A culture of welcome

We live our belief through the lens of our experience. Because of our past, we may find religion comforting or discomforting. We may find ritual affirming, or it may occur for us as a dreary grind. What we notice in our religious observance generally falls into categories, and we dwell on one aspect, which may be a different aspect than what someone else dwell on. In the simplest example, some people find in the risen Christ, the king and judge, and others find in Him the gentle friend. Some notice majesty; some notice radical humility.

I was very affected by my time in the Episcopal community through St. John the Divine. For many years, I was an usher for the congregation, and for the large important ceremonies, we would have an orientation. One topic that has stayed with me all these years was the head of security there discussing how to deal with potentially dangerous people. (In the years after 9/11/2001, the Cathedral was on the top ten list of potential bombing targets, so we were to be extra vigilant.)

Despite the potential for danger, we were urged to be mindful of our primary mission of welcome.

How amazing is that! First, we are to love and welcome. Always, we are to love and welcome the stranger and the friend.

But shouldn't that be obvious? Why does it need to be said at all? Because it doesn't happen everywhere all the time, not there, not anywhere.

Cheaper than an ipad

Our students have been collecting money for the Heifer Project for the third year in a row. Last week in our discussion, William noticed that a water buffalo, a magnificent creature, cost less than an ipad. We can do this! he said.

Today we had another discussion about the same comparison -- the massive utility of a water buffalo vs. the sleek, fleeting pleasure of an ipad. How long does each one last, or live? What can you really do with an ipad, or with a water buffalo? It's such an absurd, modern comparison.

Some of the group couldn't imagine such a massive animal. One girl commented that a water buffalo wasn't much use in the city.

What I took from the discussion was that the remove so many of our children have now from the natural world isolates them, from others in more 'natural' setting, from humanity's communal past, from the gloriousness of creation that is, like God's grace, always available.

I once had a student recently arrived from Bangladesh. He liked the Bronx, but he really lit up for me describing how elephants were used routinely, in a daily manner to move heavy objects and uproot trees.

I still wish I could bring lambs into my classes.  While I cannot bring a live animal, maybe I can at least evoke the possibility of a more integrated understanding.  Can that spark of the natural world live in our imagination amidst the paved city?