What I like about you: Musings in the life of a seminarian!

For the past two years I've been engaged in a seminary program at George Fox Evangelical Seminary in Portland, Oregon.  When I finish this semester, I will officially be half way done with my Master of Divinity.  Now that sounds wonderful, doesn't it?  I will certainly be happy to have completed my masters program and be ready for a break from academia. . . at least on a formal basis.  Why is it that I would subject myself to this when I have a family, full-time ministry and part-time production work?  It's not like I need one more thing in my life.  This is what I like and daresay love about my seminary experience. . .

I like that I have a minority voice.  That's not to say that I'm not able to speak and share my thoughts and opinions but rather that they don't necessarily or even often represent the thoughts, opinions, and experiences with my fellow classmates.  In a sense it humbles me and helps me to see that God is at work in ways that I am unaware of and not privy to in my world back home.  In a very real way, I have a voice for this very reason.  In a homogenous world where the majority speak so loudly, the minority and dare I say prophetic voices go unheard and unnoticed.

I like that our cohort (group of 20 or so students studying together) represent the gamut of Christian faith.  Baptists, Presbyterians, Methodists, Quakers, Pentecostals, and various other traditions are represented in our little microcosm of the country and the church.  And in these various traditions, we have students that identify themselves as pacifists as well as a couple that have devoted their lives to serving in the armed forces.  I even love that one of my pacifist friends declared, "Although I am a Quaker, I am glad that there is more firepower in my community than anywhere on the planet."  Within this very special community there is respect and admiration for each other.

I like that we come from all walks of life and from places all over the country.  Our cohort consists of friends from Hawaii and Alaska, Montana, Washington, Oregon, California, Nevada, Colorado, Ohio, Missouri, Indiana, Oklahoma, Arkansas and Virginia.  We are pastors, counselors, pharmacists, social workers, writers, entertainment managers, teachers, military personnel, clerical workers, missionaries, and more.  Many of us wear multiple hats and are processing why we're in seminary at all.  But the processing is taking place and the beauty found in our diversity is formational.

I like that while my own tribe back home leans to the right politically, my educational tribe leans to the left politically.  I have been exposed to and become passionate about so many justice issues that weren't even on my radar before seminary.  One example of this is that we watched a documentary in one of my classes on Dumpster Diving as social action and a justice issue.  Half of the food we produce gets thrown away every year in America.  Much of this food is absolutely fine for human consumption and with a little creative effort could feed our homeless and hungry population with only a fraction of what we toss.  I like this about seminary.

I like that through all of this I'm seeing a richer, fuller and more beautiful picture of the Bride of Christ.  It's easy to think that the church is whatever you see and experience in a given context.  Seminary is broadening my perspective and giving me hope that just maybe God is at work beyond my little world back home.  Thank you George Fox for opening the eyes and heart of this seminarian.

Haiti/DR Video

My friend Mark Gould did an amazing job capturing our week of mission here!  Enjoy!

The Longest Day. . . Pt 3 The End of the Journey

Part 3: The End of the Journey

For the next several hours after arriving in the Dominican Republic, we stopped at 10 immigration/police check points where we were asked for our passports, made another stop along the side of the road for passengers needing to relieve themselves, and a dinner stop where everything finally got to Mimi.  Mimi had asked one of our new Haitian friends from the bus to buy a water for her. . . she gave her the only $1 we had.  We still had 2 $20 bills but were holding onto those for dear life at this point.  The lady at the restaurant began yelling at the woman and that was all Mimi could take.  The Haitian and Dominican women gathered around her and comforted her.  They paid the remainder of the water and gave her a plate of food.  Angels had arrived to minister to my wife in a beautiful way and even provided water from a rock and manna from heaven.  By now we were sure that this day would never come to an end.

So we got back on the bus. . . I used my roaming data to determine that we were still about an hour from Barahona.  Mind you we were informed that this was between a 3-4 hour trip and it was now approximately 7:30 p.m. and we had started our journey at 10:00 a.m.  I was beginning to feel a bit like Gilligan on a three hour tour. . . (apologies to those born after 1980 for that childhood reference).  At about 8:30 p.m. we rolled into the outskirts of Barahona and we were home free. . . or so we thought.

The bus “Mommi” who had promised to take us to the bus station in Barahona, determined that our time on the bus had come to an end and that the Americanos had to disembark immediately.  To her credit, I know she was looking ahead to the remaining 3 hour trip into the capital city and realizing this trek was taking too long even for the natives.  She informed us that the man in front of us who was also getting off the bus would insure our safe travel the rest of the way.  We were caught in a momentary panic.  “What do we do?”  “Are they going to rob us and leave us somewhere?”  Reluctantly and with a bit of encouragement from my wife’s new “angels” we got our luggage and put it into the back of a pick-up and headed towards Barahona.  

The driver was making good time, flying through the windy roads.  Mimi commented, “I like how this guy drives.”  Obviously we were anxious to get to our destination.  Just as she said that we passed a speed limit sign that said, “70 KM” and we both instinctively looked at the man’s speedometer to see how fast he was going.  It turns out the speedometer didn’t work and we got a big kick out of that.  I reminded Mimi that the bus driver was much more cautious and did not want to hit a pot hole (which I counted 745 on the journey) and blow a tire.  As if my words were prophetic beyond my expectation we hit a pot hole and blew a tire.  The driver continued to drive, slowed to about 80% of his previous speed and kept going towards Barahona.

Eventually we found a place to pull over and did so.  The tire and rim were destroyed!  Our new friends informed us that Barahona was only 3 KM in “that direction”.  We called our friends in Barahona and as we were talking with them, these friends flagged down a passing vehicle and we got into yet another vehicle with yet another person we do not know.  At this point and perhaps even before, Mimi and I are getting quite punchy.  We are certain that some people will accuse us of making this stuff up.... but it is true.

Less than five minutes after we were wisked into the second pickup truck, we finally arrived at the Barahona Bus Depot to meet up with our Children of the Nations staff.  A few minutes later we arrived at a land flowing with milk and honey which was expressed in exotic fruit juices, pizza, and a swimming pool.  It was 9:30 p.m. when we completed our journey, that we had anticipated being at by noon.

Promised Land Pool

Main Casa for Children of the Nations

A couple of side notes that we’ve discovered since we have returned to the states.

1. The bus trip to the border should have taken 1 hour, plus 1 hour through customs and 1 1/2 hours to Barahona from the border to equal 3 1/2 hours as we had anticipated.
2. The lake/border we crossed and several points considered getting out and wading through, is crocodile infested.  The salt-water crocs have made the lake (which has a high volume of salt in it) their new home and there have been many warnings issued by the Dominican government in this regard.  I’m really glad I didn’t know this ahead of time.
3. The DR is the second safest country in Latin America to Costa Rica.  We certainly experienced that as angels in the guise of fellow bus passengers and pick-up drivers on the outskirts of town delivered us to our destination.

Dorms in Tropical Paradise

So the question is: who’s going to the DR with me next summer?  I’m starting the recruiting today!

For the Longest Time. . . Part 2

Part 2:

As we arrived at the immigration and customs offices, and I do use the term loosely, we began to understand the gravity of our situation.  As we looked outside our window we saw several buildings and vehicles that were taking on water.  I presumed that the buildings were in fact the customs office.  It was obvious that in order to pass through the border I was going to have to take the passports through the water to the make-shift shelters that were set up.  

The passenger behind me graciously decided to “help” me through customs.  He took our passports, waded through the water to the Haitian Immigration office (I use that term extremely lightly, it was a table under a tarp giving shade to the workers).  Oh by the way, the "leaving the country tax" went from $20 to $30 with his “help” because after all, I needed him.  By now we didn't have much cash and we refused to pay the extra $10 for "help".  He insisted that he would help and so we were off.  He then proceeded to the Dominican immigration office (similar to Haitian immigration) and translated for me.  Once again, I paid the visa fee to enter the country and then took 2 of our 4 bags to the baggage check table.  The lady opened our suitcases, said “ropa” to the lady next to her and zipped it back up.  Upon completing this process, I did end up giving my new friend a $5 bill as a thank you for his help, which he took as a complete insult. He wanted $10 to which I replied that I didn't have $10.  We were rationing big time by now and I certainly wasn't going to give this guy my last $20 with who knows how much longer to go on the journey.  He was ungrateful but took the $5.  Mimi told me when I returned to the bus that he was complaining about what a cheapskate I was.  Oh well, he's right and I'd do it again under the same circumstances.

Bob & Dominican "Helper" at Customs Baggage Check

After about 20-30 more minutes of sitting on the bus waiting for our one mile trip through the lake to the promised land of the Dominican Republic, we were once again yanked off the bus and sent back to immigration.  Mimi and I had no idea what to expect.  The “Mommi” of the bus was yelling at immigration and insisting in Dominican indignation that we had already passed through and received our entrance visas, which we had.  It took 2 officers checking our documents a second and third time in order to release us once again.  We thought, “surely we’ll now be on our way.”  

Unfortunately, we waited an additional 30-40 minutes while there was extreme haggling going on regarding a lady (Dominican and Spanish speaking, but traveling with US passport) who had brought a television on the bus.  She was seated directly in front of Mimi on the bus.  They wanted her to pay the import tax . . . which was paid by “Mommi” after much noisy argument and consternation.  “Mommi” then took it upon herself to lay into the lady on the bus in no uncertain terms.  Even though I didn’t catch half of what she was actually saying, I’m pretty sure she was not inviting her to dinner at her home. I had to chuckle to myself. . . “was this the same sweet lady who was praying for us earlier in the day?” 

Also during this time, the Dominican “Sheriff” had made his way onto the bus to assert his authority. While he was checking documents and hassling the locals at the back of the bus, he was invading my personal space in a big way.  While this is not often an issue for me, the fact that his large frame and his 9mm pistol was jammed into my leg was not all pleasant.  I joked with Mimi about having to explain to people how I lost my leg.... “Well I was on a bus from Haiti to the DR when. . .” 

The entire time we were at the border and for much of the journey, the air conditioning was not working.  Apparently it needed us to be traveling at least 10 miles per hour in order to run and we rarely reached that top speed.  Needless to say, we were sweltering in the heat and humidity and were aware of our surroundings and our neighbors in more ways than we cared to.

The bus then got in line behind approximately 5,432 other large vehicles trying to pass through the border. Did I mention there might be water?  Well there was.  The lake has no natural way to drain and the recent rains had caused its shores to overflow and put several buildings, cars, and the road all under water.  There was anywhere from 1 1/2- 3 feet of standing water on the road at the border crossing.  It was good that we were in a bus.  Some more daring souls were actually carrying there luggage and wading the mile or so across the lake.  This was insanity in my mind.

We moved slowly for approximately 10-15 minutes and then we stopped.  Mimi thinks it was for an hour to an hour and a half.  I’m certain it was longer than that.  We didn’t move. . . for what seemed like an eternity.  And then we did. . . a whole 3-4 car or bus lengths and then stopped again.  It went on like this for another hour or so.  And then as if God were parting the Red Sea for Moses, the traffic opened up and we crossed the water into the promised land, Jimani, Dominican Republic.

Some funny things that happened at the border/lake. . . The lady in front of us, who brought the TV, ordered four hard boiled eggs from a street vendor out her window.  Several people got off and on the bus for reasons that baffled me and some never returned including the man who “helped” us with customs. Several people who were not on our bus previously hopped aboard for the maiden voyage.  We were offered jewelry, sunglasses, food, watches, cigarettes, ice cream and more through our window. 

For my friends who have travelled between San Diego and Tijuana, I want you to know that I have a new found appreciation and respect for the order at the border there, even on the Mexican side.  The Hatian/Dominican border was so far removed from anything I have ever experienced before and likely will never again experience it.  We have determined that future trips will be done through the airports, so as to not to rely on the crazy border situations.  My friend Ray, who was with us for part of the journey, says it well.  “The Dominican Republic is a third-world country. . . Haiti is a sixth-world country.”   

I know you all are going to accuse me of being dramatic and exaggerating the story for effect, but hear me when I say that I am not doing so in this instance.  Keith King, our fearless leader, says that the truth about Haiti is stranger than any fiction and more unbelievable.  I would even argue that the situation was much more dramatic and humorous than I am even describing here.  But I am only giving the high/lowlights of the journey, so there you have it.

Check out this link: Flooded Jimani Crossing

Part 3: Coming soon!

For the Longest Time.... a simple 3 hour tour from Haiti to the Dominican Republic

Caveats for the following story...

1. Our primary reason for this trip was to participate in meal distribution in Barahona, D.R.
2. We had tried/planned/expected to leave Haiti the day before but were unable to for a number of reasons.... some of which will be clearer as the story unfolds.

June 23, 2011, was in fact the longest day on record in my life.  While you might hear a hint of anxiety or frustration in the tone of that first line, the truth is that our emotions ran the gamut between sadness, gladness, courage and intrepidation.

Mimi and I in the back of our Tap Tap!

At precisely 6:45 a.m. our Tap Tap (that is Haitian-Creole for crazy painted taxi) arrived to transport us to the Caribe Tours Bus Depot, with whom our coordinator in the states had just made special arrangements for our safe passage to Barahona.  Caribe Tours is a fleet of luxury bus lines that are complete with air conditioning, bathrooms, and private video monitors.  I even decided to wear a collared shirt so as to dress up a bit for our journey.  We were well prepared with Jimmy our translator, Oxidal, our navigator, and Eve, our driver.  All three Haitian helpers were certain they knew exactly where to go.  Their certainty should have been my first clue that we were headed for adventure of colossal proportions.

By 7:35 a.m., we arrived at Capital Coach Bus Tours. . . I want to remind you that we were set to ride Caribe Tours.  So after explaining this to our Haitian friends about 65 times, we then proceeded to go to another bus company down the street. . . also not Caribe Tours.  So our 3-4 hour trip to Barahona, Dominican Republic got off to a bumpy start to say the least.  By the way, our Caribe Tours bus was set to embark at 8:00 a.m.  When the second bus station informed us that they would not be willing/able to accommodate us, we headed back to Capital Coach, because Caribe Tours was on the entire other side of Port au Prince.  At precisely 8:15, we were informed that the 8:30 Capital Coach bus to Santo Domingo was full and that we would have to take the 10:00 a.m. bus.  By 8:25, we were informed that the bus would not stop at Barahona for any reason. . . and that in fact it was dangerous to do so.

Jimmy, our translator extraordinaire, then remembered that there was a local bus (notice Not tour bus), that would go directly to Barahona.  We said, “We’ll take it”.  Unfortunately, that would mean a drive through the capital to an unnamed bus station on the other side of town.  We arrived at 9:45 a.m. as the bus was loading for a 10:00 a.m. departure.  We paid way too much money to get on the bus, but were happy to be making progress and they agreed to drop us off at the Bus Depot in Barahona, which was more or less on the way to Santo Domingo, the bus' final destination.  I was informed that the fare would be $40 US per person.  Upon handing the man the $80, I saw him pocket one of the four $20, but was determined to get to Barahona no matter what it took.  We were just happy that someone was finally willing to take care of us.  For comfort Jimmy and Oxidal decided to ride with us back to Croix des Bouquets, where we started the whole day.  A little irony goes a long way on a day like this!  As we were leaving the bus depot, the bus “Mommi” prayed an earnest and spirited prayer for our safety and for getting through the border.  I thought at the time, “how nice that she would pray for us.”

An hour or more bus ride back through Port au Prince, which by the way is still a city in complete and utter disarray, and we arrived at Croix des Bouquets where my two friends disembarked and wished us well in our travels.  We did have to make a pitstop as three Haitian ladies had to answer the call of nature outside my window on the side of the bus.  That is an image I will not soon get out of my head!  I thought surely now, we will start making progress to Barahona.

About this time . . . and approximately 10 minutes outside Croix des Bouquets, we stopped for lunch.  Stopped for lunch, however, meant that someone got out of the bus at an outdoor food stand of sorts and ordered food for many of the people on the bus.  Mimi and I were incredulous.  “Are you serious?” I believe was Mimi’s response.  So now we’ve been on this trek for four hours and 35 minutes and have traveled approximately five miles towards our destination.  This would prove to be the norm rather than the exception on this particular journey. . . adventure. . . quest. . . thing (bone for Tolkien fans).

After everyone fed their faces we once again started on our way.  About an hour to an hour and a half later we arrived at the lake that serves as the primary Southern border crossing between Haiti and the Dominican Republic.  I was never so excited to see a third-world (looked like it was a war zone) border crossing in my life.  I had heard rumors that it might take an hour to get through customs and the road was supposedly under water in places, but the end was in sight . . . or so I thought. 

To be continued. . .

Job's Hell, Hope and Healing for Others

In my Old Testament class last week, we studied the book of Job, one of the most amazing and difficult writings in all of Scripture.  We explored questions about why God would barter with Satan, why suffering happens, how we respond to those who are suffering, and what this means for us today.  We looked at the overall view of suffering in the book and the picture of restoration at the end.  It is a glorious picture of God making things right again.  It would have been a picture of hope to the people of God who were experiencing the brokenness of being in exile and their future laying in ruins.

Since our study, which continues to swirl around my mind, I have had no less than four individuals and couples approach me about advice and/or counseling.  Each of them in the midst of their own Job-like loss and suffering.  God has enabled me to be present with each one in their suffering....something that Job's friends were unable to do with him.  He has also allowed me to give a glimmer of hope through the story of Job to each of these people.  God continues to use the story of Job to bring hope to a world suffering so much.

I imagine that many in Japan today are reeling the events of the past 36 hours.  There are thousands of Job stories out there and as the people of God, we are to be present with them in their suffering...and to offer a vision of hope for the future.  Let's find ways to be agents of hope in this time of suffering and uncertainty.

A Whole Lotta Hoopla About Hell

Rodin's Gates of Hell in Paris

Since the firestorm this past weekend surrounding a new book by Pastor/author Rob Bell, and the self-appointed heresy police, heaven and hell seem to be on everyone's minds...at least everyone in Twitterland and the Blogosphere who follow certain emerging or neo-calvinist leaders and pastors.  I've read several blogs and takes on the events, so I'm not sure I'm adding anything original here but I thought a few things might be helpful as we navigate these areas.

1.  Is Rob Bell a universalist?  I don't know the answer to that question and I'm not sure we'll even know once his book comes out and we're able to hear his own words on the subject of Heaven and Hell.  

2.  Is it wrong to hope that all or at least most or many will make it into God's kingdom in the end?  It sounds suspiciously like the New Testament.  2 Peter 3:9 states: "The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance." I'm not sure we'd consider Peter a universalist nor the Lord he infers here.  

3.  What is Hell and who goes there?  While we have neatly defined systematic theologies set in place, the Scriptures aren't nearly so well-defined.  Matthew 25 is one of the most well-known passages where Jesus talks about Hell.  But the point of the passage is not Hell, but what a righteous person in God's view is...one who feeds the hungry, clothes the naked, etc.  So we have to extrapolate a view of Hell from a lot of sources that allude to some place of judgment that is certainly less than clear from the context of Scripture.  And the second question about who goes there is even more dicey.  Taking the Matthew 25 passage, it is the ones who fail to feed the hungry etc.  How many in our churches would be on the wrong side of this equation?  In the story of the Rich Young Ruler....the criteria is giving up wealth.  Again, I fear that most of us, myself included, would fail this test.  And then of course there's that great example of when Jesus is exercising judgment and people come to him and say, "Lord, did we not prophecy in your name...." So now the preachers are in trouble.  All of this leads me to extreme caution when dealing with issues like heaven and hell.  

4.  Lastly....though I'm sure there is more to say on this...I want to share the perspective of a friend of mine.  We were discussing Jonah and how after God saved the people of Nineveh, Jonah was irate at the Lord.  This is truly unbecoming behavior of a prophet of God (and that's the subject for another post).  Revival in Nineveh should have been the highlight and shining moment for this prophet and instead it was his biggest blunder.  What if we are faced with the same dilemma over the people in our time?  What if we are to express deep sadness about the lost and preach and pray on their behalf that maybe, just maybe the Lord will save them?  That is a vision I could get excited about.  "The Lord, the Lord is a God who is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, forgiving the iniquity and transgression and sin for the thousandth generation yet will by no means leave the guilty unpunished, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children and the children's children to the third and fourth generation" Exodus 34:6-7.