out of darkness

The funny thing about darkness is that it is recognized only in the absense of light.  It has no real tangible presence or source.  Light has a source, ultimately the sun.  Light is actual energy.  Color is reflected light.  Darkness and shadow are what we see when there is no light.  As soon as the light appears, darkness ceases to exist.

I hear people speak about a darkness in Aliquippa.  I say that such darkness exists, but its source is in a lack of light.  When we are the light, the darkness will disappear.  I say too that there are lights in this community.  I say too that there have been lights in this community throughout generations keeping this place from complete darkness.  I say too that we need more light.

And how are we the light?  By ceasing our endless chatter about change and beginning the actual work of change.  By tending to our neighbor’s lawn, and keeping it in better shape than our own.  By offering water on a hot day to a stranger.  By acknowledging and listening to pain, by empathizing with the hurts of our fellow citizens.  By living, sharing, and worshiping with our brothers and sisters from other races, acknowledging our differences and loving one another anyway (in heaven, one friend of mine hypothesizes there will be conflict, but we will know how to deal with it respectably, lovingly, and we will actually deal with it).  What you do for the least of these, you do for Christ,

for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men’s faces.

There is a place in town where you can sit with old friends, or make new ones if you’d like, over a $.50 cup of coffee.  You can listen to music, hell, you can play your own music.  You can write your own story, draw your own picture, live your own life, laugh, cry, mourn, or shout in anger if that is what you need to do.  It is a place to heal.  It is a place where light is shining.

There is a group of college students in town again this summer, you can’t really miss them unless you don’t come outside.  They are working, playing, laughing, protecting, teaching, encouraging and cultivating with over 200 of the city’s youth.  They are lights making lights, like a flock of lightning bugs.

There are plenty of others too.  To every city worker, coach, mother, father, grandmother, aunt, uncle, friend, stranger, librarian, officer, volunteer, clergy, and everything in between, be encouraged.  The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness will not overcome it.  May light perpetual shine from you as you walk down our streets.  Know that this city is loved.

Week #2 Pictures

Week two of camp is over already.  Both existing gardens have been planted, and so our focus will be on the Spring Street property from here on out.  We planted some tomatoes and some other vegetables Thursday at the Linmar Day camp.  Here are some photos from of the third and fourth graders planting tomatoes:

The first and second grade class also helped with some planting of cucumbers and string beans, but I misplaced the camera so I don’t have any good pictures from their class.  It was really hot outside by the time the fifth and sixth grade class would have gotten outside, so in lew of planting, we watched the video The Story of Stuff.  The class seemed to really like it and they really understood parts of it.  Hopefully it encourages them to think critically.

Art camp continues to go well too.  Ethan and I have started facilitating a mural project that I picked up last summer from a fellow grad student at Eastern University.  Here are some photos from the project:

Students created images out of different pictures from National Geographic.

Then they selected their three favorite images as references for the mural.

Using an overhead projector, we blew up the image, traced it, and began working on a black and white acrylic underpainting.

After day one of the black and white underpainting, the image is already starting to take shape. I think it is going to look great with some color.

Growing Roots Pictures

We’ve started up the gardening program here in Aliquippa.  Here are some photos of what has been going on.  We’ve got a lot of ground turned over and a lot of projects in the works.

Turning the ground for raised beds at 1028 Main St.

Mike Mcgee, a partner from Poison Free tills the soil

Brian and I probably haven't gardened together in 12 years.

The end result: eight raised beds

Our prototype rain water collection system. We hope to set up more of these around town and improve on their use.

First Day of Camp

Yesterday  marked my third first day of camp.  It also kicked off my fourth summer in Aliquippa, a fact I often forget.  You might get the idea that by now, for me, this whole thing would be old hat.  I sort of wish it was, to be perfectly frank, but it seems that God (or life, or fate, whichever you are comfortable with) has a way of requiring more and more from a person.  Consequently, this summer I am sort of throwing around two brand new positions with Aliquippa Impact: Urban Gardening and Art Camp.

Urban Gardening

Aliquippa started last summer with a basic gardening initiative but this summer we are launching a much larger program.  We have partnered with another local grassroots organization to set up two vegetable gardens and property revitalization on a third sight. One of the sights is looking good, the other vegetable sight needs some work, and we haven’t touched the third property yet.  Hopefully we will have some photos soon to show our progress.

Art Camp

I’ve been dreaming of an art camp in Aliquippa since I got here and have been part of building more than one idea that has’t been pursued (for various reasons).  All that to say, I am thrilled to be part of AI’s inaugural Art camp.  Last night was our first night, and I think it was a pretty good success.  The youth around here are creative and definitiely starving for creative outlet.

Bird Songs: Creation at Play

I have been feeling the need to get away and collect myself for a bit, so I decided to take this week and drive down to Toccoa, GA and spend some time with a group of my old college friends.  Toccoa is beautiful this time of year.  It is right on the edge of the southernmost Appalachians.  The area is full of dense forests, mountain streams, and plenty of waterfalls.

Yesterday I decided to take a walk in the woods and try to get some thinking done.  The forest canopy was thick and all along the way I was sung to by choruses of birds.  As I walked along the forest path along gentle streams and amidst wildflowers blooming, I could feel my spirits lifting just being outside in creation.

Maybe you believe in a higher power, maybe you don’t.  Regardless, looking at nature you’ve got to appreciate how excessive it all is.  There are so many textures, sounds, colors, it is mind boggling.  I remember reading once that the human brain must quickly develop an ability to focus on certain details, or else our minds would overload.  We are never, it seems, wholly conscious of everything that is going on, everything that we could be aware of.  A grown oak tree has millions of leaves.  The natural world has an absurd amount of detail.

I was taking all this in when I heard the laughter of my favorite bird, the Pileated woodpecker.  If you’ve never heard their call, it is really quite thrilling and nearly impossible to mistake (worth checking out online). The German theologian Jergen Moltmann once said, “Creation is God’s play, play of his groundless and inscrutable wisdom.  It is the realm in which God displays his glory.”  I can believe that when I hear the Pileat.  Incidentally, in the southern Appalachians, Pileated Woodpeckers were sometimes referred to as “The Lord God Bird.”

The creator was at play when he made the world.  It was frivolous, excessive, an act that needed no purpose, justification, or motivation.  From Moltmann again, the creator “did not have to create something to realize himself.  As we were saying, he has brought forth his creation to enjoy it.”  And the creation, in turn, enjoys itself.  Why does a Sparrow sing or The Lord God Bird laugh?  It sings itself.  It needs no reason to sing.  It sings to enjoy its song, to delight in its very existence.  The bird’s only purpose, if it can be called a purpose, is to take joy in its existence, in the existence of the creation surrounding it, and in the existence of its creator.  The birdsong is the vehicle which The Lord God Bird uses.  This is the demonstrative joy of existence.

But existence itself, the creation, is marred.  When we speak of joy we must inevitably speak of sorrow.  The birds have forgotten how to enjoy humanity and we have forgotten to enjoy The Lord God Bird.  Pain and death are realities, and they are found in birdsong.  For each laugh that The Lord God Bird lets out, there is another song of sorrow heard with equal frequency.

So we humans must learn remember to make song, to find joy in our very existence, in the existence of creation, and in the existence of the creator.  We do that through play, through creativity, through purposeful living, through listening to birdsong.  We also sing our sorrow, and there must be a place for that.  Andrew Bird, so aptly named, demonstrates demonstrative joy in existence.  I finally realized why I like him so much.  His lyrics may not necesarily have purpose or meaning that I can fully understand, but his songs are like beautiful games to me. Again, Moltmann says, “a game is meaningful within itself but it must appear useless and purposeless from an outside point of view.”  His songs pervade joy, and in an instant, sorrow.

I am sparrow, myself I sing.  No more is needed.  This post is a conglomerate of thoughts inspired by Jurgen Moltmann, Annie Dillard, Andrew Bird, and of course, The Lord God Bird.

objectivity vs. subjectivity

I met an interesting guy at starbucks the other day.  I won’t go into details, but I was reading one of his editorials and it had the following insight:

The empiricist claim that objectivity has primacy over subjectivity is an UNPROVEN AND DEMONSTRABLY UNPROVABLE ASSUMPTION rather than an assured reality.
~John J. Zanath

There was a time in my life I might have strongly disagreed.  Now I am not quite as certain, but I think it is an interesting discussion.

projects in the work

Mr. and Mrs. Edward Ellerton Ellerton Thorpe

There was a time I wouldn’t have been interested in learning of my mother’s eccentric Aunt Helen and Uncle Edward. I’m not quite sure how we got on the subject of the two, but the conversation that began made me wish that I had been alive in time to meet them. They both died before I was around, as is the case with many of my most interesting relatives, and so it is only through stories that I am able to experience them.

Helen Beattie Thorpe was my grandmother’s sister. She became a professor of some kind at New York University and lived most of her life in Montclair, New Jersey. I believe she taught a journalism course, I’ll have to ask my Uncle Bob about it next time I see him.

My mom describes Edward Ellerton Ellerton Thorpe as a man as bizarre as his name. That is to say, the preceding repetition of Ellerton is not a misprint. Far as I know, his parents named him Edward Ellerton Ellerton. By the time my mother really new Edward he had retired. She doesn’t really remember what he did for a living. Next time I see Uncle Bob I will ask him about that too.

Their home in Montclair was decorated with modern furniture that still survives in my parents’ home and in the house of my Aunt Liz and Uncle Bob. In fact, the dresser in my bedroom growing up came from their home, though I never knew until now. They had a giant living room and sat in separate corners. Edward was surrounded by books on his end, and Helen too was enveloped in her space by shelves of books. They were, apparently, avid canasta players. On evenings they would drink Vino de Jerez, Sherry, and play cards.

In my parents living room a few of Helen’s books survive. In time she suffered some form of dementia or stroke, perhaps even mild schizophrenia. In the pages of portions of books you can read her hysterical scribbles. One reads “123=6.” Another, “You’d do just as well in my body as in any body else’s.” In the same book there is a confession that she stole the book from the Hospitality Shop in Montclair.

What I have described in the last few paragraphs is not really anything wildly out of the ordinary. The two seem like folks whose company I would have enjoyed. They seemed to have an appreciation for books and aesthetics that I could have shared. I imagine they would have gotten along well with my grandfather Henshaw. Perhaps the Baldwin in me would have underappreciated the Thorpe’s sophistication. They were, after all, from New Joisey.

The story of Edward and Helen became really bizarre to me when my mother shared about Edward’s funeral. The funeral was the first occasion on which Helen ever met her brother-in-law, though the two were married for three or four decades. In fact, the funeral was the first time that Helen learned that Edward had any living family. Helen believed, and Edward had claimed, that the young Edward was orphaned as a child. He had allegedly witnessed his parents and siblings die in a boat wreck. And she had believed it the whole time.

My hunch is that Uncle Edward came to believe it as well. You see, shortly after the funeral, a manuscript he had been working on was found. Upon its reading it was discovered that within the manuscript’s tale was Edward’s alter ego. The history which he had repeated to Helen about his past was all a part of the fiction which he had created. How long had he been working on that manuscript? A manuscript which contained a history which he had been claiming as his own for decades…At what point did the fiction he had created merge with the reality of his own existence? Did it begin as a calculated lie? Or, did elements from his fiction slowly incorporate themselves into his mind until they slowly took him over?

No one will, perhaps, ever know. The manuscript was destroyed and its contents, like Edward and Helen’s minds, were lost indefinitely, only to be repeated in story.

Religious Proselytizing

Yesterday I sat down and chatted with a pair of “missionaries” for a good hour-and-a-half.  They’d been going door to door, and it just so happened that I was checking my mailbox as they were stepping onto my front porch.  I was pretty sure I knew what message they were going to bring to me, but I invited them in hoping to dialog a bit.  I guess what followed was more of a lecture (by them) than a dialog.  Though I had invited them into my home and offered them my hospitality (which they refused), they proceeded to “set me straight” on the “gospel of Jesus.”

I have no issues with people attempting to spread their religious beliefs.  I believe in truth, and I believe in the law of non-contradictions.  That means that I don’t think it is possible for contradictory religions to be simultaneously true.  There have to be some(or many) that are wrong.  I am interested in knowing the truth, so I am, of course, interested in talking to people with diverse beliefs and practices.  That having been said, I didn’t think that the way these two missionaries went about their work was appropriate, and goodness knows I hope it isn’t effective.  This is not an attempt to bash their beliefs (which is why I won’t post what religion they were representing), but I do want to critique their method of proselitizing.

Lets start with something simple: their appearance.  These two guys (both about my age or a tad younger) were dressed in their finest formal wear.  They wore black pleated slacks, dress shoes, white shirts with ties and dark jackets.  They both had fancy wrist watches on.  Their hair was well kept and they were clean shaven.  They looked fresh out of the box, like business men, lawyers or reverends.  So what?  Well, look at what I was wearing: Here I was lounging around my house in my sweatpants and a sweatshirt, I hadn’t combed my hair or anything because I have not been expecting guests.  Just by their dress they’d created a social barrier.  Because of the corporate professional air which they had adopted I was less likely to trust them, I was less likely to feel comfortable.  Granted I didn’t necessarily feel uncomfortable (because I was pretty sure what these guys were about), but I don’t exactly live in yuppie-ville.  This is blue-color country, and this is an economically depressed community.  Dressing like that immediately sets one apart, like wearing a tuxedo to McDonald’s.

I invited them into the living room to sit down and chat, I was interested in talking to them.  I offered them something to drink, coffee or tea, but they refused.  For roughly an hour and a half they argued with me about the teachings of their church.  They wanted to convince me that their church was the true church, but they couldn’t give me any reasons for why I would want to be a part of their church.  Their evidence for the “truth” of their religion was that they had read their scriptures, prayed about them, and had “a feeling” it was true.  All they could offer me was a completely subjective experience.  I wanted to know how lives were changed once coming to follow their beliefs, but they couldn’t offer me anything.  They just kept talking about going door to door.  To them, the gospel of Jesus was going door to door recruiting people.  Actually, their gospel seemed to have very little to do with Jesus and more to do with empire building (building their particular church).  They spoke down to me, quoting bible verses over and over again, talking to me as if I had never read the bible before.  It felt so condescending that finally I told them that I had been  Biblical studies minor at college, that I was familiar with the book they were talking about, that I didn’t need them to talk to me like I was uneducated on the subject.  They hadn’t really bothered to find that out.  They also never once asked me my name.  From all that it was clear to me that they were more interested in getting their message out than they were in people.  They didn’t care about genuine relationship, they cared about talking about their beliefs.

So then there was their message, “the gospel of Jesus.”  My very first question to them was, “which Jesus?”  There may have been one historical Jesus of Nazareth, but there are thousands of “gospels” of that same Jesus, many of which are contradictory.  And though they told me that their Jesus was the same as my Jesus, that there was only one Jesus, their gospel was wildly different than the gospel of the Jesus I try to follow.  Their Jesus was not God, and his message was not love and reconciliation, it was an institutional church empire that they were trying to recruit for.  Their gospel was going door to door telling people about their beliefs.

The gospel of the Jesus I believe in is wildly more than that.  It includes loving one’s neighbor as one’s self.  It includes laying down one’s life for one’s enemies.  It includes conversion to a new way of unselfish living.  It includes feeding the hungry and clothing the naked.  It includes freedom from addiction.  It cares more about people than about recruiting.  While it does invite people to join it, it does not force conversion, because genuine love for individuals (not mere proselytizing) is the motive behind it.

‘Liberal’ Education is dead

In 1970, 79 percent of American college freshmen said their primary goal in life was to develop a meaningful philosophy of life.  In 2005, 75 percent said their primary objective was to be financially very well off.  It is a mind-blowing shift of perspective–and, I would hazard, an amazing indicator of how uncool it became among American college students to think of other people.

~John Bowe, Nobodies

We live in an economic culture, and it is destroying us.