Constructive Living

On Saturday, we played host at the monthly open Quiet Garden behind the Manse.  Part of the morning is spent in quiet reflection in the garden (as the London weather permits…) before coming back as a group and discussing questions that were posed before the meditation time began.

As Justin and I looked through some resources to get ideas as to where to take the morning, we thought about what was happening in the world at the time.  The G8 talks were getting ready to ramp up, and demonstrations had been taking place to raise awareness of food security and food sovereignty issues.  In one of our newly enjoyed books, The Healer’s Tree, by Annie Heppenstall (of Iona renown), we happened upon a story from Ireland called “Kevin and the Otter.”  The story tells about Kevin, a monk who lives with gentle care in his wooded environment.  His seeming oneness with the animal kingdom inspires others to join his order.

In the story, there is an otter who lives in a pond near the monastery.  Kevin gains such a deep level of trust with the otter that she brings fish to the door to share with Kevin.  After some time, one of the other monks, exploiting the trust of the otter, catches it with ease, kills it, and sells its pelt.

Most of our reactions to this story would be a sense of horror that trust could so easily be betrayed.  But the story goes on to point out that we are all guilty of such dishonesty as our lives in this day in age do result in the exploitation of natural resources.  It is impossible to extricate ourselves from consuming.

One of our housemates who was keeping up with the food sovereignty talk on social media, told us about an exchange she saw:  a person had taken a picture of a part of the protest and posted it as a sign of their support for the cause;  another person responded saying something to the effect of, “and did you take this with your iPhone?” (indicating their own use of finite mineral resources, likely taken somewhat illegally by private, multi-national corporations.)

So, for the meditation, we posed the questions, “How far do you want to go in living harmlessly?  And how far do you feel it is possible for you to live harmlessly?” and “In terms of creating increasingly sustainable and non-harmful lifestyles, how might we educate ourselves in finding new alternatives?”

Living in community with others who share differing values, the easiest thing to do is recognize the least common denominator.  What do we all agree on?  Where is the least tension?  But, is that really the best or healthiest?

How we live is also affected by where we live and our access to both resources and education.  Living in the city, we tend to focus more on how/where/why our resources (money, usually) are used.  Living in the country, the focus may more often be on how one lives or provides for self, money being less of a resource typically, and tangible goods being a greater resource.  Towns or villages fall somewhere in-between.

Lastly, we are short-sighted.  For most of human history, we have not had the luxury to think past our own existence.  We consume for now, make policy for now, etc.  It takes incredible discipline to think how even one action affects all of the future.

None of us (I don’t believe) chose when or where or to whom we would be born, but I think within our spaces and times, we have the call to live cognizant of a pursuit of justice for all – and that includes future generations.  Following the adage, “Live simply that others might simply live,” I would suggest, “Live harmlessly and constructively, so that others might live well.”

[Thanks to Rod and Vivi for fleshing out these ideas with us at the Quiet Garden – some of my writing reflects thoughts they brought up.]

Our weeks.

I noticed how popular Justin's post was.  Really makes a girl feel good to think her husband is more popular than she ;)  It's okay -- I can handle it once a year.

We were asked to reflect today at a church meeting, and I thought I would just post what we talked about.  I'm sure for those of you state-side, not everything will make sense, but it should still give you a bit of an idea of our weeks.

Sundays

            J:  With Doris away, and Ron moving on, we’ve found a bit of a niche this spring in being some of the first people to arrive on Sunday mornings and getting the space prepared for worship, and then helping clear up after the service.  If the church were a rock band, we’d be the roadies who always show up, get everything ready and take everything down…and get none of the glory (or hard drugs). ;)

            V:  Sundays are the days we have with you – our reason for being here.  And, while we’re still getting used to the traditions and eccentricities of this church, we do love being here on Sunday mornings.

Mondays

            Justin:  I start out my workweek in the office, which is challenging work -- but it’s very rewarding serving the many wonderful characters who inhabit this building throughout the week. 

            Valerie: My highlight of Mondays is often going down to the Turner’s for dinner, and experiencing Jesus with those who show up, however they show up.

Tuesdays

            J:  Every other week, we eat dinner with our housemates at the Community House.  This is usually the only time that all of us are in one room at one time and interact much beyond the pleasantries of simply living together.  Sometimes we have “spiritual” discussions, sometimes we talk about chores … sometimes we have extra guests, etc.  But those evenings always end up feeling “right” to us – we have often reflected on how grateful we are that we are living in community here – it has meant we had instant friends outside of regular church folks.

            V:  All that said, we are really looking forward to having a little holiday at Mary’s flat when she’s in Australia.

Wednesdays

            V: The middle of the week typically means I’m busy getting ready for the weekend.  My work isn’t quite as “containable” as Justin’s, as I’m sort of all over the place with my roles and responsibilities.  I do various things, including finalizing the newssheet every week, helping occasionally organising the worship service for Sunday morning, coordinating Sacred Space.  But then, I’m also taking on more of a role with Community Meal and the Quiet Garden.  Then there’s the crafty side of me, which comes out in yarn bombing.  There’s the techie side of me that is looking at how to put a little more life into our website. 

            Our interest was, and continues to be, supporting the work that the church and community are already doing.  And that has kept us busy enough! :)

Thursdays

            J:  Thursdays are usually our “day off” during the week.  I’m not at the office, and I provide ample distraction at home for Valerie to not do her work.

            V:  Thursday evenings, we have enjoyed eating with our friends at 33 Powerscroft, and then Community Meal.  The hospitality that under-girds this church is, even after 4 ½ months here, a delightful and inspiring surprise.

Friday

            V:  And that hospitality has expanded into meals with you all in your homes.  Each time we eat with you, you share with us a little bit of your lives and we have cherished those experiences tremendously.  I hope that that same hospitality is extended to all newcomers who walk into this church, not just those of us who are here on “official business.”  It’s an amazing witness to your faith and values, and I sure hope that we’re not the only ones benefiting. :)

Saturday

            J:  Saturdays are a mix of work and play for us.  We’ve enjoyed finding moments of respite in the Quiet Garden on Saturday mornings, going to various workshops and conferences, and mentally preparing for Sunday worship.  We’ve also been out exploring Hackney and London, recently taking in Victoria Park, Broadway Market, etc.

So, that’s a brief glimpse into how we’ve found our weeks.  We continue to feel at home here, busy being just two parts in the body of Clapton Park URC!  We look forward to continuing down this journey together!

Our Hipster Neighbor

Our next door neighbor is a bona fide hipster.  "Our neighbor" being the one not that lives at the same address as us, but the one who lives one house down.

Perhaps the construction company who built one of our houses was working on the cheap, but we hear more of that neighbor than our housemates.  We hear full conversations.  We hear music (at all hours, all volumes.)  We hear TV or movies being played.

Last night, it was the Cosby show.  (Pure Hipsterdom.)  Unfortunately, I never heard our neighbor laugh, even though there is a laugh track to help even the dullest viewer know what is supposed to be funny.  This concerned me because while the tales of the Huxtables may not be comedic every 1.3 seconds like they would have you believe based on the background of peals of laughter, it is occasionally laugh-out-loud funny.  This is one of the main problems with hipsters that perhaps should be the focus of the next mission field:  their obsession with irony means that little is humourous.  Actually, come to think of it more philosophically, I think that perhaps, hipsters are the New Puritans.  Chew on that one for awhile.

Our neighborly New Puritan also has strange music habits.  I'm not sure if ours is unique, but he has a rotation of about 5 songs which he plays on repeat, ranging from Pearl Jam to this:

 

Once again, I am finding myself at the end of a post without a clear direction or reason as to why I think you should know about my hipster neighbor.

Perhaps the desire is that you know my pain as I lay in bed at night, trying to sleep but am kept awake more by my troubled mind over the silent response to a classic family comedy as it plays next door than the noise actually permeating into our bedroom.

Word.

Husband Post.

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Guest Post from none other than J.M. Shenk!

Stuff my wife says:

Valerie: My back hurts

Me: Maybe you should do yoga

Valerie: Yoga is for white people who drink Starbucks and coconut water.*

Oh.  I see.

So I’m thinking to myself:  In what ways do I do what I do because of my colour and self-identity?

Well, after a long, though less-stressful-than-usual week playing volunteer centre manager at the church office, this white boy treated himself to a bike ride around London.

Starting out at the canal path near our house I traveled south past the Olympic stadium, wearing my Chrome messenger bag, riding my “steel-is-real” road bike.  After a leisurely bike path jaunt, I hopped up onto the roads to be met with a welcome surprise: one of London’s bicycle highways!  So I spent the next few miles travelling towards the city center on smooth and fast, blue-painted tarmac.

After riding through the financial district, I made my way back home by way of Islington on the route of the 38 bus.  I came home happy and content, having survived 2 or 3 near misses, and realizing that my rear derailleur cable or chain needs some attention as it was slipping gears under acceleration.

I came home to a cup of home-roasted coffee--recently roasted in my popcorn popper—and sat outside in our small garden-in-progress, enjoying the 21C degree weather.

Sitting outside, face toward the rare London sun, I experienced a moment of silence in an otherwise noisy life.

My work at the church office and our growing involvement with other programmes and activities have felt necessary and useful, but I think I’m realizing that we can’t just be service robots; we have to make time for fun, exercise and relaxation.  I suppose I knew this all along – but it’s one thing to “know” something and another to “feel” the need springing up inside you.

They say you shouldn’t wait to drink water until you’re thirsty.  I suppose it’s like that.

Ergo, I need to relax a little.  This might come as a shock to people who look at me from the outside, as I probably already seem relaxed.  That’s just how it looks when I’m frantically trying to problem-solve.  I need to find more balance.  I need to read more, bike more, and spend more time with plants.**

I’m also thinking of taking up Yoga.***

*(Valerie's note:  Yes, I said this.  To be fair, there is a very small minority of white and non-white people who do yoga who don't drink copious amounts of Starbucks and coconut water.)

**(Valerie’s note: and YOUR WIFE! cooking for her, doing laundry, going on walks with her…)

***(yes, another note from Valerie: He's already got the coffee/coconut water thing down to a science.)

Pentecost!

[This article was originally written for Windows Into Zion, the newsletter for Zion Mennonite Church in Broadway, VA.]

It’s Pentecost today.  I woke up earlier than normal with a mission to start off the day.  A few friends and I have collaborated now twice to pull together squares of knitted and crocheted yarn to affix to random places in our neighborhood.  We installed our first “yarn bomb” on Easter, so it seemed only appropriate that our second be on Pentecost.

The sky was ablaze with oranges and pinks as I walked outside of our home where Justin and I live with six other people.  A London sunrise is always welcome – we’re never sure if we will see the sun on a given day.  At 5 a.m. there are a few people out.  Some are just getting home from being out all night, and some are leaving to go to work.  A city like London doesn’t sleep, and the moments are few when there’s stillness.

A sign of things to come...

 My friend and I reached our destination:  a bus bench outside of a notoriously smelly fish store.  Within five minutes, we had stretched the panel of misshapen and multi-colored pieces around the long bench, securing it together with cable ties.  We attached our signature “You Are Beautiful” sign, snapped a few pictures and headed away.

The challenge in a city that is constantly “on” is to sneak moments into people’s lives, causing them to smile in surprise.  Yarn bombing, for some, has that affect.  (For others, it’s likely seen as a bit of an eyesore.)  Especially on Pentecost, we are reminded that the Spirit moves – sometimes in unexpected ways and in unexpected places.  Our call is to respond to the inspiration that arises, and to seek out where we might be motivated to perform these random acts of kindness/art/prophetic witness.

Like Music to My Ears

Over the past year, Justin and I have cracked open our piggy banks several times to invest in some soul-nourishing music.  The first event, for our 3^rd anniversary, we hung out with a bunch of Baby Boomers and listened to Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers.*  While I was greatly impressed and moved by the lyrics and tunes the band played, I was probably more impressed by how evident it was that all the women present were madly in love with Steve Martin and giggled profusely whenever he opened his mouth to speak.

The second event was spent with my old bakery compatriots, guffawing through our own love/lust relationship with one Elizabeth Cook, our favourite Sirius radio DJ (M-F, 10-2 on Outlaw Country.)  Not sure how you can pack such musical ferocity and salty, Southern wit into a body that small.

The third evening was truly one for my history books – an Australian artist, long a favourite of mine, finally came to tour in the U.S.  I specially purchased a cowgirl hat for the night spent in the shadow of Kasey Chambers, grinning like the Mad Hatter when her country legend father Bill Chambers complimented the hat.

Last evening, perhaps as part of our 4^th anniversary celebration, we set off to hear none other than Emmylou Harris sing for two and a half hours in Belfast, Northern Ireland, where we were taking a quick holiday.  After bemoaning earlier last week that one thing I missed from home was country music, finding out that she was going to be playing at the very place we were going to be was a gem of a find.

Taking pictures was not actually allowed, but I did what I could sans flash.

These nights for me are transformative.  Last night, listening to the music, I remembered the first time I really started to listen to Emmylou.  My mom and I were driving out to Albuquerque after I had graduated from university, and I had gone to the library before leaving to get some new music to play along the way.  That move marked a real transition into “adulthood” (whatever that is…), and the joy and pain of that time flooded back last night when she sang Red Dirt Girl.

Not only has music often marked major events in my life, I find it also inspires me to think more critically about where I draw energy from, and about what thoughts or ideas have been ruminating in my soul, but need to get out.  Particular songs have often helped me put words to my emotions, much like a fine artist might find in looking at another’s artwork, or a reader might find in another’s memoirs.  (Chocolate is also helpful for inspiration.)

Sometimes the monetary expense of such luxurious evenings seems unjustifiable…but, then I remember that Mary Magdalene also poured a year’s worth of wages onto Jesus’ feet.  Moments of true peace and joy and worship can have no price attached, though they are also not for us to hoard. 

We share our music, our art, our food, our words because they are too much for us to contain.

*And so, if you feel so led, links offered as windows into where I find joy...

Too busy to read this?

[In case you’ve been disappointed at the lack of posts in the last week and a half, rest assured that I wrote several that were deemed too ranty and non-publishable by my in-house editor.]

One of the marks of “modern society” is the idea of busyness.  Within our work at church, we hear so many people remark how busy they are, too busy to do things at times.  I struggle against that mentality, being a lover of work myself.  But what happens when the things we “work” on in an attempt to gain meaning in our lives, ends up taking over our lives, demeaning us as human beings? 

In a resource published by the United Reformed Church, I read an article by Christopher Jamison, a Benedictine monk, in which he states, “Life is busy but many of us speak as though ‘being busy’ is a force beyond our control.”

I’m surprised how often we feel like we can justify our absences, our apathy, our superficial relationships with our self-important busyness that is “out of our hands.”  This then, I think, relates to our inability to be mentally, spiritually, emotionally present wherever we find ourselves physically.

I struggle with these issues myself – of wanting to find meaning in our work as “Community Hosts,” but to avoid the urge to fill all my time so there is no Sabbath.  During one somewhat trying time in my life, a wise person once told me, “This is your life.”  These moments musn’t be taken for granted.  Annie Dillard says something to the effect of, “The way we spend our days is the way we spend our lives.”

As this is the human struggle, we must find balance in finding meaning in the way we spend our days so we live the one life we have with a sense of pride that we chose relationships over money, environment over exploitation, peace over a fragile sense of self-worth.

Mini-sermon over for the day. :)