You can now find my meditations at www.corytrenda.com
Reflections From Afar & Near
About Me
- Cory Trenda
- I've spent over 30 years with one foot firmly planted among the world’s poorest and the other firmly planted among the world’s richest. I chronicle some of my struggles to live as a Jesus-follower, integrating my global experiences into my understanding of Jesus’ example and teaching. This site is an ongoing extension of the book "Reflections From Afar", "an invitation to glimpse the world through the eyes of the poor and oppressed, and to incorporate those perspectives into our daily lives…"
Thursday, November 9, 2017
Tuesday, April 25, 2017
It's Not the Right Time for a Crisis
It's not the right time to be bringing up another humanitarian
crisis. I can't be seen as the constant bearer of bad news. People won't want
to open my emails or take my calls.
And frankly, I'm tired and overwhelmed myself. Maybe the
rest of the world can deal with this new famine in East Africa; my little
corner would like to please sit this one out.
But then I found myself editing a colleague's email alert
which she's faithfully sending to her constituents, that she could end on a
hopeful note such as …
As
you’ll read in the LINK,
“Famine is a silent killer, but it’s not unstoppable.” The reason one-million
people died in the Ethiopia famine of 1984-85 was our lack of ability to
provide help in time. The world has proven since then that we can save
lives—save children’s lives—by raising the alarm far and wide, and by our
compassionate response.
Deborah is letting her donors know—she is raising the alarm
far and wide. So far, I have not. By my actions—or in this case, inaction—I am deciding
that the lives of those on the edges of life don't matter as much as not
annoying my readers or distracting or discouraging those faithfully involved in
other poverty issues.
And truthfully, I don't want to expend the emotional energy
to take on another crisis. I don't feel I have it to give. But here's the deal:
I don't get to decide when a crisis happens. I only get to choose if I am
still called to be a voice for those in need who are without a voice.
"How can famine even happen in this day and
age?!" That was the frustrated exclamation of Deborah's father when
she told him about the situation. Aren't we past starving children? Didn't
we solve this after the Ethiopia Famine of 1984-85? We did our 'bit' back then.
Didn't we rid the world of that spectre?
The conscience and awareness of the world was changed through that catastrophe. We
learned that drought does not have to lead to food shortages, and food
shortages don't have to lead to famine. Actually, nowadays it’s fairly
rare. But, when it does happen, we also learned we could do something about it.
As Rich Stearns wrote: “Hunger, even lots of it, isn’t
enough to earn a famine declaration. People need to be dying on a daily basis,
at a rate of more than two in 10,000. That’s like 1,600 people dying every day
in New York City— of starvation. Famine only sets off an alarm when a serious
situation has already turned tragic.” (With over 20 million people now at risk
in four countries, that is an apt analogy.)
That alarm has already been set off by the UN’s official
declaration of famine in two of the countries. We simply haven't heard
about it or, like me, we've conveniently tuned out the early reports. I suppose
I was hoping the situation would resolve itself without my attention. Who
enjoys photos of emaciated children?
Deborah, who also lives in California, expressed her own
frustration: "We've just come out of six years of drought in California, but
my kids never missed a meal! The grocery store was always fully stocked."
Why the heartbreaking disparity of consequences? Why
are the causes (drought) so similar and yet the effects so tragically
different? We Americans might live paycheck-to paycheck, but their vulnerability
might be meal-to-meal. We benefit from at least 150 years of
infrastructure investment (albeit sporadic) to reduce our vulnerability from
wide fluctuations in annual rainfall. Thus, we are well insulated from feeling
its impacts.
But in most places where starvation is still possible, such
systems are not even available--though this is changing through low-cost
catchment systems such as "water pans" and low-cost micro-drip
irrigation. This is the "development imperative"—to invest in
sustainable solutions that reduce vulnerability long-term and avoid such dire
consequences in the future.
It works! World Vision labored in an area of northern
Ethiopia called the Antsokia valley. I visited a famine camp there in early
1986, where people had been dying every day just months previously, and the
huge valley had been stripped of anything that could be eaten or burned for
firewood. Now the rains had returned and new projects were creating water
catchments off the mountainsides, creating irrigation systems, planting fruit
trees, demonstrating new farming methods. Antsokia became the learning lab that
birthed World Vision's Area Development Program (ADP) model, now used around
the world.
A major drought tore across northern Ethiopia culminating in
2002 while I was visiting another part of the country. I asked one of our
leaders if Antsokia too was suffering. "No," came his answer.
"Antsokia has more than enough food--in fact they are exporting it to
other areas." Antsokia had gone from being a basket-case to being the
bread-basket of northern Ethiopia.
We must always ‘build back better,’ to not be satisfied solely
with temporary relief measures. This time, World Vision decided that rather
than only truck-in drinking water to drought areas in Ethiopia for those at risk,
we would quickly shift our well-drilling operations to these areas wherever
feasible—doubling the number of people we were able to reach last year with
long-lasting water solutions to over 1 million people in that nation alone.
The Chinese are correct: every “crisis” is both a danger and
an opportunity—an opportunity to creatively find solutions to the crisis which
will not only mitigate its most tragic effects, but also reduce the
vulnerability to such a crisis in the future.
There will always be droughts. But there need not
always be famines. In the world’s last famine, 2011, only 25% as many people
perished as in 1984 (obviously, 250,000 deaths is still tragic). By faith, I
believe the world is moving, albeit haltingly, toward a time "when no
child will live but a few days" as the Biblical promise puts it,
foretelling God's kingdom come fully to earth.
And meantime, especially for those of faith, danger is always opportunity.
There is always hope. We who agree with World Vision founder Bob
Pierce's prayer, "Let my heart be broken with the things that break the
heart of God," must actually allow our hearts to be broken—not once, but
when called upon by the events of our time, by the ever-stretching question, "Who is my neighbor?"
We don't get to pick the timing of disasters and tragedies,
our own or others'. We only get to choose how to respond. Janet and I just went
online
and made a meaningful donation for the famine response. This was not a guilt-tax
or a burden, but a small act of solidarity with the suffering. And—in my
optimistic moments—an act of faith in the One who holds the future and is
making all things new.
Cory
April 2017
Saturday, April 15, 2017
Into Your Courts I Come
Good Friday is for me the most meaningful “holy day” of the year. Solemnity, quietude, even an appreciation for beauty are all mixed together. It’s easy to be afraid of the day, thinking it’s intended to be morbid or self-mortifying. And I suppose some prefer it that way. Certainly, I make it a point to slowly walk the Stations of the Cross somewhere meaningful. “For us and for our sake he was crucified, died and was buried,” according to the Apostle’s Creed recited weekly in the Anglican tradition. Good Friday is intended to be the great Memorial Day for time immemorial.
But I don’t dwell a great deal on blood and nails and thorns. In Jesus’ “It is finished,” I sense an invitation to rest, and to appreciate the beauty of a world worth redeeming... in nature, music, art that speaks to the soul. So it’s a day for resting and quietly pondering, not for mortifying myself. I try to be exactly where my soul wants to be, where it finds rest and reflection. May you find that rest this Good Friday.
But I don’t dwell a great deal on blood and nails and thorns. In Jesus’ “It is finished,” I sense an invitation to rest, and to appreciate the beauty of a world worth redeeming... in nature, music, art that speaks to the soul. So it’s a day for resting and quietly pondering, not for mortifying myself. I try to be exactly where my soul wants to be, where it finds rest and reflection. May you find that rest this Good Friday.
Into Your Courts I Come
It's Good Friday.
I appreciate dreary weather on Good Friday: it fits the
solemnity of the day. But this year it's a Chamber of Commerce day for So Cal,
and I'm in warm sun at St. Michael's Abbey in Silverado, 5 miles from my home.
I attended a short midday service chanted by the monks and then walked around
the church to enjoy the day and the beauty of the abbey setting.
Above a statue of St. Michael slaying a demon, above the
bursting calla lilies, I heard odd guttural bird sounds, almost like the
grinding of teeth. I looked up to see an entire complex of swallow's nests, the
mythical swallows you can only read about now at my beloved San Juan Capistrano
Mission nearby. I'd never seen this, so close-up and intimate, so I watched the
show 'til my neck hurt. Then I grabbed a chair nearby and now I am sitting in
the sun, in calm 70-degree perfect weather, just enjoying the show. At times,
my jaw drops open spontaneously.
Right now, it's quiet. The dark faces of momma birds peer
from each hole in these trademark mud igloos built on top of one another, plastered
under the eaves of the church. Busy white beaks glance this way and that
against the dark peephole opening, while papa swallows zoom back and forth with
more supplies of mud or food.
A few minutes ago, a church attendant opened the nearby
sanctuary windows, and most of these bird-apartment dwellers flew off,
returning a few moments later in a tornado of swirling, chirping activity.
Amazing. And beautiful.
There's something else that strikes me, something I have in
common with these feathered friends: we both want to hang around the Lord's
house today. This is Good Friday, and it’s a good day to be here.
Now a lone human voice is added to the sound of birds and
fountain, and Latin chants with a holy reverberation come wafting out those
open windows to mingle with the chirp-and-grind from above. And I suddenly remember
a song we used to sing at church, taken from Psalm 84, one of the "songs
of ascent" that pilgrims would recite as they climbed toward the temple in
Jerusalem , "City of Peace ". The psalm starts with “How
lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord Almighty” and is filled with love-lines worth
reading about the Lord’s house. The song was inspired by verses 3-4:
Even the
swallow has found a nest
A place to lay her young near your altar
And we are
longing to find that rest
So into your courts we come
Into your
courts we come.
Guess I'm not unique. The psalmist found the same connection
between swallows, rest, and a holy place. And maybe it's no coincidence that
swallows seem to hang out (literally) at churches, missions, temples. And why
churches are also called sanctuaries.
And I am longing to find that same rest. So into your courts
I come. Into your courts I come.
One other group tends to be found worldwide around churches
and other “holy sites”: the begging poor. Seems they understand the connection
between faith and compassion. Sometimes,
while visiting a religious site somewhere like Ethiopia, India or even the
former Soviet Union, I feel I’m “running the gauntlet” through those in need
and I cringe inside. Yet another part of me is grateful: Grateful to realize
that “everyone knows” that commitment to God and compassion for the poor are supposed
to go hand-in-hand. And grateful to be
found in the same place; all of us together, beggars in need of bread.
Cory
3/22/08
Funny epilogue: I dawdled so long that
the big afternoon service started. The parking lot had become so overfull that
one participant apparently double-parked and hemmed me in. That service lasted
nearly three more hours. So, I
‘accidently’ got my wish... five solid hours of rest at the Abbey. :)
Thursday, April 13, 2017
Involuntary Sacrifices
Don’t
you hate it when you run across something you’ve written and realize you still
need to learn the lesson all over again? That was exactly my experience
yesterday. For Holy Week leading to Easter, I intended to send a past
meditation each day—perhaps as penance for my dearth of new entries. What thwarted
my best intentions was also the bridle I was chafing against...
Last
week, I learned I have a detached retina, which is considered a “medical
emergency” because of the potential of losing one’s sight in the impacted eye.
Frankly, I used to think that a detached retina meant your eyeball fell out of
the socket; but Janet always reminds me I was a Business major in college. I
know now the retina is like a movie screen stuck to the back wall of the eye,
and it sometimes pulls away due to age (Wait, WHAT?!!). I’ll spare you the pain
and details (which involved needles and clamps and bright-hot lasers and
cryotherapy) but I now have several spot-welds designed to tack the retina back
on the wall, and a gas bubble in my eye to press out any fluid behind it so it
can reattach itself. The gas bubble means that I feel like I’m constantly
looking through swim goggles and one is half-filled with water, which is
surprisingly disorienting and mentally exhausting. In addition, I’m supposed to
sleep sitting up for 12 days, which does not induce a sense of well-being… not
quite as bad as a flight in coach class lasting 12 nights, but that’s the idea.
After
nearly a week of increased exhaustion and a less-than-peaceful attitude, I was
convicted yesterday that none of this was a surprise to God, and I could trust
that even my limited abilities could be used by God during this time. So I
recommitted to reviewing some past meditations that might be pertinent for
sending out during Holy Week, and the first one I read (below) hit me between
the eyes (figuratively speaking), about the attitude of sacrifice and empathic
solidarity appropriate to the Lenten season, especially as we move toward Good
Friday. Sometimes our sacrifices are involuntary, but accepted and
embraced, they can be an offering just the same…
Involuntary Sacrifices
I've
finally figured out something to give up for Lent -- the use of my right
wrist... and the right to complain about it.
Three
weeks ago, I fell off a paddleboard into 18 inches of water on a rocky
coastline near me, jamming my wrist and hand. Initial x-rays were
negative, but last week my thumb was still aching, so new x-rays were ordered
and my doctor’s office called saying there was in fact a fracture and I needed
a cast…around my palm and all the way up my forearm, for a broken wrist!
The
next morning, I was still discovering new frustrations in trying to go about my
normal routine with this unhuman prosthetic device from which my captive
fingers protrude. It was a struggle to not be frustrated. It was even more a
struggle to concentrate on my Lenten devotion time, and when I finished I
melodramatically thought of the tragic passage from Jeremiah, "The summer
is ended, the harvest is past, and we are not saved." My quiet time
was over, it was time to get ready for work, and nothing had altered my
faltered state.
That's
when the revelation hit me: this minor (and temporary) infirmity could be
embraced, not fought, and with Lent upon us, this handicap might be a form of
sacrifice, albeit involuntary. Though I’d been struck by how very many
references there were in last Sunday's liturgy and Lenten hymns about fasting
and sacrifice being the normal Christian response during this season—like it
used to be for me—I hadn't yet had the bandwidth to voluntarily sacrifice
something this Lenten season. I'd felt convicted on Sunday, both by my
own lack of commitment, and in realizing how little fasting and sacrifice are
talked about, much less practiced, in “modern” Christendom.
The
least I can do—and I do admit it's the least—is to not chafe under the bridle
when an involuntary "fast" is visited upon me. Keeping my eyes
open to seeing these hindrances and obstacles as my “appointed” sacrifices, and
responding appropriately, is a spiritual discipline I need to learn. Peacefully
enduring these "light and momentary troubles" will no doubt take
energy and discipline, and require me to bring not only my body but also my
mind and spirit under submission to the Holy Spirit.
The
payoff could be exactly what I've craved this morning and throughout this
Lenten season: not only remembering in some intellectual or theoretical way,
but also to experientially participate in the sufferings of Christ in some
small measure. Isn't the purpose of Lent to find meaningful methods for
contemplating Christ’s sacrifice? I could do better at proactively choosing how to do
this, but sometimes God puts a tool right in my palm—if I’m willing to grasp
it.
Cory
March
2011
Postscript:
In the week since I first wrote this, I’ve had a transformed attitude and at
times almost joy (almost) about my formerly unwelcome appendage.
Wednesday, December 14, 2016
Turning Our Thanks into Giving
Last week, I spoke with a long-time supporter who has been
faithfully giving to Kingdom causes for many years. As she told me about a
major outreach effort in her area, I sensed a real joy in her.
The conversation reminded me of something I’ve been thinking about
lately as I work on a book I’m writing, designed to help readers integrate
their cross-cultural encounters into their ongoing lives --
Gratitude.
After a Vision Trip to Africa earlier this year, I met for a
reflective lunch with one of the travelers. "It's strange," she
confided. "Before our trip, I thought I'd feel guilty for all that I have
when I got home. But I didn't feel guilty. Instead, I felt
grateful!"
Often, when someone says that their primary response after
returning from an encounter with the extreme poor is gratitude for what they
have, I cringe inside. My mind
immediately thinks of the old saw, "There, but by for grace of God, go
I." In other words, I have
shoes. I have health-care. I have air conditioning. I'm so very grateful
I don't have to live like those poor suckers we just visited!
I'm not satisfied by a response to poverty which is focused on
thankfulness that I don’t share their plight. I don't mean to suggest
that guilt is any better reaction (even though guilt might at least cause us to
actually do something). But gratitude
for my possessions is a terrible place to stop, as we see in Jesus' parable of
the fat-and-happy farmer who built bigger barns because of his sheer pleasure
in possessing such an abundant harvest.
"You fool" is how Jesus refers to that guy. I don't
think Jesus was a fan.
But I could tell by my lunch partner’s countenance that
there was something different about her comment. There was some active energy
to it, and as I probed further, I discovered what it was: She had been moved by
what she had seen, and was grateful that she could do something about it. She
was thankful for what she has been entrusted with, because it would allow
her to make a difference for others in ways that she otherwise would not
have been able. Yes, she has accumulated material means, and increasingly
she has been drawn toward using those to lift the marginalized, those who
didn’t win the Accident of Birth Lottery like you and I did.
Suddenly her opening comment made perfect sense to me: she was
grateful for the accumulated resources that were at her disposal to allow her
to make a significant impact for the Kingdom of God and for those in
need.
Gratitude, I discovered, though not an adequate response to the
needs of the poor, can be a terrific place to start. And I've never been more thankful to hear an initial
reaction of joyful gratitude.
Then last week, this same joy of grateful action flooded over the
phone line as I spoke to a dear octogenarian giver. Her delight spilled over as
she told me of a local outreach effort she has been able to launch, simply by
providing the initial funding. Hundreds of people will be coming together in a
few days to work together on this effort, and as she related the details to me,
I could sense her humble wonder and elation.
A year earlier, she'd simply been sitting at her kitchen table with
a friend, and they began discussing this outreach idea. She blurted out to the
friend, 'I would sell [an asset] to help make that happen!' Now, what she has catalyzed—through
a resource as benign as money—has turned into a city-wide undertaking! She was
humbled, and she was grateful—grateful to have the resources to make a
difference, and grateful to have had the courage to respond with generosity.
I rejoiced with her in her joy.
After all, we all want to make our lives count.
It’s really rather amazing that
turning our thanks into giving
can turn our giving into joy.
As we approach Thanksgiving and contemplate ‘What I’m thankful for…’ let's not answer that question with
"...for what I’ve been given"
but rather "...for what I've been entrusted
with." That’s the Kingdom mindset, one which allows us to respond to
the Spirit's promptings, the opportunity to truly make a difference in the
lives of others, to make our own lives count.
And when we do this, gratitude isn't the end of the story. It’s the
beginning of the adventure.
With gratitude for you,
Cory
Thursday, October 6, 2016
All News is God News
The
news reports following Hurricane Matthew have saddened and disturbed me. As
they say, "all news is local news," I guess. The reports on
national news always seem to start with how close the hurricane is to the USA
and what preparations Americans are making to get ready. News from the
devastation in Haiti, or even Cuba or the Bahamas now, is almost a footnote,
practically an afterthought. The death toll in those places, already over 100
souls and bound to grow precipitously, apparently isn't as newsworthy as the
boarding up of windows in Miami or a potential loss of electricity in South
Carolina.
Of
course, those things matter too, but who isn't my neighbor?
How
different this is from God's view of the news (if anything is actually 'news'
to God). We do not seem capable as a society of assigning the same value
to every person. American jobs are deemed more important than Bangladeshi jobs
in this--and every--election cycle. And now our news programs show that
perhaps even American property is more newsworthy than Haitian lives.
Where
is the Reign of God in all this? Where are the so-called "people of
God?" We seem to actually be far more myopic "people of America"
with a few Bible verses thrown in to validate our self-righteousness.
I
tip my hat to Bill & Melinda Gates, whose foundation's focus is predicated
on the simple yet paradigm-altering notion that every human life has equal
value. Imagine how that guiding principle would actually lead to radically
different priorities than almost any of us live... what we read, how we donate,
our political views, how we pray.
This
is such basic Jesus stuff! Yet we ignore it completely by thinking, "Well,
I know people in Florida. I don't know anyone in Haiti. And for the record, I
don't even like Cuba."
A
World Vision donor recently made a transformational gift to significantly
expand our humanitarian work inside Syria. He'd been presented with
several options, prayed about them and called my colleague with his decision.
"I think I'm supposed to love my enemies" was all he said by
way of explanation. Let's let that soak in for a moment...
Not
all news is good news, but it is all God news. I think I'm supposed to try to
see the news, especially the people involved, the way God does.
Cory
October
2016
Sunday, July 10, 2016
Ignoring the Good Samaritan
Today marks my 35th spiritual birthday, so I was especially eager
to attend church. It was one of those services when the Anglican lectionary was
prophetic. A preacher could scour the entire Bible for the most appropriate
passage for current events and would do no better than one scheduled decades
and decades ago for today in the round-robin lectionary cycle.
After the past week of police killings and the killing of police,
the Gospel reading for today was the Good Samaritan parable (Luke 10:25-37). As my pastor John
Taylor pointed out today, for 500 years the Jews and the Samaritans had been
feuding, even at times inflicting fatal blows on each other. Deeply
entrenched distrust and spite plagued both sides.
This long-smoldering enmity is the backdrop for a despised
Samaritan to become the hero in the story Jesus told his Jewish audience. Being
a Jew himself, Jesus could present such a story deftly, knowing just where
Jewish ribs separate to neatly slip in the knife of conviction.
Understanding that the story wasn't meant only for first-century
Jews, Fr. John gave several real-life contemporary examples of equally selfless
kindnesses in the face of the hatred that might 'humanly' be expected.
Then he spoke about the little kindnesses and “benefit of the doubt”
interpretations we need to extend to each other in our attitudes and actions if
we ever hope to have a Good Samaritan-like response in a crisis.
The parable of the Good Samaritan is perhaps Jesus' most famous
story. Reaching beyond enmity and distrust with compassion is a challenge that
has constantly stayed with us for 2000 years.
And almost everyone seems to know the story, regardless of their
faith journey. To be a labeled a Good Samaritan is a wide-used compliment
in many secular as well as spiritual contexts.
It's JESUS 101. Anyone who knows anything at all about what
Jesus stands for and what Jesus taught his followers knows the Good Samaritan
story.
That's why such discouragement washed over me a few minutes
later. Midway through the sermon, my mind shot back in time just 48 hours
to a meeting I had on Friday with three energetic World Vision volunteers.
They were commenting about several emails they've recently received and
conversations they've had - as recently as that morning - where the common
message was: "Hey, what's going on with World Vision? I thought they were
a Christian organization. What in the world are they doing ministering to
Muslim refugees?!"
And the thing is, literally every person issuing this "complaint"
would call themselves a Christian. Meaning, a follower of Jesus. In that context, this doesn’t seem to be a
question that even deserves the dignity of an answer.
Is it possible to ignore Jesus' most basis, most well-known and
well-loved teaching, and still claim to be his follower? Is it possible to be shocked when an organization that claims to
be animated by the teachings of Jesus actually does things Jesus tells his
followers to do?
Jesus never created a so-called "Christian subculture.”
But there was a culture Jesus talked about until he was blue in the face.
It was the topic he discussed until he was practically a broken record.
He called it "the kingdom of God" or "the kingdom of
Heaven." We too-mindlessly pray for it to come every time we say the
Lord's Prayer: "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth, as it is in
heaven."
Our assignment is to show forth the signs of that culture, of
the kingdom coming on earth, just like the Good Samaritan did. "Let me
give you a picture of the Kingdom of God," Jesus says over and over, and
then he proceeds to tell a story, a parable, an illustration of what it will
look like when we live that Way. (As in, “This is the way; walk in it.”)
I agree with Fr. John: if we're going to get through this season
of mistrust and enmity and election accusations, we're going to have to embrace
and exercise Jesus' teaching in the small things… our interactions, our
attitudes, our distrusts.
When Jesus called us to be salt and light, I don't think he
meant we should pour that salt into the world's wounds or use our light to scorch
others or add to the world's heat. For those of us still smitten by the
Good Samaritan, Jesus has one singular instruction: "Go and do likewise."
Cory
July 2016
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