Mission Journal Archive July 12, 2004 - December 21, 2006

MONDAY, DECEMBER 31, 2007

The first time the two of them came, the sun had already journeyed two hours in the eastern summer sky, and two of us were on site. This morning, as they emerged from the car, I recalled Joaquin’s mother calling last week asking if he might help building the home. This morning as his mother and I talked, Joaquin said little. Really, he did not say anything at all.

He answered questions, but didn’t talk. Conversation or dialogue was not in the cards this morning. Rather, and we both seemed to know it, it was a day to get behind us. Silence, there really is nothing wrong with it, is there? Silence would get us through the day. A nod to one another in passing, a word here and there, but we both knew, today, we would spend most of our time together silently.

Joaquin and his mother and I shook hands. Then she got into her car, looked at Joaquin one more time, smiled—silently saying, “I know it is hard,” started the car, and drove off. Joaquin and I stood side by side, watched the red break lights flash, the green car slow, and then circled to the north, out of sight.

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 21, 2007

You might expect a letter or a journal entry about this time of year extolling the virtues and programming and the difference the Mission makes in people’s lives and hinting, not very subtly, about the financial need of the Mission. (Hmm…maybe just writing that last line is doing that.) Instead, though, I have been thinking about a recent letter to the editor. The letter writer could not comprehend how a homeless person standing next to a freeway off-ramp could have the nerve to hold a sign in one hand asking for help while pulling a cell phone out of their pocket and answering it with their other hand. The writer was so riled their demeanor seemed to have left annoyance behind some time ago and was quickly gaining on anger. Perhaps it was out of similar frustration that I could not help myself and wrote to the editor saying:

‘Tis the season…and there is angst. Self-proclaimed Christians cry, “Put Christ back into Christmas.” Anger overpowers love as the people cry out, “store clerks should say ‘Merry Christmas,’ not ‘Happy Holidays!’” Christianity claims marginalization, while the poor and dispossessed struggle.

‘Tis the season and a voice declares, “There is a person on the side of the road with a sign asking for help. Me? Help! Why?! They are talking on a cell phone! No one who has a cell phone needs my help! Let them sell their cell and use the money to buy food!”

‘Tis the season and maybe our thoughts need a little reframing. What matters more, the poor have a cell phone or they are homeless, cold, and hungry? We can choose to rethink the cell in terms of love, rather than property—perhaps a sister gave her brother a phone because of love and worry and a concern to stay in touch. Or maybe, the cell is simply a lifeline as it is for many of us.

‘Tis the season and if Christ is to reenter Christmas it must be through the thoughts and deeds of the people, not in a slogan spoken by a store clerk. Christ reenters Christmas when we give to the poor on the roadside, to the extreme weather shelters of Yakima, to the startup homeless shelter in Wapato, and to any of the shelters found in our various communities.

‘Tis the season and only we can bring the Christ into it.

There seems a fear threaded through society that someone is going to get something for nothing. If we allow such a fear to fester an attitude boils among us that it might be better to do nothing than take a chance that our monies and time will be wasted on those “who just aren’t trying.” The season of Advent turns such thinking upside down and calls for the simplicity of hope. Hope that grace is not an ethereal concept of other world—other day, but an ethereal reality of now located smack in the middle of us.

When the door is opened and the homeless—the alcoholic, the veteran, the schizophrenic, the drug user, the expectant mother who arrived on foot, by car, or by donkey—enter in, then grace occurs and hope is transformed into joy; for salvation has occurred.

So, I ask doors be opened to those whom we might fear…just a little. Open doors the best you can in your community. And help us to do it the best we can. The Mission is in partnership with the startup homeless shelter, Noah’s Ark Drop-in Center and Shelter, in Wapato. Begun just months ago, they average more than thirty drop-ins a day and house eight to fifteen per night. The Mission collaborates with Noah’s Ark, because we have neither the skills nor the resources to provide housing and food to our communities poor and homeless. Having already experienced weeks when the high temperature of the day does not break freezing your help is invaluable to saving lives in our neighborhood.

How might you help? A financial contribution is best at the moment, for Noah’s Ark greatest struggle is meeting over-night housing, utility, and food expenses. The cost to house one individual for a night is $15.00 and the cost of a meal is about a $1.00.

(A side note here. I don’t know how many times I have heard that the poor know so much better than those with money, how to give. But what does that look like? How does it feel? I arrive at the shelter around 11:00 in the morning a few days ago. Lonnie showed up with a can of chili, and asked for an opener. The opener was found and Lonnie went off to open the can and get the microwave going. I continued with the conversation I was having. Maybe five minutes had gone by when Lonnie got our attention and said there was more chili for anyone who wanted it. Lonnie and his partner already had Styrofoam cups in their hands, perhaps a third full, and on the counter were three more. I really…I’m not kidding, I really had to stand there a moment and let it sink in. Here was Lonnie and his partner, who I know had not eaten that morning, offering three helpings of chili from one small can. And all I knew for sure…I wouldn’t have done it, if it were me.)

A buck for a meal and fifteen dollars for a bed might not sound like much, but it adds up quickly when trying to feed thirty people during the day and house eight to fifteen people at night, seven days a week.

If you would like to help, please go to the Missions website, www.yakamamission.org, and click on “Contributions.” Next click the button “Make a Donation” under the Donate Today column. Fill in the form and press the “Review Order and Continue” button. When you reach the “Review your Payment” page, please click on “Include Note” (it is right under “Donation” in the Item area of the invoice) and write Noah’s Ark… that will insure the donation makes it to the homeless shelter. If you would like to make this donation in the name of someone else…in the “Include Note” area, write his or her name and email address. I will send them an email letting them know about the donation in their name and add their email address to the MissionJournal so they have the opportunity to become a part of the Mission family.

There is an Irish Proverb, “It is in the shelter of each other that the people live.” Maybe in this Advent season we can become a sheltering grace-filled people who grasp the hope of the poor and transform it to Joy.

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 14, 2007

A privilege of mine is students, seminarians, teachers, and professors send papers, from time to time, they think might be of interest. A pastor/seminarian friend sent one a while back whose emphasis pertained to privilege. A section of this paper spoke to one reason why, five years ago, the Mission moved away from a “work trip” model to a “learning and serving” model for those who come to serve the Mission’s community.

In her paper Leaving the House of Privilege: Psychological and Theological Implications of Privilege; Kate Johansen speaks about participating in many mission trips to Mexico, Nicaragua, and Yakima during her years as a youth. Today she finds the core too many of these trips is charity and that the operating premise is, “teaching our youth how to do good by helping people who are less fortunate than [themselves].” In large part, the trips were designed to help youth move into awareness of their privilege “and how much they take for granted.” Johansen goes on to note, “Yet, there is almost never a discussion about how and why we’ve come to be so privileged. Those involved see poverty and oppression, but these problems stay in Mexico when they head back to their privileged lives.” When work is done for people, in oppressed poor communities by people of privilege from communities of wealth, the result is charity. There is nothing wrong with charity, in fact, people will die (and do die) without it. Johansen’s argument is for us not to confuse charity with justice. Charity helps now, gives life now, makes a difference now, and must be done now. Justice, though, is systemic change and that can only begin when the privileged begin discussing and asking questions “about how and why we’ve come to be so privileged.”

Academic theological reflections such as Kate Johansen’s give reason to think and explore why we do what we do—even our care for others. Bringing reflections such as hers and setting them on an open table calls for communal conversation. Conversation where the people—all of the people, enter their theology into the discourse. This conversation is academic, practical, reflective, laid back, tactile, adamant, giving, compassionate, considerate, and passionate, that develops roots in the listening and grows in action. It is a conversation for the young, the youth, the adult, and the elderly—of your culture and mine, where each voice is considered and honored.

The Missions website profiles people who are in relationship and willing to write a little about their connection with the Mission. The current profile went up the first of the month. The thoughts of Rachel and Rica, centered on mission, have elicited a number of comments. It seems appropriate to place their thoughts on the open table, alongside Kate’s, to help develop a communal conversation about mission.

Thoughts from a Yakama Christian Mission Learning and Serving Trip

From Rachel:
Working with the children at the Summer Fun Program was a blast! Doing the workshops was very interesting. They used fun movies and activities!

From Rica:
The recent trip to Yakama was my first mission trip. As some of you might have predicted, I got out of the trip far more than I gave. Yes, I, along with others, cleaned the goats’ water troughs, banged in t-posts for new electric fence lines, moved irrigation lines, moved lots of dirt and gravel around the foundation of the home the mission is building in the town of Harrah, dug a 3-foot-deep 2 x 2 post hole, mixed and poured concrete, and bucked hay. It was the first time I had done any of these. I’d like to think that our presence and effort were useful, or at least not too much of a hindrance.

If you think that’s impressive, wait until you hear what was given to me. I was given the opportunity to spend time with some folks from church, to get to know some of them at levels that would take much longer to achieve were we not being forged by the crucible of intense physical labor, 100-plus degree temperatures, and explorations of power, privilege, and oppression – all in the context of spirituality.

I was given the opportunity to meditate on and to consider prayerfully the following questions posed by Dave Bell, the pastor of YCM. “What is your walk with God? Who does it call you to be? What does it call you to do?”

I have to confess that I am largely a closeted Christian. I am often embarrassed to acknowledge that I attend church. I fear that others will judge me to be something I am not . . . judge me to be a particular sort of Christian . . . a right-wing, conservative, fundamentalist, evangelistic Christian. Out of fear that others will make inaccurate assumptions about my walk with God, I fail to volunteer the fact that I walk with God. I am less apologetic about my views of the misuse of power, how invisible privilege is to those who have it, and the extent to which oppression affects all of us.

Dave and Belinda Bell and Jill posed challenging questions. As we sat in the dirt at the build site, Dave told us that billions and billions of little critters live in the topsoil. “Is it right,” he asked, “that all those beings die in order for us to build a house to shelter one family?”

The goats raised on the farm are raised for meat. The meat feeds local families participating in celebratory events such as graduations. Belinda explained to us that the goats graze freely, and are slaughtered and butchered on-site. Their lives are far different from the lives of animals raised in feedlots and shipped to huge slaughterhouses. Perhaps whether goats lead peaceful lives and experience relatively peaceful deaths seems unimportant; I suggest another look. Given a choice, I would rather live with the fewest restrictions possible, and I would rather die at home than in an impersonal, crowded, loud institution. Who am I to say that my life matters more than a goat’s, or that my experiences are more valid than a goat’s? What is my walk with God?

Jill told us about Olga, the old matriarch of the goat clan. Nearing retirement, she understands the fact that responsibility goes with power. In her younger days, stray dogs once attacked the goats. Olga put herself between the dogs and the rest of the goats. She nearly lost her life in the process. Her tattered, stubby ears serve as reminders of the struggle that ensued when Olga used her power responsibly. Am I willing to accept the burden of using my power and privilege conscientiously? What is my walk with God?

When the farmer next door decided to plant alfalfa on all of his property, he created an agricultural monoculture. In order to create his single-crop operation, he had to destroy the diverse vegetation of the existing eco-system. What sorts of flora and fauna were lost in that process? What is my walk with God?

So, what do I do with all this perspective? I could decide that my existence costs more than it is worth, but I don’t think that’s the conclusion I am meant to draw. I think I am called to honor the sanctity of ALL life. I am called to humbly recognize that every day something or someone dies in order for me to live.

If being a Christian means walking through life in a state of mindfulness . . .

If being a Christian means giving thanks everyday for the sacrifices made in order for me to live a life of relative luxury . . .

If being a Christian means believing that the many deaths, which allow me to live, are the broken body and blood of Christ, that life and death are communion . . .

If being a Christian means these things, maybe I can declare myself, fearlessly, and unapologetically to be a Christian.

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 01, 2007

Horse, nose in snow,
Eating grass, lawn really.
Snow lands on back, melts,
slides down wither.
Path, wanders across lawn,
as horse plows snow with nose.

White Swan People to People bus arrives.
Two half doors open,
three people step on.
Doors close—
snow slides down window.
Path across parking lot,
as bus plows snow with tire.

Neighbor says “hi.”
Not easy these days.
Son, seventeen, pregnant and needing marriage.
“Is it right?” Neighbor asks.
Path rambles between neighbors,
as grace plows space with conversation.

Café on an early snowy morning,
Horse outside the window,
Eating grass—
lawn really.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 2007

A coffee cup sat on the table, along with a book, a notebook, and a pen. The table sat in the southeast corner of the coffee shop with a bench on each side. This corner, unlike the southwestern corner, has a window on each wall; it’s a nice location on a cold morning, one or the other window allows morning light to stream into the room. The coffee cup casts a shadow.

The morning school bell rung fifteen minutes ago, the students are gone, and there's a new tone to the room. The cook takes a break, sits down at the southwestern corner table, and lights a cigarette—the coffee shop isn’t really in the United States, so state legislated non-smoking laws don’t really apply. Four tables down from the cook on the eastern wall sits a woman finishing a plate of eggs, bacon, and biscuits, arguing with a companion on the other side of the table—I don’t have the eyes to see her acquaintance, then again, I doubt if I would have had the eyes to see Mary’s angel, Gabriel, either.

In the now mostly empty room, the woman who earlier served me coffee at the counter begins wiping tables. Starting in the center of the room she works towards the outer tables in a circular motion. Neither left or right, north nor south, she cleansed the tables as if walking a labyrinth.

More to herself than to me she says, “hi” as she wipes the neighboring table. The short sleeve of her shirt moves up and down as the cloth circles counter clockwise. “Nice tattoo,” I mentioned as it appears from beneath her sleeve.

“I got it three weeks ago,” she said.
“Oh? It’s beautifully done. It’s a dove isn’t it?”
“Yes…Mourning Dove.”
“How did you choose it?”
“I got it to remember my sister. She just died.”
“Oh…I’m sorry…How did you decide on the art?”
She smiled, sort of, “Mourning Dove was her name,” she said as she circled to the next table.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 2007

Why do trees along the river
Lean so far out o’er the tide?
Very wise men tell me why, but
I am never satisfied;
And so I keep my fancy still,
That trees lean out to save
the drowning from the clutches of
the cold remorseless wave.
Alexander Posey (Chickasaw-Creek)

They say the young are dying. Will anyone care?

Soldiers returning home are dying at unprecedented numbers. They are surviving battle, but not home. Life that meant something yesterday does not today. At two times the national norm, young soldiers are dying. Will anyone care?

Modern history says, no. Modern history indicates society would rather look away than focus and come into awareness of a problem that might raise uneasy questions about the past—about decisions made, or not made—that cause young to die after the battle is left. For decades, young Native people of America have taken their lives at two times the national norm. Society has not noticed, nor seen, nor experienced the deaths of Native thirteen to twentfour year-olds as a crisis in the land. This does not endear confidence that society will notice or care about twenty to twentyfour year-old returning soldiers.

In this land are there—can there be, can we be—trees leaning…

…out to save
the drowning from the clutches of
the cold remorseless wave.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 2007
Many things can be said about fall. Quiet and tranquil are not two of them. Yes, leaves changing their color are very cool, and it is nothing less than breath taking, year after year, as the coolness of fall scrapes the valley pallet of an array of greens, slowly placing reds, yellows, and oranges in their place, finally taking up a windy brush mixing and blending until the pallet is a crescendo of living-dying color. There is virtue in the implied tranquility of color-filled leaves breeze-nudged from branch on a swirling journey to mating ground. Through the simple act of leaf settling on ground does fall fill springs need of fertile soil for rebirth. On the farm a similar fertile need is found, a need that brings forth life in the spring, but cracks the peace and stillness of fall.

It seemed longer than twenty days. Early October and the fertile need kicked in big time with the goats and sheep. It was as if every day, for all twenty days, another board needed to be added to the fence separating the boys and girls. Ewes and does, ram and buck, all wanted to be on the other side of the fence. And “the other side of the fence” isn’t about greener grass. It could be said this is about spring lambs and kids, but don’t be fooled. Nope, this is about that deeply embedded wealth that is God given…only trouble is is it doesn’t feel like wealth with a fence between the boys and girls—which leads to one and only one sheep/goat question, “where is the hole in the fence!?”

It is amazing what a goat or sheep will go through to find a hole in the fence during breeding season. They will nudge and work the smallest of holes, just to get nose to nose, and if they can take advantage of a hole and squeeze a head through, it is a good day, a little frustrating, but a good day. Hour after hour, day after day, for twenty days, a continuous search goes on for unity.

Feeding time and they all just look…with big eyes. At least at first, as if they think a sad expression will open the gate allowing access to the other side of the fence. But when the flake of hay hits the feed trough and it becomes clear this moment is about food and not open gates, they yell. Yell, LOUDLY, as if to say, “how could you do this to us! Let us on the other side of the fence!” Of course, they are not thinking if they stay on their side of the fence until the first of November, their babies will birth on a warm spring day when the ground is birthing grass in the pasture. No, they aren’t thinking about spring. It…really is…all about fall, cool weather, the recognized inner wealth, and the need to breed.

Oh, but life changes, as we all know it changes. And seasons are but a series of micro-seasons. The indomitable writer of Ecclesiastes reminds us of this reality, “for everything there is a season…

a time to be born, and a time
to die;
a time to plant, and a time to
pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time
to build up;
a time to weep, and a time
to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time
to dance…” (Ecclesiastes 3: 1-4)

It is a season of dancing…and breeding. Saturday the gates swung wide. Does and buck, ewes and ram found the hole in the fence and courtships began. Courtships full of dancing and nudging, murmuring and yelling, playing and fighting. The air has changed, deep seeded wealth blocked by yesterdays fence, is now floating on the cool breeze, and they all know it. Life changes, from the breath-taking palette of the valley floor to the breath-taking dance of breeding, it is a time of change and life.

Fall, it is anything but quiet and tranquil.

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 31, 2007
Something different is going on down the road, fifteen minutes west of the mission. As October closes out and the apple harvest winds down, there is one harvest going full bore—corn. Now corn harvest happens every year, but this year, well, let’s just say you have to see it to believe it.

It’s a stretch to say this is the year of the corn, but not much. As fuel prices topped $3 per gallon, the U.S. political landscape concerning biofuel changed. This governmental change toward biofuel production is an at last moment for many people—finally, a movement towards sustainable fuels! However, when the impetus of change is based in the pocketbook of Americans, it is advisable to consider what impacts legislated biofuel might have as harvesters move through the cornfields of the United States—and other nations such as Yakama. As always, when reflecting on issues concerning society as a whole, it is well to begin reflection from the viewpoint of those who have the least voice—land, animals and the poor.

The United States produces forty percent of the world’s corn, and is responsible for over half the world’s corn exports. That’s a lot of corn. This being the case, it makes a big difference when legislative acts create structural change by moving corn from animal and human consumption to fuel production. A fair question is what does this mean to the poor? C. Ford Runge and Benjamin Senauer comment, that filling a 25 gallon SUV tank with pure ethanol (this is unlikely, ethanol is used more as an additive than in its pure state) requires “over 450 pounds of corn—which contains enough calories to feed one person for a year.”[1] Biofuel production from the standpoint of neighbor is staggering. Almost half of Mexico’s 107 million people live in poverty and count on corn tortillas as a primary source of calories. By the end of 2006, the cost of corn flour had doubled in Mexico creating a public outcry and leading president, Felipe Calderón, “to cap the prices of corn products.”[2] There is a need for research, development, and production of biofuel, but it cannot come at the cost of health to those living in poverty.

Whereas the poor need the corn kernel to live, the land needs the organic of the cornstalk. For ages, farmers have known good crops require old plant life to find its way back into the soil. Organic materials, such as cornstalk, embedded into the soil allow beneficial bacterial life to begin. The breakdown of plant leads to humus, which is a vital component to a soils ability to hold water and provide nutrients to new plant life. Nothing new here, while ages ago farmers may not have known about the microbial benefit of organics in the soil, they certainly could see that when soil animal life increased—such as worms, soil color changed to deeper browns and blacks, and the land became more productive. Healthy, living land has always needed the remains of above ground life. Only through this cycle does land continue as—be—become—life-giving soil.

Grasping the lands need of organic material is paramount during the early stages of biofuel production. The biofuel industry is moving towards using more than just the corn kernel for production, but much of the plant as well. The organic stalk and leaf residue once left for the soil after combining is now windrowed (everything other than the kernel is placed into long rows about three feet wide) and formed into bales measuring three feet by four feet by eight feet. Where yesterday most of this organic residue was plowed and disked into the soil, today these organic bales are moving off the land and towards biofuel production and feed for animals such as cattle. It may take years to grasp what it means for the land to lose tons of organic matter, but historical hints such as the dust bowl should give pause as society moves towards biofuel production.

Moving cornstalk from land health to cattle feed is reflective of biofuels potential affect on animals. Cattle loose feed quality when low protein cornstalk replaces higher protein corn kernels. However, loss of quality does not begin nor stop at the cattle trough. As biofuels hunger for corn increases, land currently producing other crops will experience the plow and be placed into corn. This change locally has moved acreage from hay production to corn production. This has resulted is less hay and grain for animals and created a need for feed supplements. Supplements span the imagination, from cornstalk to potato peels, but depend mostly on local crop production. Supplements, therefore, change depending on the geography of an animal. One supplement that is not largely geographical is a byproduct of the biofuel industry—distillers’ grain. Distillers’ grain, an ethanol byproduct, is the biomaterial remaining after removing starch from grains such as corn. While distiller’s grain continues to hold some of protein, fiber, vitamins and minerals of the original grain, it is “low-quality roughage” according to Daryl Strohbehn, the Extension beef specialist at Iowa State University.[3] Like land, animals have little voice in biofuel production. A fair question on their behalf might be, is an animal’s life better eating distillers’ grain, potato peelings, or cornstalk, rather than the high protein of hay and grain? One reason to ask is that many if not most meat animals have been removed from their open, land-based lifestyle that comes naturally—grazing (an all day feeding event), to an enclosed confinement lifestyle—feedlot (a once or twice a day feeding event). When taking an animal away from its natural lifestyle, is it too much to ask on their behalf that they eat the best of feed?[4]

There is a need to move away from petroleum-based fuel towards sustainable fuel. However, if it is the pocketbook and three or four-dollar gas driving this change, rather than the wellbeing of creation, the likeliness of inflecting hurt is real. This is a faith question and a holistic approach needs integration into the biofuel movement. This approach calls the biofuel movement to understand that land, plant, animal, water, air, and human life are deeply connected and what changes one, changes all. The alternative is lower fuel prices, unhealthy land, SUV’s with a full tank, and people too sick to think about what is going on fifteen minutes down the road.

[1] How Biofuels Could Starve the Poor , C. Ford Runge and Benjamin Senauer, From Foreign Affairs, May/June 2007 (http://www.foreignaffairs.org/20070501faessay86305/c-ford-runge-benjamin-senauer/how-biofuels-could-starve-the-poor.html)

[2] ibid

[3] Stretch hay with DDG , Kylie Gray, Successful Farming, August 2007

[4] This is not to imply that those who raise meat animals do not want their animals to eat the best of feed. On the contrary, I think those who raise animals, largely, are feeding the best feed available to their livestock. A question we might ask, as a society is, what choice of feed do we want to allow for animal consumption?

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 20, 2007
There is a new Autumn moment. One I never experienced as a child. It arrives at the end of the growing season, not at the height of harvest, but after the Fall Equinox when daylight no longer reigns and night holds sway with each new moonrise. It comes when the cool days of Fall remind the body winter is only a frost away. The moment comes at the end of harvest but it is not wrapped up in the need to get the last cutting of hay baled and off the ground, nor in harvesting corn earlage, nor the hops or the grapes. It emerges out of the backyard, sometimes the front yard, and on occasion it’s been known to sidle in from side yard. It comes from that piece of ground dedicated to family, the garden.

Gardens come in a verity of sizes, some large and others small, but the family garden size seldom has much to do with the societal mindset of bigger is better or more is wealthier. Instead, family size and diet have the greatest influence on size. Gardens are intimate and reflective of the family who plants them. No two are alike, they are created in many shapes and even elevations; some planted directly into the ground while others get a bit of a view from their raised beds. Some are weed free and beautifully manicured, while others live in a radical community of weeds and produce invoking wisdom to find balance between themselves and the land. Some are trellised, rising beans and tomatoes into the air opening foliage to full sunlight, while others lie close to the ground laying one branch on top of the next, insulating the fruit of its flower from the ground until offspring ripens into healthy self-propagating seeds. Few of these seeds, though, ever see the ground, but instead find themselves on the supper table.

First fruits are special. Eating the first summer tomato leads to the thought, “I will never get enough of this!” By summer’s end, tomato’s have been baked and broiled, canned, fried, and grilled, they have been found in rice, stew’s, juice, and soup, they have been dressed up, stuffed up, and scalloped. Quantity quickly outpaces family eating capacity, which leads to fruit showing up on the neighbors kitchen counter. That is, until the late summer moment arrives when the neighbor opens their door, sees me standing on their porch with another large basket of produce, and their smile and enthusiasm is not quite as grand as in June. It seems without fail, no matter how carefully the gardener tries to balance land and plant to family need, no matter how many bugs and rabbits and gophers came along and partake of plant and fruit, there is always an abundance as Autumn arrives.

In the Autumn of the year, when days shorten and weather cools, when the produce takes a little longer to ripen, when as much fruit that can be given away has been, when pantries are stuffed with canned pears, peaches, and beans, when the cook has used every known recipe to humanity and the supper table is now showing signs of experimentation, is when the new moment arrives. It literally walks in into the home with the last apple, bean, pepper, or cucumber.

Produce lies on the kitchen counter contrasting reds, greens and yellows. Even after a summer full of vegetables and fruit, it remains a pretty sight, which can’t help but to summon mystery. Mystery isn’t the moment though, though it is helpful as I begin looking around the kitchen, in the cupboards, in the pantry, in the drawers, even in the shed for canning jars. That is when the moment arrives, when I cannot find one, not even one, canning jar! It’s not so much that there isn’t a jar left, but the feeling that arrives when my eyes run across the shelves and stop at the mayonnaise jar. However, it is not a jar, not really. It might look like a jar, but can anything made of plastic be called a jar? After all, that thing, holding mayonnaise, on the shelf would never hold up to a boiling hot water canning bath! There are times when it doesn’t even look like a jar, but more like some type of upside-down plastic squeeze bottle. Now what’s that all about? Certainly not about canning!

I think my grandparents would have thought of this as a travesty. They could never have imagined such a state of affairs. I remember as a child showing up on the farm in the early summer and there on the back porch were rows of jars. Some were Ball, others Kerr, still others were Mason, but more than a fair share were regular old store bought mayonnaise jars. In the cellar there were rows of jars whose first life might have held mayonnaise but are now known as peach jars, pickle jars, or tomato jars. As I look for a jar to put up the last of the tomatoes, I cannot help to think that the mayonnaise jar of my parents, my grandparents, and even their parents was an innovation that moved society from the dreariness of living on dried, smoked, and salted foods, to a sweetened life of freshness, health and good nature in the midst of long, cold winters (okay, this might be a little hyperbole, but I can’t find a jar!).

THURSDAY, JUNE 21, 2007
Stringlines pulled and checked for square. Ground laid out and chalked. The earth is broken. The first JustLiving affordable house has begun. At the ground blessing/breaking celebration for the home, David Hacker commented, “The earth we live on is a gift for all people. This is the time to break ground in a new way, as a sacrament, like breaking of the bread; we are breaking the earth to allow us to build community.”

David ’s words led me to think of these words from the writer of Isaiah. “Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?”(Isaiah 58: 7) When I hear the ancient words of Isaiah in tandem with the current words of David, I hear a call for communal self-reflection. A self-reflection where the community opens itself to questioning the current treatment of earth and poor while intentionally creating cracks in societal structure that might open the opportunity of leading the whole towards a radical community of equity. Radical because all creation is consider kin—as if blood sister and blood brother. Community because that while the body is made of many individual aspects of creation, wholeness of the individual only occurs when all of creation lives as one. Equitable because all aspects of creation came into being with the same thought, the same power, the same intimacy.

Living towards a radical community of equity calls people into thought and experience through the simple act of breaking earth for a home. When done as if sacrament, thought and imagination delve deeper than what is typically experienced on the surface. While the surface celebration of an affordable home groundbreaking brings awareness to the home poor, sacrament asks community to deal with life lost or taken. Sacrament boldly reminds people that the earth is teaming with life in unimaginable numbers.

As the backhoe finished digging the under-floor area the other day, it was easy to see that at the northwest end of the foundation there had been a community of ants. After living in that place, that ground, for untold generations, thousands upon thousands of ants now scurried and struggled to find new identity and new home in the midst of chaos. Watching those ants reminded me that when the Mission’s compost piles are composting well, there are billions of thermophillic creatures in one gram of compost. When thinking of the tons of dirt moved this day and realizing the top few inches of healthy soil is not a lot different than a compost pile, I find it hard to imagine the untold billions of created life lost in the tons of earth moved that day. A radical community of equity acknowledges the need for housing (after all, the human does not do so well in below zero temperatures) while calling for human life to enter into a greater awareness and a deeper appreciation as to what is truly given (or taken) so human life might be lived. When the whole of creation is experienced as one—in equity, the soul begins to grasp the sacred significance of the life easily taken in the breaking of soil.

Whether it is breaking of bread or breaking of soil, when humanity becomes sympathetic to the loss of life in favor of human life, it is as if a temple curtain is torn and what could not be seen yesterday is today. Ants and microorganisms may not have much choice when a backhoe is claiming buckets of earth with each pass. Humans do though. And humanity is at its best when claiming mutuality with life lost and using that awareness to profess relationship with life living.

The JustLiving build is an attempt to move towards a mutuality of oneness…taking one step at a time. Living up to Isaiah’s expectations of justice by inviting the homeless poor into our homes is hard, but not impossible. In the building of just one home we begin constructing relationship not realized yesterday. When parents see their children sit down to their first meal in a home of their own, there is just a bit more comfort in their soul. If we, who are able, use our power and resources to construct a foundation of justice today, then tomorrow our children will find themselves in a natural kinship that is as organic as the earth. On that day, life of creation will find itself just-living.

FRIDAY, MAY 04, 2007
Today I am sending a response to the Journal entry of April 3 rd (the entry can be found on the Missions website). The April 3 rd entry brought in a large response, mostly from folk currently or historically tied to the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). The response presented today comes from José F. Morales, Jr., a theologian of color, who makes an interesting case about posterism and absentee advocacy.

Of the many responses to the April 3 rd Journal entry, I felt it important to pass on that which comes from the voice of people of color (note that the many voices who responded were both white and people of color whose concerns were overwhelmingly along the lines of Morales’). There are a few reasons for choosing Morales’ voice.

First, the Yakama Mission, as well as most of the historical mission sites, work and serve in communities of color. In a church whose greatest population are not people of color, I believe it is important to hear their voice first and foremost.

Secondly, just this last week another statistical analysis came out indicating that people of color are stopped and searched at rates much higher than white people (Latinos over two times higher and African-Americans were over three times higher). The church wants and needs to condemn practices such as these, but to do so with integrity, the church must first recognize the similar targeting that goes on within.

Last, the marches of this last Tuesday are a visual reminder that our society and church continues not to listen to people of color. Marches across the country showed thousands of people who raised their voice in concern of justice for people of color; the problem is that in all the pictures and in all the videos shown of that day, there were few participants who were not of color.

What follows is José F. Morales, Jr.’s response on the April 3 rd Journal entry. Know that the above words are mine and José may not necessarily agree with them. Listen to his words.

Posterism and Absentee Advocacy: A Response to the Denominational
Defunding of Yakama Mission

by José F. Morales, Jr.
Associate Pastor
Iglesia del Pueblo CC(DOC)
Hammond, Indiana

I sense that what has happened for my sisters and brothers at Yakama Mission--that is, the ceasing of financial support from Disciples Home Missions--was bound to happen, for that is what is to be expected when a denomination's commitment to communities of
color and economically deprived peoples is rooted solely in, what I call, "posterism" and absentee advocacy.  People of color and disenfranchised persons have always served as "poster children" for mainly white institutions, organizations, and even denominations, ever since post-civil-rights legislation was passed and diversity-loving sentiments became the "norm".  Posterism gives the powers that be the opportunity to clear their name from any accusations of racism, or classism, or negligence, or indifference.  Yet as long as we--that is, those in the underbelly of history--smile for the camera, our call to be heard will not be heard.  We are not poster children to be silenced by a snapshot.  We are co-workers in the vineyard of the Lord, and we want to be acknowledged as such and be supported for our work. We want to know that we are affirmed for our work
among el pueblo.  Not only that, we want to include the 'powerful' in our ministry, so that they may have an encounter with the liberating spirit of God and be liberated as well.  I am sure this is the sentiment of the priests and prophets as Yakama Mission.

Yet, posterism is not the only thing that plagues us as a mainline denomination.  Our call to social justice has been shallowly defined as writing checks, saying quick prayers, and speaking on behalf of the poor from a distance.  Those who thunder about social justice from their affluent pulpits incarnate a life of justice only in words.  This is what the Pentecostal liberation theologian Samuel Soliván calls "absentee advocacy."  I quote him at length:

"Whatever interest or concern the mainline church has had for suffering peoples is a cognitive praxis'; it is a kind of retreat.  Several of those who employ praxis as a methodological principle are 'absentee advocates' in the churches and communities they claim to represent.  Most North American liberation praxis has been reduced to scholarly theological forums, removed and distant from actual suffering.  Conceived rationally and divorced from the experience of oppression, this kind of praxis defends the vested interest of a middle class that substitutes cognition for pathos [i.e. 'suffering'].  It reduces orthopraxis to a slogan that maintains control in the arena of theological exchange.” (The Spirit, Pathos and Liberation: Toward an Hispanic Pentecostal Theology, Sheffield, ng.: Sheffield Academy Press, 1998, p. 66)

While the co-workers of the vineyard of the Lord at Yakama Mission are experiencing and engage pathos in real tangible ways and developing ministries orthopraxically, the denominational "powers that be" engage in theological discourse concerning the liberation of people like those who benefit for the life-saving, life-changing work of Yakama Mission. There is not much difference between distance and absence, for both lead to inaction, inaction that is embodied by Jesus' parables by Dives, who ignored
Lazarus to the point that Lazarus died at his feet. (Luke 16:19-31)

What needs to happen here is clear: the decision makers need to put down their books by Cone, Gutierrez, Tinker, and Machado, and engage in actual liberation work.  Only then will they give their hearts to ministries like Yakama Mission.  Only then will they give their wallets to ministries like Yakama Mission.

FRIDAY, APRIL 27, 2007
May is about here. Spring is on the verge of blooming forth. Warmer days, warmer nights, days hiking without heavy coats, the bloom of apple, peach, and nectarine trees, ducks in the slews with the first ducklings swimming alongside their mothers, lambs birthing and grass growing, winter is quickly becoming a memory.

May is about here, but there is more in the air than flower pedals from the apple trees. It’s something many of us miss, and I can’t say that I blame us for not knowing what more there is in the air. After all, I did not pay attention to the air prior to living in the lower Yakima Valley. I didn’t know how to listen, didn’t know I should listen, to the breeze, to the wind, to the voices drifting by.

Early spring brings them to the valley. The air changes with their arrival. They are people, like us. They are only doing the job hired to do. They are just trying to make a living. Yet their work causes the air to change from the lofty smell of the bloom to the earthy sweaty smell of fear.

The new arrivals go by many names, no one is any longer sure of the correct term. Some say Homeland Security, others INS, but mostly they are the people stopping cars at the corner. As another car is pulled over, the voices whisper across the valley, “it is José they stopped,” and the air fills with fear.

May is about here. It is that time to enforce the law. Enforce the law now, not later, because later the crops will be in full production and true enforcement means fewer people to harvest the food, which in turn leads to rising grocery prices. Then the people who have the real power get mad because their apple now costs a dollar. The new arrivals are not going to let that happen.

Nothing new and that is what is sad. For we have gone through this before and failed to learn. Yesterday it was our parents, grandparents, or great-grandparents who in the name of sameness took six-year-old children away from their parents and sent them off to boarding schools to live until they became sixteen years of age. Though we find that repugnant and question how that could have occurred, today we find it is us who in the name of—well, come to think of it, I’m not sure what the point is any longer. Let’s face it, the argument that people who work our farm fields are taking away jobs from American citizens hasn’t held water for years.—so, in the name of what we can no longer define, we become the people who round up parents and deport them, away from us and away from their children. Our failure to learn is leading to a deep fear in the land.

May is about here. Nature teaches us this is a time of resurrection. Bulbs become flowers, snow melts in the high country and rivers become strong, the land thaws allowing seeds to generate, and springs flow again. Maybe this can be the Spring of resurrection. Maybe if we listen closely to the voice that has been silenced and raise our voices on their behalf, maybe, just maybe we can quench the fear in our land. Listen.

Quiet. Can you hear it? Can you perceive it? Yeh, there it is. It’s an ancient voice, and old voice. Quiet, it calls for a hearing, it is speaking the language of a people hurt. Yep, it is becoming clearer, speaking of redemption, I can’t quite get it all, but in its quietness there is strength, listen…”your Redeemer, the Holy One…For your sake I will…break down all the bars…” there is more…” says the LORD, who makes a way in the sea, a path in the mighty waters…Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old…” a call for something different? Oh, my fault there is more, quite myself…quiet…”I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” (Isaiah43: 14-19) Something new, a new thing, a new way of being, am I being asked to change in light of something deeper, quieter, ancient? Is it okay, really okay to let go of my preconceived ideas and thoughts…is it okay not to fear, is it okay that others in this land not fear, will there be enough for all?... quiet, the voice is speaking again…”Do not fear, or be afraid; have I not told you from of old and declared it? You are my witnesses! Is there any god besides me? There is no other rock; I know not one.” (Isaiah44: 8)

May is about here. Perhaps if we listen closely and perhaps if we speak forcefully, we will become the witness and our fear will fade and something different will come anew. “A new thing,” call it redemption, call it renewal, but in the end perhaps it is us, living with others, without fear as if we are one, as if we are family.

TUESDAY, April 03, 2007
The moon settled down this morning behind Satus Peak. What made its set so different this morning is it was just moments before sunrise. The full moon catching the full rays of the sun on a morning just below freezing in a sparkling clear valley, thanks to a nightly breeze, is a creative moment. There was just enough time to contemplate the easy slide of the moon behind and contrasting a peak looked upon by the people for ages, to wonder about their thoughts, to wonder about the changes in the land, to wonder what the yesterday meant to hawk above the ridge who could still see the moon now gone. In the moment of the rising sun, one feels as if the table has been set, the meal eaten, and grace has arrived.

It has been three weeks since the last journal entry. Mostly because I have rewritten this entry three times. Not edited, but rewritten. Maybe because this entry doesn’t seem as much as a journal entry telling whatever is on my mind at the time, but rather something that has been brewing for a while. Perhaps three weeks is an appropriate timeline for processing the questions that have come into the Mission from all parts of the United States and Canada over the course of the last three months.

“Please offer your frank opinions.” “How come the decision not to fund mission centers was made last December and we’re only now finding out about it?” “If ‘Disciples of Christ’ are not going to support the Yakama Mission, why should congregations of the United Church of Christ?” “What does this say in light of the anti-racism work you do?” “Can you survive?”

Ministry has felt more political than spiritual lately. Of course in whatever any of us do, there are times like this. It has been a time when Jill, Belinda, and I seldom go anywhere without fielding questions similar to those above. By now, some of you are asking yourselves what is this all about? Fair question. It is going to take some time to explain, so it is also fair to say this is a question about funding; funding pertaining to the historical giving from the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) (DOC) congregations. It is also fair to say that this entry pretty much focuses on funding from the DOC, so if this is not your gig, your idea of a high time, your concept of “it doesn’t get much better than this,” you might want to put a pot of water on the stove, add a little coffee, turn up the heat, close your eyes, listen to the brewing, and when it finishes, pour a cup, sit by the window, and enjoy a moment as the world wanders by.

For everyone else, last chance, this is a long one…okay then, let’s take a jump into what is going on.

Let’s start with a little background. The DOC has four historical mission centers in the United States, one being the Yakama Christian Mission. Last December, the DOC made the decision to discontinue Disciples Mission Funds (DMF) to any of the mission centers. The basic reasoning is congregations no longer give the same amount of dollars as they have in the past to support this work. In turn this has led the DOC to eliminate giving to the hands on missional work of the four historic centers in favor of prioritizing funding to clergy and congregational programs.

In addition to the Yakama Christian Mission, the other three “historic” centers are All Peoples Christian Center in Los Angeles, CA, Inman Center in San Antonio, TX, and Kentucky Appalachian Ministries in Berea, KY. Most of the DOC “historic” centers had their beginnings at the turn of the 20 th Century. At this time the “Social Gospel Movement,” a Christian movement that focused on caring for the immediate needs of the poor, influenced many different Christian movements, the DOC being one. At the 1919 Disciple Convention in Cincinnati, the people approved giving funds to the American Christian Missionary Society (ACMS). The ACMS, in turn, funded the purchase of land, the construction of the first buildings, and the organizing of a community first known as American Indian Tepee Christian Mission and today known as the Yakama Christian Mission (YCM).

Since YCM first opened its doors in 1921 there have been many questions. Questions of survivability in the depression ridden 30’s, appropriate growth in the 50’s, new visioning in the 60’s, contrast between the Mission and the Red Power Movement of the 70’s, congregational development of the 80’s, and new visioning at the turn of another century. Today the questions are different, but they continue to move us forward.

“Please offer your frank opinions,” more of a comment than a question, isn’t it?—is to grasp the freedom of conversation, telling what seems truthful, answering the question I think I heard, and probably working a little more from feelings than factual assessment. Frankness seems good place to lead from.

The loss of funding to the Yakama Christian Mission from the DOC amounts to roughly 25% of the Mission’s annual income. While this creates a bit of angst for the Mission, it creates an internal struggle for all of us; doesn’t it? First, it is important to acknowledge that the Mission has experienced a continual decrease of funding from the DOC for the last five years. This decrease has been in the area of 3%-8% per year. During this time, the Mission has implemented programs and contracted the oversight of a program on behalf of Disciples Home Missions, to maintain income. Second and most importantly, we all know the ones who hurt the most over losses of income to social justice centers are the people served—the poor, the children, and the oppressed. Yet in the third slot are all of us. We are a people who are deeply concerned with the welfare and wellbeing of the poor and the hurt. Otherwise we who do not find ourselves in the state of poverty would neither be writing nor reading this journal entry. We instinctually know that when anyone hurts we hurt as well, that we can never be whole without the other being whole, and that we can never be truly happy as long as the other suffers. When there is a lack of funding and the lack of services for those who suffer, we all ultimately hurt.

What does it mean to the Mission to loose roughly twenty-five percent of its budget on short notice? Another good question and we all instinctively know the answer. Our housing, clothing, food, healthcare are all based on the monies we receive. For most of us, a loss of one quarter of our income would be devastating. To cover a 25% loss in a year or two or three or even five would prove difficult if not impossible for most of us and that holds true for the Mission as well. However, for this year, the Mission received a grant from Week of Compassion (an arm of the DOC) for the Missions JustLiving affordable house build. This means, one, the affordable house the Mission is to build this summer for a lower income family will occur, and two, the Mission is sustainable through the end of 2007.

It is vital to understand why the elimination of DOC congregational funding is so important to a rural mission center. Think of it this way. In the hundred square miles surrounding the Yakama Christian Mission there are roughly 2000 addresses and maybe a dozen businesses. Of those 2000 addresses, eighty percent are in poverty. Of that eighty percent, roughly forty-five percent are in extreme poverty (that’s to say these families have a yearly income between $10,000 and $12,000). Under these conditions, local businesses have and are giving all they can, and the local people who do not find themselves in the eighty percent simply do not have enough resources to support the needed work. Compare this to DOC congregations throughout the United States and Canada who find themselves in urban and suburban settings. Think of the number of businesses within a hundred-mile radius. Then think of the multiple family income levels, from extreme poverty to extreme wealth, with the large number of financially comfortable in between the extremes found within this hundred-mile radius. The only way social justice work occurs in rural areas of poverty is through the support of people, businesses, and congregations who find themselves outside the community of poverty.

I believe outside funding is also telling as to what mission centers are whether they be rural or city based. Unlike businesses who find their identity in the reputation of a single person, like the CEO; Mission centers find their identity in the people of the church…people who are ardent about eliminating suffering. This is why the priority given to the care of the oppressed speaks so forcefully to the identity of the church. You've heard it said many times before “the church is only the church when it is on the side of the poor.” Mission center survivability, rightfully so, is based in the passion, compassion, and commitment of people who make it their vocation to change the world and alleviate the hurt of others.

The question of mission center funding in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) is an important one and one that cannot wait for the slow movement of the system. The only ones who can act on a timely basis are the people and their congregations. For Disciples of Christ congregations, this means considering the distribution of their offerings. For a number of years the funding for mission centers has come through the yearly Easter Offering. This offering not only has provided support for mission centers but, also the ministries of the Office of General Minister and President, Disciples Home Missions, and Overseas Ministries.

At this point, I would be remiss not to clearly say, the Yakama Christian Mission cannot survive without the help of the congregations of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). The work begun by our parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents roughly 88 years ago in Cincinnati will regrettably close (in the healthiest manner possible) if the mission does not attain congregational help. We, the staff, also want to clearly say to the Disciples of Christ congregations, do not drop your giving to the Easter Offering. For justice work will never occur from just one perspective, but rather from the multiple views and richness of dreams of the whole body. Those words attributed to Paul, “The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I have no need of you,’ nor again the head to the feet, ‘I have no need of you.’ On the contrary…If one member of the body suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honoured, all rejoice together with it.,” remind us that while work may be done alone, it is much greater, more effective, when we act in community as the body of Christ. (1 Corinthians 12:21-27) So, it is imperative to continue supporting the whole, while understanding that in today’s systemic structure the only way congregational giving will reach your mission centers is through designated offerings. Also know that the Yakama Christian Mission is open to finding new ways of creating support for all the mission centers and yearns for conversation with General, Regional, and Congregational supporters.

So, there you are. That is why things seem just a bit more political than spiritual these days. Yet, one cannot get away from the greater mystery that surrounds us and call us into the community of the head and feet. For when the moon sets as the sun rises it is impossible to ignore our great interconnectedness and know we have another moment with the mystery of creation. And it is in that mystery we find resurrection; as if the table has been set, the meal eaten, and grace has arrived.

TUESDAY, MARCH 13, 2007
I’ve been thinking about folk whose living history has some similarity with my family’s history. At one time, my family lived in a different country. Life had its ups and downs as life does. There care a time when the downs outweighed the ups and parents became concerned over the life and wellbeing of their children. Like others, they heard stories of other places. Places where their children might have a better life. Places where their children’s children might grow up with fewer struggles, have less pain, and experience less hurt. For the betterment of future generations they chose risk, packed their lives in what they could carry, and came to the land of another people. In the process, they didn’t bother asking the folks who were already in the land if it was okay to come. And when one thinks about it, how could they? When all a parent sees and hears and touches is the hurt of their children, they take action to stop it. Packing the history of family, leaving parents, brothers and sisters, friends, and the land of origin is hard, but a desire for the wellbeing of a child overpowers the loss.

It was an important journey, so important; they told and retold the story of journey and arrival. They told stories of their early years in this new land and the rejection of their children because their birth was somewhere else. They talked about their children birthed on this soil and their mistreatment because their parents were not. These people of yesterday gave a lot of thought to the treatment of their children and came to know a certainty—children are core to any family, community, or country. This knowledge led them to make one decision that would forever affect the land and its people. They created a law that became a cornerstone to the treatment of children and a legacy to the people who had come before.

The 14 th Amendment gave us law saying children born in the United States are automatically citizens. It matters little where their parents come from, who their parents are, or what others think of their parents; if a child is born on US soil the baby is a citizen.

The 14 th Amendment was an amazing selfless act of our ancestors. They looked to the past, remembered the hardship of family(s), and then created a structure of hospitality where no one would ever live their experience of humiliation.

Imagine this. It is today. We find ourselves in a hospital. We are that ever mindful “fly on the wall” watching what is going on in the room. A future mother and father are in the room with nurses and a doctor. They are having a baby or about to. There is energy, excitement, and love filling the space: breathing, talking, wiping a brow, anticipation. Then it happens. Slowly, intentionally, yet rather quickly a baby is born. The doctor holds the baby for a moment then gently lays the child on the mother’s breast. The doctor slowly rises, looks at the mother, glances at the father, and then says, “at this time we need to inform you that since you are undocumented parents, we cannot give your child automatic healthcare. Yes, automatic healthcare is available to US citizens, and yes because your child is born in this hospital in the United States, she is a citizen, but the government says we cannot be fully certain of this truth until you complete a lengthy application and approval process.” The parents stand and lay there stunned. The baby in its infinite newborn wisdom, becomes silent, rolls its eyes, thinks “this must be a bad dream,” and goes to sleep.

Sure, the story stretches the truth a little. I doubt the baby is putting together full sentences yet. But thanks to the 2005 Deficit Reduction Act, the rest of the story is more truthful than not.

Last Monday the state of Washington became the first state to sue the federal government over the rule that prohibits automatic health care to the US born children of undocumented people. Since the Bush administration first interpreted the federal rule last November, the cost of providing care has risen rather than lowered. Not all that surprising, I’ve seldom heard of labor cost going down when paperwork goes up.

The hurt of this ruling, though, does not reside in its monetary cost. From a secular standpoint, it is damaging to everyone when the government creates hoops for its citizens to jump through to prove they are citizens. Not only does it go against the grain of the14 th Amendment, but its underlying tone places a fair portion of the civil rights movement under foot. Consider that the ruling does not target all newborn citizens in the United States. Rather, its primary focus is towards those children of color, from families of color, whose origins are mostly in Latin America. If one would want to use the term “systemic racism,” this is the place to use it. Additionally, the ruling targets those citizens who have the least voice (can’t get much less voice than a newborn baby to undocumented parents). And think about this, if the government begins a policy of questioning the legitimacy of a newborn’s citizenship, who is to say, they aren’t coming after your children next? Hmm, does it seem like we’ve heard this questioning of citizenship, who is in and who is out, in the past? Weren’t there similar examples in our high school history class? Haven’t we walked through museums condemning the singling out of people based on their parental heritage?

Then from a faith perspective isn’t this ruling simply wrong and hurtful? Pick you faith, Christianity, Islam, Judaism, the various Native-American religions, as well as most world religions, when in comes to caring for the children don’t they all essentially say, maybe even command, care for the child in your midst? Ask no questions, care for the child. Place no conditions, no loopholes, no hoops, no paperwork, and no process in the way, if a child is in your presence, care of them. They have the right to full and immediate health care regardless of who their parents are and where they come from.

What might we do if we gave preference to the health and wellbeing of children ahead of a deficit reduction? Would we raise our voice in opposition? Would we speak because the oppression of one is the oppression of all? Or would we speak because the oppression of one is the oppression of one? Would we speak from a sense of social and ethic duty? Or would we speak from our religious heritage to stop the hurt of our neighbor?

Our parents before us were able to recognize the hurt of others. They did their best to create an amendment to stop that hurt from occurring again. Are we to become the people who forget the struggle of those who have gone before us? Or can we be a people who see the opportunity to take justice another step forward and commit ourselves deeply in favor of those with less voice.

SUNDAY, MARCH 04, 2007
When the snow falls, as it did on Saturday, steadily and lightly, you’ve got to take some time and soak it in. Understand, by this time of the winter I’ve had enough of the cold, enough of the frozen ground, enough of the mud every time the ground thaws, and enough of snow that will not melt. Yet all of that doesn’t matter, when the snow drops out of the sky in a particularly unhurried manner on a Saturday morning, I find myself quieting, if only for a moment.

An hour after the snow began, Katherine and I found ourselves at the high school hog barn. Snow is still falling but the quietness my body had felt an hour earlier had taken a trip. I haven’t a clue where it had gone, but it wasn’t in the hog barn. Rather, everything the snow is on a Saturday morning, the hog barn isn’t.

Thirty pigs and twenty high school youth together in one building has unexplainable dynamics and a fair amount of energy. Add to it the excitement of snow outside and it everything goes up a notch. Add to that a morning when the stalls are being cleaned and, well let’s say, the energy inside one hog barn is enough to light a small town.

For a pig, feeding and watering is in the top five of the most exciting things that happen during the week. Each day, one or two folk show up to check on the pigs and to feed and water. This moment calls for a fair amount of excitement on the pigs behalf. No one really knows if the pigs are more excited to see the two-legged folk or the food they bring with them. But everyone likes to think it is themselves and not the food—yah, right. These days the pigs are getting a corn based meal. It looks and tastes little bland to me, but they don’t seem to mind. It is a dry meal though and the pigs thoroughly enjoy their water. There’s a lot to be said for balance.

This is all to say, come Saturday morning, these are well fed, well watered, full of energy pigs. When youth enter the stalls with pitchforks and begin cleaning, the pigs can hardly stand themselves. They seem to be sure these folk are there for their enjoyment and play. Squealing and a low barking fill the barn as they run around their stalls playing their own brand of “pig tag.” When two to four pigs play tag as you’re trying to clean the stall, with a pitchfork, it leads to some exciting times (the pigs are already excited, this is more about the youth’s excitement). After all, a pig lives its life at knee height (our knee that is) or a little lower. Which means when a pig flings its hind end around, just to show it can (they like to show off their athletic ability and it is even better when it causes the other pig to miss the tag), contact is right about at the knee. The fun of a pig takes on new extremes when they have one of those two-legged animals down in the straw with them—they’re just sure this was a choice to join in the tag game (and the laughter of the two-leggeds outside the pen seems to stoke the pigs to more energy and more fun, which rises the “outside the pen” laughter as the two-legged animal is buried in week-old straw which has its own special pungent smell).

After a week of water and manure soaking into the straw, the straw is rather heavy. As time goes by the pigs quite down, at least that is, as much as a pig quiets down, and the pitcher of straw becomes quieter and perhaps a little more thoughtful. Cleaning stalls are a slow effort, but in time, the straw finds its way to the outside of the stall. Not everyone is able to show up each week, so as one stall is finished, youth move on to the next, and start all over.

An hour or two later, the stalls are cleaned, new straw fills the pen end to end, some pigs are eating while others stretch hooves out across the new straw, and a contentment and quietness (at least as quite as a pig will ever become) fills the barn. Youth stand at the open door at one end of the barn watching the snow fall and talking about whatever is important in teenage life. Adults stand at the open door at the other end of the barn, watching the snow fall, talking about school board meetings, politics, and feeder cattle prices.

And the snow falls. And the quieting takes place. And the spirit is communal.

SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 24, 2007

The band played last night. No, not “The Band” who played with Dylan, Clapton, Dr. John, Joni Mitchell, and others (for those of you old enough to remember), but rather this was the Middle and High School band of White Swan. The band opened an evening event recognizing youth for their academics and involvement in school.

It was quite a thing to behold. After all, it was only three years ago, the band struggled with half a dozen youth. Inadequate funding for rural schools and the crippling effect of No Child Left Behind had led to fewer monies for all the art programs. However, a concerted effort to keep and rebuild the band led to a night where twenty or more youth entered the gym and filled the space with music and a little awe. After the presentation, there was a chance to talk with the youth of the band. Their energy, their desire, their commitment made it clear that music is giving them an opportunity to express themselves in a manner they cannot in typical academics. Of more consequence, music is allowing them to recognize a broader self, a self that is more than the individual moving towards a communal identity.

I find it interesting that 93 percent of Americans agree the arts are vital to providing children with a well-rounded education. Eighty-six out of a hundred of us believe an arts education will improve children’s attitudes toward school.[1] Yet forty-two states implemented budget cuts to art funding in 2003.[2]

It seems as if, somewhere in our gut, we know the arts make a difference in the very being of our children. We seem to know there is value in music, painting, dance, singing, as well as other forms of art, and that it influences our core self. When talking to folk about art, there seems to be a belief that participating, viewing, and experiencing art leads to better lives, calmer attitudes, and thoughtful reflection. Moreover, when we do get out of our gut and into the head, it is hard to miss a “60 Minutes,” or a “Nightline” segment telling us that when children are involved in art, they do better academically.

Why is it then, as a people, we do not place the arts at the heart of all our public schools? And yes, all is the important word here. For we will all talk to a parent or youth this summer who as a member of a band or a chorus or a dance troupe will visit Europe or Asia. Now there is nothing wrong with that, but it does lead to a few questions: How many of those will come from poor inner city or rural schools? Are we modeling equity or justice as children of poor communities watch their colleagues from wealthy communities board planes for Europe on the evening news? What might happen to all of us—society—if we place the same value on Art as we do on Math, Science, or English and insist its inclusion and funding in our public schools? Might it make a difference in local communities? Might it make a difference in school attendance? Could art lead to youth “liking” school more, seeing one another with new eyes, and perhaps creating more friends?

A flute held lightly, clay emerging between young fingers, a little paint on the floor, maybe if these images became a reality in our schools we would find our youth have stronger foundations, our communities are healthier and we all are a little more righteous.

Worse case…maybe another Band and words that make us think. What harm is in that?

"Forever Young"
Forever Young (The Band with Bob Dylan)

May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
And may your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.

[1] “ The Page That Counts,” YES! Winter 2007: 16
[2] College Art Association, November 2003, www.collegeart.org/advocacy/c9/

SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 11, 2007

Clouds settled into one of the canyons this afternoon. They lay low, below the top of the ridge, giving sky to clouds manifesting in the west. As the late afternoon sun drops and moves towards the southwest horizon, its light reflects off cloud vapor giving an otherworldly feel to the sky.

To the south a single Canadian goose honks once and then again, flying eastward. They say that geese mate for life. I don’t know if their right, never looked it up. The sound of a single goose is a lonely one and I wonder; is it honking to find its mate who left the grain field earlier and will soon reunite, or has it lost a mate to the wild or to last seasons hunt?

Yesterday friends were here from the westside of the Cascades. During their visit sixty or so geese rose out of the neighboring cornfield. A group may be made of individuals, but when sixty geese begin talking all at once, the sound is more than a combination of their numbers. Perhaps the sound reflects off the ridge to the south, maybe it’s the low-lying clouds, whatever it is, the sound is one which causes a moments pause. The sound is a song of sorts, changing as the group gains height in slow flight to the west, breaking into two groups, both trying to find formation, but never quite attaining the classic V before we loose sight. A moments pause, then a struggle to find where conversation left off. Struggle because everyone knows what they have experienced has happened a thousand times today and yet this moment is unique, never occurring before and never again.

SUNDAY, JANUARY 28, 2007

The horses came down off Toppenish Ridge yesterday. It’s a little early in the year to find them on this side of the ridge. Might be early snowfalls and long stretches of cold weather has hurt the feed supply and has pushed them over the ridge to the north. Maybe they are simply traveling further because they can and the visit will only last a few days. Whatever the case, the horses normally feed on south side of the ridge, in the Satus drainage.

The Satus is unique. Though not wilderness, it is an unencumbered land. Highway 97 runs much of its length. There is one occupied homestead alongside the highway and a few miles to the south stands a lone transmitting tower at the base of a west sloping. There is sign of old corrals, barns, and homesteads along the highway, but now time owns them. Today horses, elk, deer, coyote, hawks, eagles occupy the valley along with the many small animals seldom noticed from the highway.

Today the Satus is the largest uncontrolled drainage feeding the Yakama River. About 500 square miles of mountains, canyons, and hallows make up the drainage and contribute to the flow of Satus Creek. Satus Creek runs beside the highway for much of its length, and during most of the year the flow of the Satus is slow giving four legged animals easy access to water.

Meandering isn’t a term for most of the length of the Satus. What meandering there is is lost in the spring runoff. The high elevation melt creates a growling rumble through the valley that moves boulders downstream, slides below roots and upends alders, oaks, pines, and sage sending them through beaver dam’s that were years in the building. Eventually the debris lies in magnificent piles of rocks, trees, and brush that lack any semblance of order—indicating something not human made, easily redirecting the creek from its existing bed. By the end of the spring, Satus Creek has new turns and bends, sometimes finding its bed far removed from its fall location. As early summer arrives the creek settles into an easy rock rounding, pebble pushing flow.

Satus Drainage is a series of land formations that guide water to the northeast. The terrain near Satus Pass, at the southwest end of the drainage, is the land that gives first thought to the potential creation of creek. The 3100-foot pass located on Bickleton Ridge holds snow much of the winter. Winter snowmelt allows for the deep watering that maintains higher elevation timber. The melting snow creates rivulets and streams as it slides down the north side of Bickleton Ridge and the headwaters of Satus Creek have birth.

The first fifteen miles of the creek is steep and runs through timber and rock. As the creek drops into valley floor it travels another seven to ten miles a bit slower but with quickness to its step. After thirty miles, Loggy Creek joins the Satus and another five miles downstream Dry Creek jumps in as well. Both Loggy and Dry bring drainage runoff from the west-southwest. With their joining the valley widens and the creeks slope flattens. Another eight miles downstream and Mule Dry Creek links to the Satus and brings water from the south-southeast out of the area known as Horse Heaven Hills. If the Satus is ever a meandering creek, it occurs after the coupling of Mule Dry Creek.

Another eight miles, more or less—depending on the twists and turns of a particular year, the Satus enrolls with the Yakima River. The land levels, the creek slows, and vegetation smaller that a tree begins to gain a foothold along the creek bank. Nearing the Yakima, the soil builds with water and the water table nears the surface. The ground surface becomes wetlands and with little worry of torrent flooding, the vegetation becomes large, tangled, and old. With age, trees now have height to give birth to nesting eagles and hawks. With age, trees have left ages of leaves and branches on the ground giving birth to animals of the soil.

The pace of Status is no longer one of hurry but neither is it slow. Instead, it enters the Yakima River in that space somewhere between teenager and adult, with knowledge, but ready to learn what is around the next bend, and experience the unknown of river life.

THURSDAY, JANUARY 11, 2007

Meeting last night
community gathers
own a HOME, it’s not possible, is it?
My parents
rejected by much of other community
own a HOME, not them.
My birth, is here, in this land
it’s okay, is it, to
own a HOME, in this land?
Mystery engulfs
community laughs
communion last night.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 05, 2007

An overcast morning, a light drizzle moving across the valley, and the temperature is thirty-two degrees. After the last week and a half of snow and below freezing temperatures it seems everyone is enjoying the day. Trees no longer bent over, grasses are free of snow and rebounding, hawks don’t appear as desperate and have moved flight from ten or fifteen feet off the ground to maybe fifty, the neighboring coyote did not have its nose to the ground this morning but seemed to have more of a amble to its gait, and the goats and sheep were warm enough to leave the barn early and stand waiting for the morning feeding of hay.

The morning feeding has a unique side to it. It is not always the same, seldom explainable, and often personal. In some ways, it is solitude, contemplative, and I would say, prayerful. Though, it is never lonely or quiet. Twenty some animals waiting for food are more than willing to let you know you should have arrived sooner and your dreaming to think your time schedule is more important than their stomach’s schedule (they care little that a day ago, in the cold, they would not have left the barn for at least another hour and in the scheme of my world, I am ahead of time). Their scolding quickly dies out to the silence of eating as the hay hits the feeder. They really are not a talking-with-their-mouth-full folk.

In place of the noise is constant movement. It is as if they believe the hay in front of their neighbor must be better than their own. So they constantly nudge and butt their neighbor out of the way and partake of the hay that is only a foot from where they were a moment ago. In the end it is like the game musical chairs put to breakfast, each animal bumps and is bumped down the length of the feeder until finally they have to leave the line and run to the other end and start the process all over. Unlike the game though, all the chairs stay, they all eat, and this morning that seems important.

This mornings feeding has me wondering if we are land based enough. I wonder if Christianity is land based enough. I say this from the perspective of my context. That’s to say, there are many places in the world where the people, and their religion are dependent upon the land. As such, they grasp the land deeply because their subsistence depends on it. But for those who are like me, who live in America, whose food on average travels 1500 miles from field to table, who eat vegetables, fruit, and salmon out of season, who no longer live a life of subsistence, I wonder if we are landed, enough.

At one time most of us lived a life of subsistence. We were people who grew food or hunted or gathered and hoped it was enough to get through the next winter. However, we are no longer a people of subsistence. Other than during the depression, most of America moved away from subsistence living at the turn of the twentieth century. It seems that the more time between us and our experience of subsistence living, the more we forget what it means to live that life. After all, when we are 1500 miles from our food, can we remember what it means to toil the land, care for the land, and experience it as our own? Has our separation from a time of subsistence created a society who butt others over, further down the feeder, and not comprehend that once they are butted off the end, there’s nowhere to go?[1]

This morning in the gray light of feeding, I wondered if a piece of text said something about what it means to be landed. This weeks Lectionary reading for tomorrows Epiphany has a Psalm, which in part says, “For he delivers the needy when they call, the poor and those who have no helper. He has pity on the weak and the needy, and saves the lives of the needy. From oppression and violence he redeems their life; and precious is their blood in his sight.” (Psalm 72: 12-14). The text, in the midst of haying animals, raised the question of subsistence and land for me.

Sheep and goats are natural foragers. They live by grazing and browsing. If humans are not around they keep moving finding only enough food that is sufficient for one’s use. They live by subsistence. On the farm though, this is no longer the case. During the last year people, young and old, volunteered to move irrigation lines, drive tractors, cut and bale hay, load hay on trailers, and load hay into the barn. Hard work, sweaty work, landed work. Yet work which results in the sheep and goats moving away from lives of subsistence. They eat well every morning and evening. The foraging they now do is a bonus in their lives, not a need. The comfort these animals now enjoy occurred because people who live on the other side of subsistence chose to give of their excess time and resources. Becoming landed again, I think, is when we attempt to see the whole, the interrelatedness of all, and the interdependence of everything.

Landed is seeing the whole of the Psalmist’s words. There is often a tendency to hear the “he” (he delivers, He has pity, he redeems) in this text as some otherworldly God—a God whose work is God’s own and not that of the people. Hearing the text in the wholeness of land though, we find ourselves called into deep mutuality where the “he” is not of subsistence—separated from creation, but rather the fullness of God experienced in the she/he/them/us/plant/animal—the we of creation.

[1] Just a few statistics: There are 12.9 million children living in poverty in America today. Roughly 20% of children 6 years-old and younger (4.8 million) live in poverty. Over 10% of the nation’s elderly (3.6 million) now live lives of poverty. Related to hunger…Household who experience hunger or the risk of hunger is 35.1 million, 12.4 million of those are children. (sources: Catholic Campaign for Human Development—www.usccb.org/cchd/povertyusa/index.htm and Bread for the World—www.bread.org)

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 21, 2006

The water is down. The days are frozen.

The creek water ran high yesterday; it was cold as well. Creek edges froze. Today ice floats above the creek magically and mysteriously. Some would say it is the grass, the reeds, the willow, that holds the ice in the air. Others might experience the wonder of floating ice in a molecule world of slow moving atoms, electrons, protons, neutrons, and a questioning nucleus.

Water flows beneath the floating ice. Ice mated with long-stemmed grass rising from the creek, dances an unreal courtship as water flows between the stems. Light in reflected relationship can find residence with neither the ice nor the water, but bound between the two as if home is in the space.

Large horizontal ice floes rooted to dry land are stable in the afternoon breeze, while hanging over the flowing creek. It is as if somehow protecting and caring for something hidden in the water, or the grasses.

Movement. Green maybe blue, yes, movement of color below an ice floe across the creek. There, again—flurry, maybe a fluttering, something that is neither ice nor water. Behind grasses who dance outside of ice relationship, free to move as freewill in the mystery of water and ice, interconnected.

A second look and then a third and finally again movement takes form, colors come together, mystery makes itself known. A greenhead, a mallard, a duck, moving-swimming under the ice, in between the grasses and reeds…though, not alone, no, there’s more. Something here’s not right and yet very right. A duckling and a brown female swim with the greenhead male, giving the illusion of family, but this isn’t right, the male always leaves after mating and ducklings don’t hatch this time of year. Just the same, wing to wing, duckling in between, they move between the stems rising from water supporting the frozen structure overhead. Three circle, observe, and then slide by thin willow, not emerging the other side. Impossible…no water movement indicting dive and willow not wide enough to hide.

Was it real? Was it imagined? Does it matter or is there mystery asking for a moment of learning? Ducks holding child close to feather. Folding, enveloping, and protecting from known and unknown. Caring, yet present to the real of life, this lies on the slipping edge of light through ice overhead. A moment, yes, perhaps unreal, but as real as unseen current beneath the creeks surface that calls forth caring for young.

Remindful of journey stories, recent and ancient, told to call memory from deep within, never forgotten, though not always known. Stories of love and care so often not remembered for the love nor the care.

If Creator is intentional to awakening the self of inner-being, perhaps, there is intentionality in the moment, the day, the time of the solstice. Why celebration four days hence and little thought to the long night? Perhaps it is to give memory, to search the deep of community, of life, of family—of future family.

Caught in the story as defined and yet there seems more. Focus of child unborn. Instead, a love story of future parents. Two who struggle for the sake of one another and tomorrow’s life. In the moment, between the reeds, a single light filters through the ice of clear sky, with simple thought of survival. Parental pregnancy not of divinity but of parenthood with focus…focuses of life, love, and care.

Solstice is of moment, of journey, of tomorrow, and shorter night when light is nether ice or sky bound, but of life now cared for by two, who are cared for by two, who are cared for by two—more.

Solstice of life and love. Solstice of community and care. Solstice of us only, for them become us, and us becomes them in the parenting light through the ice floating above the creek when the water is down.

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 16, 2006

What if the Yakama Mission earned a penny every time you searched the Internet?  Well, now we can!

GoodSearch.com is a new search engine that donates ad revenue, about a penny per search, to the charity its users designate.  Use it just like any search engine, and it’s powered by Yahoo!, so you get the same great results. 

Just go to www.goodsearch.com and enter Yakama Christian Mission as the organization you want to support.  Just 500 of us searching four times a day will raise about $7300 in a year without anyone spending a dime!  Please spread the word!

Get started right now and download the GoodSearch toolbar http://www.goodsearch.com/toolbars.aspx

[When you go to www.goodsearch.com type Yakama into the box Who do you GoodSearch for? The Yakama Christian Mission should come up and you’re ready to go. Also, I think you will find loading GoodSearch into your toolbar, very easy. Then you can do all your searching from your toolbar without returning to the site (at the site, though, you can keep track of the money raised by clicking on “Amount Raised” just below the box with the Mission’s name). If you have any question email Dave at dave@yakamamission.org for help]

Hope, Peace, Joy, Love

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 08, 2006

Fog settled into the valley about a week ago along with freezing temperatures. The combination creates an atmosphere where the fog attaches itself to everything. Fence wires, half the size of a crayon, have grown to thumb size stands of ice wandering the country roads. Tumbleweeds across plowed fields now take on the appearance of sculpted ice art intentionally placed on large white snow tabletops. Fog lies up against homes finding any small bump or crevice to attach itself creating thousands of small icy fingers reaching horizontally out from the buildings. It’s as if fogs icy fingers caress buildings, feeling around every door, window, and seam searching for access into the home. Inevitably it does, even in well-built homes. Inside temperatures plummet, heaters run constantly, and blankets become standard setting attire. Not-so-well-built homes are another thing in the icy fog.

Remember the time when you lived in a home where the windows are single pane and drafty and you created your own dual pane window by stapling plastic on the outside wall? Remember when you didn’t have indoor plumbing and used an outside toilet? Remember patching the roof hoping to get through one more winter?

I don’t. Sure, I’ve tried to listen closely to the stories of parents and grandparents, tried to imagine what it was like, but it’s been a long time and the images are hazy. I know the stories are important to remember. I know they are important to ground me to those whose modern reality is the reality of my grandparent’s childhood. I know the stories are important, because I can’t get an image out of my mind—of the woman, just down the road, whom I saw one early morning leaving the “outhouse” in her nightgown walking back to her home through snow with temperatures in the teens. It is important because I was naive enough to be surprised. It is important because the living conditions of that home make it much harder for the woman’s children to learn in school.

Over the last few years, individuals, families, groups and congregations have supported The JustLiving Project, through individual contributions, family Christmas Gifts, and the “Yakama Pouch” (a fundraiser for affordable housing). Today the Mission is on the verge of building its first JustLiving Home (probably as soon as this summer!).

In part, this is a thank you to all who have supported the Yakama Mission in all of its programming to allow time to make TheJustLiving Project a reality. This is also an invitation to you to begin thinking about the JustLiving build(s), and make it one of the justice events in which you, your family, group, non-profit, or congregation participate in the coming year(s). Raising the money was the first half, now volunteering and building the home is the second half!

This journal entry is also to tell you about an upcoming documentary. Beginning December 10, television stations will begin airing “Building on Faith: Making Poverty Housing History.”

The hour-long program, narrated by Linda Ellerbee, award-winning broadcast journalist, is presented by the National Council of Churches USA. It includes interviews with the CEO of Habitat for Humanity International, Jonathan Reckford, former vice-presidential candidates John Edwards and Jack Kemp, and Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) General Minister and President, Sharon Watkins.

Find more information on the documentary at Building on Faith: Making Poverty Housing History . A study guide for the documentary is at www.ncccusa.org/housing/ . And you can find stations carrying the program at www.interfaithbroadcasting.com/onair.aspx .

In the case that the documentary is not shown in your area, you can attain a DVD or VHS of the program on December 20 from,

Mennonite Media
A division of Mennonite Mission Network
1251 Virginia Ave. |Harrisonburg VA 22802
800-999-3534 or 540-434-6701
www.mennomedia.org.

Mission staff is available to join your group to watch and discuss the program and talk about how you can participate in building affordable housing. Call or email us at, (509) 874 -2824 or log@yakamamission.org for more information and/or to set a time to join your group to watch Building on Faith: Making Poverty Housing History.

Join us on the ground floor and getting the word out on The JustLiving Project. Together we will create livable housing where the fog is something to enjoy from the inside of a warm home.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 2006

Wheatgrass grows in this land east of the Cascade Range. Though it’s not a native grass to this land, it is a grass well suited to land conditions with hot summers, cold winters, and a fair amount of rain. A bunch grass of sorts, it has a light leaf structure when first growing that is readily eatable by animals who are grazers and browsers. Stems shoot out from the middle of the grass growing to a height of three to eight feet, depending on the amount of water is has access to. Seeds form at the top of the stems, which are soon blown off in the Fall winds. The seeds become feed for upland birds and of course, reseed and expand the grass base.

Brought into the landscape with the westward movement it has become quite abundant. With a penchant for self-survival, the Wheatgrass has pushed out the native Great Basin Rye Grass. The Great Basin Rye is similar in structure to the Wheatgrass, but its leaf and stem have a lighter structure. Great Basin Rye, anymore, occurs mostly where intentional effort has plowed the Wheatgrass under and the Great Basin Rye planted.

Wheatgrass has been in the countryside so long and has become so abundant—so normal to the landscape; most folk believe it a native grass. When non-native becomes native, it is time to give some thought to what that means for our future.

The phrase Manifest Destiny is similar to Wheatgrass. In the last 160 years, the concept behind Manifest Destiny has become so ingrained into the political, economic, and religious landscape of the United States, the phrase is seldom used outside the history classroom (and because it is taught in history, it is not considered a present concept, but something of the past). Due to its stability within current systemic political, economic, and religious structure, it just isn’t noticed. For example, when George W. Bush said, “You are either with us, or with the terrorists” in the early days after 911, it was hard to grasp the religious undertones of Manifest Destiny informing modern political reality. When Bush’s speechwriter took the Christian text, “Whoever is not against us is for us,” (Mark 9:40) and reworked into “You are either with us, or with the terrorists,” a deep tie between Christianity and politics—the stuff of Manifest Destiny, became very present.

Using Christianity to inform political life and political life to inform Christianity is nothing new. It has been in development since the first Puritan footstep in the new land. And though the Puritan hope for theocracy failed, as the concept “separation of church and state” gained a foothold in the development of documents such as the Constitution, there were many a minister troubled that Christianity would not inform political and economic thought. John M. Mason, a New York minister, not being the least of these,

declared the absence of God in the Constitution ‘an omission which no pretext whatever can palliate’ and warned Americans would ‘have every reason to tremble, lest the Governor of the universe, who will not be treated with indignity by a people more than by individuals, overturn from its foundation the fabric we have been rearing, and crush us to atoms in the wreck.’[1]

John didn’t have to worry.

Less than seventy years after the signing of the Declaration of Independence, the phrase Manifest Destiny has its beginnings. It is concept that allows political leaders to use Christianity as an endorser of political laws and legislation and give the semblance of “separation of church and state.” In part, this separation occurs because the term/concept came from neither the pulpit nor the bully pulpit, but from a columnist/editor working outside the formal structures of church or state.

In 1845, the Congress is working on the Texas annexation. A fair amount of argument is taking place on Texas’ annexation, as well as that of future states, California and Oregon in particular. In the July-August issue of the United States Magazine and Democratic Review , John O’Sullivan coins the phrase “manifest destiny” in his essay “Annexation.” Here O’Sullivan makes his initial case for the annexation of Texas by saying it is, “…our manifest destiny to overspread the continent allotted by Providence for the free development of our yearly multiplying millions.”[2] By September of 1845 he has broadened his argument beyond the boundaries of the growing United States and added a racist spin in the September 15 edition of the New York Herald,

It was the fulfillment of our manifest destiny to overspread the continent allotted by Providence for the free development of our yearly multiplying millions. No longer bounded by the limits of the confederacy, it looks abroad upon the whole earth, and into the mind of the republic daily sinks deeper and deeper the conviction that civilization on the earth—the reform of the governments of the ancient world—the emancipation of the whole race, are dependent, in a great degree, on the United States.[3]

By December 27, O’Sullivan writes a line in the New York Morning News, which will have the greatest influence on the expanding country. When writing about the Oregon boundary clash with Great Britain he speaks in favor of the United States saying,

And that claim is by the right of our manifest destiny to overspread and to possess the whole of the continent which Providence has given us for the development of the great experiment of liberty and federated self-government entrusted to us.[4]

The religious tie to government in O’Sullivan’s articles is apparent by remembering “ Providence” is a common term of the day for “God” or “God’s influence,” thus the capitalization in each quote. John O’Sullivan soon leaves the public limelight, but the phrase and concept of Manifest Destiny stays to influence both the thinking and actions of the people of the United States from that time on.

As National American Indian Heritage Month comes to a close it does well to remember the concept of Manifest Destiny led the United States into events such as the Sand Creek Massacre on November 29, 1864, the 1870 Congress approval of $100,000 for Indian education and thereby support of Christian Boarding Schools and the removal of thousands of 6–16 year-old children from their parents, the General Allotment Act of 1887 that led to the acquisition of Indian lands by non-Indians, and multiple other laws and legislation to this current day. It also does well to remember Manifest Destiny was/is about more than to “overspread and to possess the whole of the continent,” but to have America look “ abroad upon the whole earth.”

[1] Susan Jacoby, “Original Intent,” Mother Jones Dec. 2005: 30
[2] http://web.grinnell.edu/courses/HIS/f01/HIS202-01/Documents/OSullivan.html
[3] John O'Sullivan, "Annexation," United States Magazine and Democratic Review 17, no.1 (July-August 1845): 5-10
[4] America’s Byways: http://www.rmpbs.org/byways/sft_manifest.html
[5] Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_O'Sullivan_(journalist)

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 2006

Trenches were backfilled today. For the last couple of weeks, Jill, David, Angel, Uriel, and Dave have worked on placing the waterline and electrical conduit for the neighbors (Belinda is forever working the books trying to make these jobs possible). The work began with marking the location of the trenches. A few days later, the backhoe arrived and the digging of the trenches began.

As the bucket moved through the land, a trench began to form. The soil in each bucket lifted from the ground found placement to the south of the developing trench. As the land moved from its place of ancient rest, it became apparent the land is different from expected. On the surface of the land were apple trees. Golden Delicious trees planted almost thirty years ago, whose bark tells of productive years. Trees having spent years of dropping leaves created a top soil. First appearances tell of trees planted in age-old topsoil. But, appearances can be deceiving. Instead of deep topsoil, the soils from the trench told a different story.

Bucket after bucket brought up gravel, sand, and cobbles. Rock, smooth and round, formed from ages of being washed over by water came to the surface. The story of the ground buried below the surface of the land told of a time when the Yakima River flowed through this land. An ancient story came alive as the buckets brought riverbed to the surface, telling of days when water flowed and lingered in eddies and of raging torrents when warm rains melted the eastern Cascade snow pack. Years, perhaps thousands, saw the laying of