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Forgiving Chris Brown
I’ll admit it. When I saw Chris Brown perform during the Grammys, I made a face and turned to my wife. “I really don’t like him,” I said to her. And actually, I said a lot more in my head. “He’s sleazy. He’s sketchy. He’s abusive. He’s a terrible influence.” I was a little ashamed when I reviewed the string of choice labels I’d just lobbed at the TV, but I shrugged it off and moved on. Read more...
Crocheting for a Better Tomorrow
“A spoon full of craft helps the activism go down.” It may sound like an updated Mary Poppins motto, but it’s actually the idea behind the Craftivist Collective: a group of activists whose chosen tool to protest for global justice is simple—craft. The team makes statements using mini-protest pieces—like banners, cards and face masks—and then hangs them up in public spaces so passersby read the messages. Sentiments on the pieces address issues such as climate change, exploitation of the developing world and many more talking points about global sustainability. Now the group is turning its sights on hijacking the commercialization of Valentine’s Day. Read more...
Activism Is Nothing But a Number
While it’s difficult to imagine that anyone would be inclined to pick up a clipboard and slap on a lanyard to take an actual, statistically sound census of the Occupiers across North America, it’s probably safe to presume their average age is not reaching far into the realm of the middle-aged. Although an occasional face that is wrinkled by age rather than rage can be found among the media images, mostly this type of uncomfortable, daily agenda-altering activism is considered the domain of the disillusioned youth and twentysomethings. It’s for the people missing midterms rather than mortgage payments. Read more...
The Give and Take of Missions
Hookah smoke chokes the bar and nut bowls are picked clean as blogs are updated and Twitter feeds are scrutinized. If it weren’t for the Arabic crooning of sexy Lebanese pop stars on the TV, you’d hardly be able to tell that the volunteers were lounging in a cafe across the street from an Israeli checkpoint and not their local Starbucks. Read more...
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When Justice and Mercy Meet
Compassion is a dangerous thing. It can open a person to all manner of risks. It causes reasonable people to make extravagant heart-decisions, from spending untold hours collecting supplies to assist flood victims, to journeying into harm’s way to feed starving refugees. Some have even left successful careers devoting themselves to a cause that gripped their hearts. Read more...
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How to Develop a Vanishing Community
In January, my wife and I started to read through the Bible chronologically. As I woke up in a village in Gulu, Uganda, 70 miles from the Sudan border, I was amazed that our reading plan text for the day was Matthew 25. It was somewhere between standing over seven graves with a family impacted by the LRA (Lord's Resistance Army), taking a shower outside with a bucket and riding on a dirt bike (boda) into the village that I contemplated once again what it meant to "love the least of these." Read more...
A Conversation Behind the Veils
Fatima served refreshments every time I entered her house. If she had none to serve, she would send the neighbor’s children to the shop across the alley to purchase some. She modeled the Arab law of hospitality, teaching me that every guest must be served refreshment. I had to learn not to model the American law of personal preference. I despised cream-filled cookies. I flinched every time I saw her tray. But I learned to smile as I ate them. Fatima was hungry for companionship. A new bride recently pregnant, she spoke some English and discussed everything with me—except Jesus. She would not let me talk about Him. Read more...
Serving the World Locally
I grabbed a coffee and a meat pie. I brushed off the huckster trying to convince me to patronize his peep show. I had been traveling all over Australia for the past two months, and I was taking the morning off from sight-seeing and beach-going. I went to the newsstand in Sydney’s King’s Cross district and grabbed the morning paper It was Sept. 12, 2001 in Australia. Sitting on the stoop in front of that newsstand, the world changed; I never felt more American. Read more...
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