PB&J
This is the first in a series of three blogs I am about to publish that were originally one. I've decided to split them up to make organization and reading easier. They were originally one because the last one was the first blog-worthy thought that'd had both a computer and Internet available to it for about a month. Because my blogs tend to build on one another (and thank goodness- I'd like to think I'm going somewhere), it didn't seem entirely right to publish just that one without explaining where my brain's been going the past month. I'll pick up where I left off in ¡A Memorizar!: Mexico.
I spent the week bridging the end of last month and the beginning of this one in (about) Tijuana, Mexico, on a 8-day-long mission trip. I've mentioned this trip several times and each time I've said that it's another day's topic; the rant is one I give frequently in person, so I'll make it brief.
Broadly, this is the way it runs: eight days long; two in travel, one to hang out, one for church and...personal reflection (to take a leaf out of Mr. Sorensen's book), and five for work. "Work" is normally building (I think) 11' x 14' houses for families in need. There is also a church building project, a vision clinic, and a VBS program that are done every year. (I was on the latter two this year) There is worship every night. We get up early. We live in tents. It's often described as "intense." (H a h a .)
Don't get me wrong, I love the trip, and I go because I'm committed to the mission. The idea is noble. It's romantic, in a sense. I love the concept of moving Christ's body, exploring that body's unity, learning to be a part of that unity. I love the idea of such a big way to show that we don't live for ourselves. I love the idea of humility, of sacrifice, of growth. It's the Love Movement, right?
Forgive me if I come off tactless. I tend to be that way. My tactlessness is usually an attempt at honesty; honesty exposes truth; Truth is my God. So I try to pursue true things. The pursuit of truth is an instinct I treat as virtue. I'm not sure that this is wise, but seems right- like Deontology. Regardless, forgive me if I come off arrogant or insulting; I'm not judging, but observing what I experience.
For the most part, I hate the Christian Church. No secret. It is a box wrapped in pretty paper. It's self-righteous, superstitiously religious, uncommitted, badly-grounded, and hungry for converts. Worse than that, it both treats itself and is treated as if it's God himself. This makes God look like the people and the people like God, which never turns out too great. (No, God doesn't suck, and the people don't know everything.)
The deal with the Mexico trip is that I am very uncomfortable being in groups where prayer is constant and the content of the prayer is little more than asking God to bless the day and make everything run smoothly. I fight the bitchy urge to quote Romans 5- struggle seems a Christian virtue. I dislike being in groups where everything is a huge deal. This is how I stereotype Americans. Everything needs to be planned thoroughly, rules must be installed and strictly obeyed, leaders must be sergeants, progress must be charted, and there's talking about when talking will be happening. Speeches, books, papers, conversation saturated with metatalk. Paranoia. Precision.
It's important to keep in mind that these qualities are not horrible, sinful things. In fact, they're often quite positive. But I in my arrogance and weakness begin to be irritated by it when I'm surrounded by it for a week. Why these things don't bother me the other 50 weeks or what of the year I'm surrounded by Americans, I'm not entirely sure. Facetiousness and pettiness is dumbed down some at school. The way Bear Creek life works is difficult to describe: mutually-corrective; friendly, but professional; extremely academic, hopelessly nerdy, and total bubble, with the vast majority of students at a very comfortable distance from the poverty line. We discuss philosophy and theology and history at lunch or before class with teachers, and no one finds it strange to ask deep questions at random, nor to answer them thoroughly, with good thought and length.
Though I thoroughly enjoy this lifestyle, it often estranges me from other people. Being in the environment I find at the Mexico camp for a week is a very thorough, tiring workout for me. There is comparatively little of what I view as substantive conversation, and what there is often feels dry or cut-off, as if there was little to contribute. Conversation easily feels like small-talk, easily feels vacuous... like too many meals of PB&J sandwiches. This sentiment is a Summertime symptom shared by several of my peers.
But this is a very good exercise, I've discovered. It bothers me, yes, it bothers me tremendously the way the atmosphere (though not necessarily the individual) feels malnourished. It bothers me that the Church would feel that way, and that because it's the Church, the group believes it isn't that way. But it's a lesson for me on how not to be irritated, how not to judge people, how to act outside of my little bubble. How to recognize that if something looks malnourished, shallow and helpless to me doesn't mean others don't find sustenance in that. Being tested in this way is necessary- there are way more people like the ones I encounter on the Mexico trip than the ones I encounter in everyday life. If it doesn't make me happy, it seems counter-intuitive, but then again, that's usually how God works, isn't it?
Every year when we get ready for the trip, we're reminded that we need to put aside everything we want or like or think we need, because we will survive, and whatever it is that challenges us will prove to make us stronger. I've thought sometimes that it's silly to apply that to the things that bother me, because they're exactly the things that shouldn't bother me, the things that "we" put over there to help ourselves, the people that come on the trip. But nothing should bother me. If I were truly the one eating real food, this challenge would be no challenge at all.
I spent the week bridging the end of last month and the beginning of this one in (about) Tijuana, Mexico, on a 8-day-long mission trip. I've mentioned this trip several times and each time I've said that it's another day's topic; the rant is one I give frequently in person, so I'll make it brief.
Broadly, this is the way it runs: eight days long; two in travel, one to hang out, one for church and...personal reflection (to take a leaf out of Mr. Sorensen's book), and five for work. "Work" is normally building (I think) 11' x 14' houses for families in need. There is also a church building project, a vision clinic, and a VBS program that are done every year. (I was on the latter two this year) There is worship every night. We get up early. We live in tents. It's often described as "intense." (H a h a .)
Don't get me wrong, I love the trip, and I go because I'm committed to the mission. The idea is noble. It's romantic, in a sense. I love the concept of moving Christ's body, exploring that body's unity, learning to be a part of that unity. I love the idea of such a big way to show that we don't live for ourselves. I love the idea of humility, of sacrifice, of growth. It's the Love Movement, right?
Forgive me if I come off tactless. I tend to be that way. My tactlessness is usually an attempt at honesty; honesty exposes truth; Truth is my God. So I try to pursue true things. The pursuit of truth is an instinct I treat as virtue. I'm not sure that this is wise, but seems right- like Deontology. Regardless, forgive me if I come off arrogant or insulting; I'm not judging, but observing what I experience.
For the most part, I hate the Christian Church. No secret. It is a box wrapped in pretty paper. It's self-righteous, superstitiously religious, uncommitted, badly-grounded, and hungry for converts. Worse than that, it both treats itself and is treated as if it's God himself. This makes God look like the people and the people like God, which never turns out too great. (No, God doesn't suck, and the people don't know everything.)
The deal with the Mexico trip is that I am very uncomfortable being in groups where prayer is constant and the content of the prayer is little more than asking God to bless the day and make everything run smoothly. I fight the bitchy urge to quote Romans 5- struggle seems a Christian virtue. I dislike being in groups where everything is a huge deal. This is how I stereotype Americans. Everything needs to be planned thoroughly, rules must be installed and strictly obeyed, leaders must be sergeants, progress must be charted, and there's talking about when talking will be happening. Speeches, books, papers, conversation saturated with metatalk. Paranoia. Precision.
It's important to keep in mind that these qualities are not horrible, sinful things. In fact, they're often quite positive. But I in my arrogance and weakness begin to be irritated by it when I'm surrounded by it for a week. Why these things don't bother me the other 50 weeks or what of the year I'm surrounded by Americans, I'm not entirely sure. Facetiousness and pettiness is dumbed down some at school. The way Bear Creek life works is difficult to describe: mutually-corrective; friendly, but professional; extremely academic, hopelessly nerdy, and total bubble, with the vast majority of students at a very comfortable distance from the poverty line. We discuss philosophy and theology and history at lunch or before class with teachers, and no one finds it strange to ask deep questions at random, nor to answer them thoroughly, with good thought and length.
Though I thoroughly enjoy this lifestyle, it often estranges me from other people. Being in the environment I find at the Mexico camp for a week is a very thorough, tiring workout for me. There is comparatively little of what I view as substantive conversation, and what there is often feels dry or cut-off, as if there was little to contribute. Conversation easily feels like small-talk, easily feels vacuous... like too many meals of PB&J sandwiches. This sentiment is a Summertime symptom shared by several of my peers.
But this is a very good exercise, I've discovered. It bothers me, yes, it bothers me tremendously the way the atmosphere (though not necessarily the individual) feels malnourished. It bothers me that the Church would feel that way, and that because it's the Church, the group believes it isn't that way. But it's a lesson for me on how not to be irritated, how not to judge people, how to act outside of my little bubble. How to recognize that if something looks malnourished, shallow and helpless to me doesn't mean others don't find sustenance in that. Being tested in this way is necessary- there are way more people like the ones I encounter on the Mexico trip than the ones I encounter in everyday life. If it doesn't make me happy, it seems counter-intuitive, but then again, that's usually how God works, isn't it?
Every year when we get ready for the trip, we're reminded that we need to put aside everything we want or like or think we need, because we will survive, and whatever it is that challenges us will prove to make us stronger. I've thought sometimes that it's silly to apply that to the things that bother me, because they're exactly the things that shouldn't bother me, the things that "we" put over there to help ourselves, the people that come on the trip. But nothing should bother me. If I were truly the one eating real food, this challenge would be no challenge at all.
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