that was probably only in my imagination), I did a decent job at the academy. I was enthusiastic and clear of speach, and what I had to say was (I thought) extremely relevant. But most of my audience was not engaged. I tried hard to reach them, even bursting out of my notes from time to time (a nearly unheard of event for Gulliver). It was hopeless. But for a very few, they would not be drawn in.

I suppose in the end I can't really blame the students. I am a much more effective "high church" preacher, however much I dream of spouting off the cuff, firey, and entertaining sermons. I never raise my voice or wave my arms. I wouldn't dream of budging from the podium. I tend to read my manuscripts, which are carefully crafted and technical (often mediocre) theological expositions. For better or for worse, this stuff tends to go over well in preaching class and in traditional church settings, but it didn't work with the kids. They weren't interested in my "brilliant" manifesto for a Christian spirituality that generates acts of compassion. It was perhaps too esoteric.

The smily lady came and sat nearby while the DVD played, so I leaned over and asked her how much time I had left to wrap things up. She said I had about 10 minutes, but advised me to keep it shorter. "This is heavy stuff for these kids," she said (sounding slightly offended). Yes, child prostitution is heavy for kids. Much too heavy. That's exactly why we must talk about it.

I'm afraid I really let her words crush my spirit. I ended my presentation by challenging the students to cultivate a holistic spirituality that engages mind, body, and soul. I told them that the Kingdom of God "out there" is really "here, now," that it has burst forth in our midst, and that disciples of Christ must therefore be voices of justice and peace. Then do you know what happened? The whole mob jumped and ran for the door. It was lunch time.

I had just told them about starving babies, and they were still concerned about lunch! Perhaps it was a painful rebuke of my own appetite, or perhaps it was righteous (or self-righteous) indignation. But whatever the case, it made me feel very sad.

Finding nothing to do in the empty chapel after everyone left, I simply shrugged, went to the car, and drove home. I felt like I had waisted both my time and my money, and I felt frustrated with myself and with what I judged to be superficiality on the part of the students. I don't know why God keeps putting teenagers in my life-- they are absolutely infuriating. God only knows why I like them and why they like me (and they do, even when they don't get my speaking. Its really weird.)

Okay, I must go to sleep now. I feel sick with sleepiness. This entry was obviously not meant to provoke any profound thoughts, but only to appease those friends who have been prodding me for a blog update.

Good night.