Six Month Review

I'm reminded of an old joke my father would say at lunchtime on Saturdays, when all the leftovers from the week were pulled out of the fridge in hopes they would disappear.  He used to call this the "Mennonite Weekly Review," which is only funny to Mennonites, specifically those who are familiar with the publication, Mennonite Weekly Review.

As we approach our six-month anniversary of our time here, we're taking on the task of writing up a few reviews of our work here thus far, and it's a similar feeling to that of looking at the table on Saturdays and noon and considering, "What was good the first time around, what do I want to calorically invest in again, and will I be able to avoid this or that (normally green beans for me, as a child.)"  (Note:  I love that life can be compared to food.)

It's the same for most of us, I suppose.  We know what sorts of things we gladly give our time and energy to, what we're willing to do (though perhaps ambivalent towards), and what we'd really rather not do.  We are not so different, in being voluntary service workers, though perhaps there's a servant complex from time to time.

In other news, summer has finally hit England, and the schools are out for their summer holidays until the end of August.  It feels to us a little like a chance to catch our breath before the craziness of September ensues.  Justin is enjoying biking around a good bit more, and I am frantically knitting in preparation for a yarn bombing in September.

Some apologies for not writing incredibly frequently -- my blogging has matured, perhaps, since my early days when I first started just out of university.  Or, maybe, I hold my thoughts a little closer than I used to...Or, maybe Justin gets to hear them all and negates my need to process by writing. :)  (Count your blessings?)

"Practical" Worship, as an "alternative" view to "Alternative" Worship.

Taking faith to the street, we set out walking a few Sundays ago with Wood Green Mennonite Church.  Once a month, the church takes a break from mostly sedentary worship to consider an active, community-based approach to theology.

We met at a tube stop, nine of us in total.  We said a prayer and headed off down the busy “high street” (main street with shopping, banks, etc.) of Wood Green.  We stopped several times over the next two hours and two and something miles, to read scripture, hear reflections, and to pray, all entwined with the reality of our street presence.

The service finished, and the group set off to a pub for nibbles and a drink.  We chatted some more, sharing stories.

We went home, tired.  Church had worn us out. 

Worship, and its many methods.

The What-ifs

On Friday morning, I found myself articulating to myself that I could use a desert experience.  Jesus got 40 days off work at the beginning of his new job (read: life's mission) to be alone (and fast and deal with the devil, though I desire less of those parts of the desert.)  There is something about the mind and body saying together, "we need a break!" but then there's the rest of reality saying, "yes, but I'm right here."

Friday turned out to be a day unlike one I've ever had before.  I had gone to help a friend of a friend move from the apartment she could no longer afford into a house down the street where her brother lived.  The task, being done with a couple others, seemed simple enough.  We started moving a few things when the brother, whom I had just met, collapsed in what we thought was a seizure.  The two of us who were at the house at the time (the others, down the street), held him as best we could while it passed.  The others arrived, including his sister, and we put him to bed.  His sister deliberated calling the doctor (he was saying no), but was indecisive.  The rest of us kept moving things.

Less than an hour later, he had what appeared to be another seizure and stopped breathing.  An ambulance was called, but after an hour of CPR and other treatments, was unable to resuscitate him.  It turned out to be two back-to-back heart attacks, we learned later.

An unexpected death.  The vicar at the church where the brother and sister attend made it to the house at the same time as the ambulance.  Her reaction?  "I've lived in Hackney long enough that nothing surprises me."  The sister, shocked though she was, reacted similarly, saying several times, "I'm really not surprised."  He was an alcoholic, heavy smoker, and there was a family history of early deaths from heart problems.

It strikes me that this situation was full of "what ifs?"  And, for the sister, it will continue to be.  She can no longer move into the house where her brother was living, but she cannot afford to stay in her apartment.  Death doesn't discriminate, stopping at the door of those who desperately seek or need justice.  Nor does the other end of the cycle -- birth -- care a lick about everyone being born with equal footing and opportunity and love (and, and, and...).

I also saw my first births this year.  Another situation that is full of "what ifs."  New lives coming in the world, unaware of what's happening or how their situation may compare to others.  Mothers' bodies doing the seemingly impossible and miraculous all in one go, with so many chances for danger.

Painting by Stanley Spencer

How do we live in the midst of all this uncertainty?  There is so much unknown.  Frankly, I'm surprised more of us don't have serious anxiety issues.  Or, that more of us aren't walking around after witnessing these harrowing experiences with a mild form of PTSD.  New life and death are always expected (though may happen suddenly), sometimes joyful or celebrated, sometimes utterly heart-wrenching.

I don't know much about how this all works...We go on, dodging the drama as we are able, tripping over it occasionally, embracing it as we must when it is inevitable.

I left the situation on Friday, unsure if I will get that desert experience.  Or, if my experience might be more like an urban marsh experience....(i.e. Hackney).  How do we get away from the what ifs, the whys...?  They follow unceasingly.

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.

-->

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.)