Dreaming Dreams, Praying Prayers

Yesterday, Janet told me she has an insistent call that won't leave her alone lately: to start a worship dance program or ministry. She was a dancer until her health took her away from it two decades ago. So this was very encouraging to hear.

I also jokingly told her I was glad it was a vision and not a dream, since Isaiah prophesize that it's the old who will dream dreams and the young who will have visions. Yeah, he was referring to men, but just in case the same principle applies to women...

It must have been a bunch of old men then who came up with this one: The U.N. declared October 17 as the International Day for the Eradication of Poverty. And this Sunday (tomorrow) is the Christian expression of that through the Micah Challenge, in which World Vision is a partner.

Eradicate poverty? Didn't Jesus say we will have the poor with us always? OK, so he was quoting a well-known verse from Deuteronomy (15:11) which was actually about giving freely to the poor, making the contrast that the disciples wouldn't always be able to act generously toward him as the “sinful” woman was doing with expensive perfume at that moment.

Even so, "eradicate" poverty? That's so... last year.

Remember the era that was, as we watch it now bobbing ever further behind us in the slipstream? Discussions of how yes, there will always be richer and poorer, but that there needn't be grinding, abject $1-a-day poverty, starvation, and double-digit child mortality rates. That we could do better, and maybe for the first time in human history, that “end of poverty” could be possible.

But this was before 2008, before the global food shortage, before the financial meltdown. So even as 100 million additional people are at risk of slipping into poverty due to today’s higher costs of the food they need to survive, we in the wealthier nations are focused on keeping our boat afloat. And it’s a reality that every time a boat gets “bailed out”, precious things get thrown overboard.

I see those yesteryear dreams trailing in the water behind us now.

The Micah Challenge offers a prayer for this Sunday, which probably made so much sense when it was written several months ago and yet now seems so naive if not obtuse to what's really on the minds on world leaders right now… and the rest of us, for that matter:

God of all creation:
We pray to you at a moment in history of unique potential,
when the stated intentions of world leaders
echo something of the mind of the Biblical prophets
and the teachings of Jesus concerning the poor, and
when we have the means to dramatically reduce poverty.

Today, we want to commit ourselves, as followers of Jesus,
to work together for the holistic transformation of our communities,
to pursue justice, be passionate about kindness
and to walk humbly with God.

We pray that you will transform the hearts of decision-makers
of both rich and poor nations, to fulfill their public promise
to those living in impoverished and marginalized communities;
the promise they made to bring an end to extreme poverty.

We pray that your Spirit will stir Christians everywhere
to be agents of hope for and with the poor,
and to work with others to hold our leaders accountable
in securing a more just and merciful world.

May your kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven.
In justice, mercy and humility we pray.
Amen.

Maybe it’s still worth our praying fervently this Sunday.

Each time I re-read it, pray it, I feel sad at how far back those dreams seem already; yet stirred afresh with Jesus’ own prayer at the end “May your kingdom come on earth…” Hope deferred make the heart sick; but deferred is not defeated.

A donor friend asked me this week: “Why don't we hear about AIDS any more? Is it still a problem?” The operative word is “hear”, of course. Those stories have long since been crowded out of newspapers and news shows by stories about the economic crisis. So the food shortage and the AIDS pandemic and impacts on “the least of these” take a back seat... in our minds and in our media.

It's always been that way. And it's just as true for me as anyone... more on that next time.

Lord, help us dream dreams and have visions. As misguided and naive as some of the more recent efforts to address poverty have been, I will far more rue the day when the world and the followers of Jesus forgot. Forgot to care. Forgot how much You care. Forgot to dream.

Cory
PS: To commemorate Micah Sunday alone or with your church, visit for resources: http://www.micahchallenge.us/micah_sunday.shtml
“And what does the LORD require of you but to act justly, love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." Micah 6:8

A Global Day of Prayer

October 1st marks the start of World Vision’s fiscal year, and around the globe, every office dedicates the entire day to prayer and thanksgiving. The WVUS and WVI offices on the West Coast are the last legs in a marathon that starts 16 hours earlier in Australia and moves around the world through almost 100 countries. It’s quite a stunning and unique commitment in an organization of this size and breadth.

This year, I’m attending the Global Day of Prayer with WVUS near Seattle as I write this. I look forward each year to concentrated prayer for global needs but had forgotten about the powerful time we spend praying for donors. There must have been over 15,000 donor prayer requests this year, more than in any previous year, and each of the 500+ attendees was given a stack of 25 cards. These hand-written tear-offs were mailed in along with the donor’s contribution. We dedicated an hour, praying silently over each request and sending a postcard back to each writer.

What a powerful reminder this was of why I love World Vision. It impacts 100 million people in 100 countries. ("Good to Great" author Jim Collins commented to Rich Stearns yesterday that World Vision in 10 years could make more impact on global poverty than the U.S. government. I doubt that, but WV makes a big impact.)

But how does that impact happen? Through the faithful widow's mite, through the hearts of the humble. Today we were brought into intimate encounters with those humble enough to ask for prayer, to pour their hearts out to some stranger, yet not to a faceless institution or bureaucracy but to a ministry partner: whether from a sense of connection or one of desperation, they asked for prayer as an act of faith.

Breathe slowly through a few requests I had the privilege of lifting up:

-For my missionary nephew in China with a rare bone cancer…
-That God gives us a bigger home, so we can take in more foster kids - to love those children…
-For my father to not be in pain…
-That God would forgive me from my "sexall" sins and that Jesus lets me up in heaven…
-Heal fractures in my family…
-My children... My children and my grandchildren... My sponsored children’s health and their families...All the poor and abandoned children...
-All the hungry and homeless people; my needs are minor compared to theirs…
-Friendship with other single seniors who love our Lord. Sometimes I feel lonely…
-For my 10-year old, that if it is God's will He would spare her the ravages of this disease…
-That my friend leaving prison would heed the Spirit and avoid trouble…
-For a young mother with life-threatening cancer…
-For my husband's return to our girls and to me. He doesn't see them or even return their calls…
-I haven't worked in almost a year: pray for work…
-For my granddaughter on drugs and on parole, and for her twins now being raised by her own middle-aged parents…
-That we could pay off our credit card debt so our family of 6 could adopt children in need…
The final prayer card stopped me in my tracks: an 87-year-old woman who was practically beside herself about how some ministry told her that God had led them to her and they really needed her money, and she had given them all she had or could give, so her sponsorship pledge would be late. She asked prayer for forgiveness from God in case she made wrong decisions on giving away her money… I'm keeping that one in my office.

Praying through these requests was such a privilege. I kept the cards and prayed through them again today (Sunday). And I was viscerally struck with the reality that this tapestry of donors large and small hangs in the parabolic banquet hall of the King: rich & poor, young and old, black and white, highly educated or lowly, many with hearts far larger than their checking accounts.

No gift too small or too large to fit onto a $1.2 billion offering plate lifted up to the Lord... mingled with the incense of the fervent prayers of the fragile and the hurting who gave what they could. Gave to meet another's need in the midst of their own needs. 'I'm not working, but here's my gift and my prayer request.' 'I'm broken-hearted; here's my contribution to help heal the broken.'

Woven together into a fabric so diverse and beautiful, of which we are each but one small yet infinitely precious part. One puzzle piece praying for another piece. Neither one above or greater than the other.

My heart hurts for these needs. This time, it's not the needs of the recipients but of the givers. For as we are all wounded healers, we are givers who are also in need of receiving.

I sat alone writing this after the prayer session as everyone ate their box lunch in the foyer. Alone with my thoughts. Alone with my prayer cards. Spent. A friend walked over to chat and I couldn't do it. This was a holy hour, and I was in a sanctuary, having been invited to walk through the private dreams and pains of 25 faithful partners in this ministry.

Corrected perhaps from the creeping tendency of seeing donors at times more as spigots filling a coffer, as ATM machines. Of exalting the big gift over the widow's mite.

But mainly I'm simply in awe—of the fellowship of saints which is the World Vision donor family; and of the privilege and the awesome responsibility of stewarding their sacred trust. Everything World Vision has comes from God, but it comes through the hands of His servants, many of whom—maybe all of whom—give to alleviate the suffering of others even in the midst of their own.

Mining Olympic Gold

Mining Olympic Gold

The latest World Vision magazine came last week, with a vulnerable child on the cover, over the title "Comfort in CRISIS". I cringe a little each time I look at it, and truthfully, I haven't yet been able to bring myself to read it yet.

In contrast, the opening ceremony for the Beijing Olympics was Friday evening. I had almost no interest this year in the Games, and could not have told you even 3 days earlier what day the Games would start. Yet I ended up watching almost every moment of the Opening's compellingly gorgeous display of stylized Chinese culture (admittedly mixed with a hefty dose of propaganda). Even the long procession of national teams arrayed in nationally-appropriate clothing was hard not to watch.

Here was God's diversity on display, a sumptuous banquet of international brotherhood, youthful vigor, and excellence. A pinnacle of humanity and mankind's achievement.

I'm now recording much of the coverage, yet still wondering what thrills I'm missing each day. And this from someone who had read almost nothing beforehand about the coming Games nor had any intention to pay attention to them.

As soon as we flipped on the opening ceremony, it was as Renee Zellwegger admits in the movie Jerry McGuire, "You had me at 'hello'".

There is something invitational about the Olympics, in contrast to what I felt about the WV magazine. One is like a book titled "Good News", the other titled "Bad News".

At times it takes courage to pick up "Bad News" and read it. Kay Warren did that 5 years ago from a Time magazine article about AIDS, and her entire life's trajectory was changed ever since. Now the current issue of Time has Kay's husband Rick on the cover: a story featuring the church's work in Rwanda, and much of that focus came out of Kay's passion around HIV and AIDS. “Bad News” has that power, if we’re willing to open ourselves to it.

Lately, I haven't felt much courage; yet I've been enjoying my work more, which is nice to report! But I also realize (a bit ashamedly) that's in part because I'm working on some special projects behind the 'frontlines'. A "special task force" is more my temperament these days than a prayer circle or a "weep for those who weep" gathering.

Every soldier needs some time off the frontline, and I'm appreciating the break. I'm also appreciating the chance to focus on the Olympics, on some of what is best about our global family, even with its backdrop of political repression and the sudden "where in the world did that come from" conflict in former Soviet Georgia (to which World Vision is already responding).

Truth be told, I'm hardly leaving the frontline; I'm actually taking on an additional role of team leader for our SoCal team. Deploying team members and thinking more broadly will be mixed in with my continued personal donor development efforts. So actually, more is on my plate, yet I'm excited about it.

But these Summer Games are a nice reminder to me right now of what our world can do: we can celebrate humanity, we can get along—if only to compete, we can celebrate the drama of the athlete who beats the odds and their personal demons, we can be patriotic without being xenophobic.

Yes, there is always a dark backdrop. But sometimes it's nice to simply enjoy looking at the glass half-full, celebrate and lift it high, and enjoy its bouquet as a foretaste of a kingdom without end, of peace on earth and goodwill toward all.

Enjoying that new wine is good for the soul—and restores my courage.

Cory

Who Is My Neighbor?

Today I read a short devotional excerpt by Henri Nouwen that jumped out:
"Love your neighbor as yourself" the Gospel says (Matthew 22:38). But who is my neighbor? We often respond to that question by saying: "My neighbors are all the people I am living with on this earth, especially the sick, the hungry, the dying, and all who are in need." But this is not what Jesus says. When Jesus tells the story of the good Samaritan (see Luke 10:29-37) to answer the question "Who is my neighbor?" he ends the [parable] by asking, "Which, ... do you think, proved himself a neighbor to the man who fell into the bandits' hands?" The neighbor, Jesus makes clear, is not the poor man laying on the side of the street, stripped, beaten, and half dead, but the Samaritan who crossed the road, "bandaged his wounds, pouring oil and wine on them, ... lifted him onto his own mount and took him to an inn and looked after him." My neighbor is the one who crosses the road for me!
I admit, this flipped my head upside down. True, over the years it occasionally struck me a bit puzzling that Jesus offered the answer he gave, providing what seems like an answer to a different question: "To whom should I be a neighbor?"
Then I wondered if it was nothing but a clever mental gymnastic: interesting but insignificant. After all, the story has the same conclusion either way.
But what changes is: who am I in the question of "Who is my neighbor?" And there is the rub.
For of course, in my mind I am the potential Good Samaritan. I am the empowered, the resourced. And therefore that this is a story to evoke roughly a 'noblesse oblige' response--the obligation of the fortunate (literally those born into nobility) to bestow voluntary charity on the unfortunate.
But Nouwen is right: Jesus didn't intend this top-down view in his story. Once again, our cultural overlay has tweaked my interpretation.
For Jesus answered the scribe who wished to justify himself by asking, "Who is my neighbor?" with the story of a Jewish man beaten and helpless and then asks: ‘who is this man's neighbor?’ So by telling the story in this way, surely in some measure he wants us too to see ourselves as the one in need, in need of a neighbor like that.
And in terms of an attitude of ministry, that makes all the difference. I am not a beneficent benefactor bestowing blessing from my impenetrable perch, but a fellow traveler, just as vulnerable and needy, with just as much to receive as to give. Today I am the one coming upon a waylaid fellow traveler; tomorrow I may need a fellow traveler to stop and tend to my wounds.
The story ends with Jesus' words "Go and do likewise."
Go, knowing we travel the same path of mottled shadowlands and light. Go, keeping an eye on the ditches for those waylaid. Go, remembering that we each will play both roles in the story, sometimes the helpless, sometimes the helping. (And too often the disavowing passerby in need of forgiveness.) Go, viewing everyone at eye level, the common road our equalizer, replacing "noblesse oblige" with Jesus' paradigm—that of the wounded healer.
Then, when we go, we will walk gingerly, admitting our common need for one another, for Good Samaritans, and for a Good Shepherd.
Cory
7-20-08

What is Eaten in One Week around the World

What is Eaten in One Week around the World
Friends, Here's a different sort of entry without comment... the photos and captions say a mouthful. See this link from a seminarian's blog (whom I don't know at all nor endorse) who has these powerful photos and captions posted... http://approachingnorth.blogspot.com/2008/02/what-is-eaten-in-one-week-around-world_25.html
I hope you'll take a moment to study them carefully & prayerfully. In light of the current global food crisis, it's important to note that those who are eating the least will be the most negatively impacted and least able to afford higher prices for basic commodities.
Finally, please be in prayer this week for the G8 Summit, as the leaders of the wealthy nations discuss global issues, and how they spend their time can have a major impact on "the least of these our brothers and sisters." See the prayer request below for more... Cory
Dear colleagues, The leaders of the world’s wealthiest nations – Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, Russia, UK and USA – will be gathering in Hokkaido-Toyako, Japan for the annual G8 meeting beginning next week. The decisions taken between 7-9 July will impact the lives of the most vulnerable people on our planet – those whom World Vision is serving every day – and the actions taken could mean life or death for thousands of children. Therefore, I am calling on the whole World Vision Partnership to join together to pray that the outcome of these meetings will benefit the poor. In particular, pray that the G8 leaders: * Provide a detailed timetable with annual targets to show how they plan to meet their 2005 aid commitments to developing countries; * Support health in developing countries with long-term funding for health systems so the world has a chance of achieving the Millennium Development Goals for health, especially maternal and child health, HIV and AIDS, education and water and sanitation; * Come up with the funding they promised to give to reduce the number of children infected with HIV as a result of mother-to-child transmission and to protect children who have lost their loved ones to AIDS; * Take urgent action to tackle climate change in a way that will benefit the poor. * Act quickly and decisively in response to increased hunger and undernutrition, especially among children, due to the rise in global food prices.

Beauty & the Beach

I had an all-round lovely day today—took 10 entrepreneur donors to visit Tijuana projects. Everybody was very encouraged by the visit.
I hadn't visited the Pedrigal community in a year but carried vivid memories of hovels built on the trash-heaped hillside, as did some of the returning visitors. But when we went there, we were amazed at how many permanent housing improvements were being made by community members. Cinder block walls seemed to be going up all around.
In these squatter settlements, housing improvements may be the best measure of the level of hope in a community, hope that they can stay and make a life and won't be bulldozed away, hope that the local municipal government will care for them instead of harass them, hope for their future. Turning a plywood ramshackle shack into a cinderblock and stucco home is a huge investment; one that poor-yet-wise people only make to put down roots, to stake a claim, as both a desire to reduce their vulnerability and a reflection of already-reduced vulnerability. So that was a big deal.
Bouncing in the back of the van next to Becca, one visitor's 10-year-old granddaughter who joined us, I asked her what she'll remember most from the day. She told me she'd remember playing ball with two boys. "But it wasn't the playing, really. It was seeing that they were happy, even though they were so poor. They were happy anyway, for what they have. That was really something." Out of the mouths of babes...
Back at the border, we all hugged and went our separate ways home. I was just in time for rush hour going up I-5, so I took Hwy 1 instead up to Encinitas main beach, thinking I might take a refreshing ocean swim. I chickened out in the end [thankfully, as this was 36 hours before a swimmer was killed by a shark nearby], but meantime I saw something like an apparition. As the low sun's glare and the springtime wind both bounced off the ocean toward me, there on the sparsely populated beach was a young woman and a hoola-hoop. I'd never seen this kind of acrobatics before, but she could move the hoop seemingly anywhere she wanted to with the slightest hip-pop or sway. The hoop obeyed each command her movements gave it; traveling down from a hand high above her head to her neck, around her knees, then back around one arm, then spinning one way as she spun herself around and around the other, the hoop now down around one knee while the other leg extended in an arabesque, then the hoop vertically spinning on her shoulders while she leaned over horizontally. On and on. Such a fluid motion. She made it look easy and relaxing, though I'm sure I'd be either defeated in ten seconds or exhausted in thirty. Her blousy shirt and jeans, along with the distance at which I stood, made it hard to know for sure, but she must have been in good shape to do this. This was art. Her body and the hoop were one. And with the sunlight sparkling off the choppy lines of surf behind her, and the wind in my face, it was an experience of beauty to behold.
At first she seemed so showy, but there were only a handful of people around, and for some reason no one seemed to pay her much attention. I wish someone had officially announced her performance, so I wouldn't have felt self-conscious in watching, as though I were gawking. I wish I'd paid more attention, instead of talking to the lifeguard up on the sandbank, still thinking about swimming and only furtively glancing at her, marveling each time and momentarily losing myself in the art. There was a show here, on display, a conspiracy of dancing sun-light and dancing woman-lithe, a dance of earth, wind, woman and sea.
And when I finally took off my shoes and took a walk down to the surf's edge where she was dancing and circling and swaying, making music with a hoola hoop, knowing I could also watch her more clearly from there without the sun's glare; that's of course the very moment when she packed up and left.
Just as well. Some sights are better from a distance.
Somehow at a distance she seemed a tiny dancer, free as the wind in my face, making real a celebration of unhindered freedom, expression, maybe even of hope. In her sun-dance, she and the sun and the wind and the sand seemed to all be cooperating somehow in prophesying that future of freedom and hope that we saw being mixed into the cement of each new cinder block wall in Pedrigal. To see them in the eyes of my heart unhindered, free to express, create, build, become anything. She was dancing out the fullness I discovered in my heart, anyway. God has a future and a hope for our Pedrigal friends; He knows what it is. But for us, visualizing their future, just like my attempts to see this tiny dancer, is something elusive, seen only as from a distance, through a glass dimly, and which somehow moves away when you try to get too close, or examine too closely. But at a distance, it beckons; and even the beckoning was a delight and celebration, a perfect final act to the day.
Cory
April 23, 2008