This week, I attended Savaira's uncle's funeral service. Because we weren't familiar with the customs of Fijian funerals, we ended up showing up on the evening when the family service was happening. I was admittedly nervous about having shown up on the wrong day because it might have made for a really awkward situation.
But the minute we walked in, Auntie Selina greeted us with hugs and kisses, and thanked us for showing up. Then Savaira came and sat beside us, and proceeded to explain what was happening because a good half of the service was in Fijian.
My mind began to wander back to a conversation I had earlier in the week. At our lunch group, the conversations revolved around whether we should be thinking about a different way of doing Church--a way that would be more welcoming for new people, and particularly whether a 40-minute long sermon made it more overwhelming for someone new.
As the conversation went back and forth, I heard Dr Shively's voice in my head saying, "A sermon should be no longer than 20-minutes. Any longer, and you lose the attention."
But I had another nagging thought. I wasn't ready to throw the baby out with the bath water and say that the sermon was unnecessary. I couldn't quite figure out how to explain myself as the conversation continued. All I could think of was that the sermon time was meant to be a time where, perhaps like at family reunions, there's a lot of other flurry of activity. But at some point, Grandma or Grandpa starts telling the stories of the family traditions and the heritage that has been passed on to us.
So perhaps we need to re-examine the way we preach sermons. Are we just giving a speech each Sunday just for the sake of giving a speech, or are we framing the stories of our Christian heritage in such a way that helps us understand why we make certain lifestyle decisions now?
Then the question was raised: What about the new people? How do they get included in story time?
At Savaira's uncle's funeral, the question was resolved for me. When we as a family truly live out our understanding of hospitality, everyone eventually gets adopted into the family. Perhaps we start with the greeting that we are truly welcomed, even if we showed up on the wrong day. Then maybe the one friend we are connected to sits beside us and translates as the elder is speaking. At the end of the service, we're all sharing a meal together and before long, all the aunties and uncles are trying to adopt us into the family.
Now, that. That is Church.
Showing posts with label Hospitality. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hospitality. Show all posts
01 February 2015
23 November 2012
Celebrating Across the Seas
Well, it's officially "Black Friday" on this side of the world.
In all my years of celebrating Thanksgiving, I've only done the Black Friday madness once--only because Jenny and Becca convinced me that since it was my last Thanksgiving in the US, I had to at least get out there in the wee hours of the morning once, even if just for the cultural experience. I can't say I enjoyed the experience much; but maybe it's because I was more used to parking down in the Rhynard house for the Thanksgiving weekend 007 marathon with my homework or crochet, and trying to keep warm in the Michigan winter.
I remember my first snow. Danielle and I were going to pick Cody up from high-school (yes, Cody, I know you're grown-up now because you're in seminary, but I'll always remember you as that dorky high-schooler who wouldn't stop giving your sister crap, as all good brothers should) the day before Thanksgiving. We were walking in to the school when Danielle stopped me and said, "Look! It's snowing!"
Folks always talk about being excited about snow. But that first snow, I thought I was going to slip on the snow, hit my head on the side-walk and die. It didn't help that I crash-landed in a pile of snow when out on my first snow-mobile ride with Danielle and Cody. "Death by snow on her first Thanksgiving." Great headline, eh?
The years passed quicker than I was ready for them. My last two American Thanksgivings have been characteristically un-snowy--rainy at best, but snow would have been a major fluke in the weather system.
So we learn to adapt. We don't do snow or snow-mobiles, but we do stories. Turkeys cost four times as much here as they would in Michigan or Indiana, so we do chicken. Pumpkins only happen as a whole fruit and not in cans, so we puree our own for pies and coffee creamers. And we include friends for whom Thanksgivings may have never been, or will ever be, traditions, but whose stories we get to write together at least for this season.
It wasn't that many years ago that traditional celebration story-sharing started. Those first awkward Chinese New Year celebrations in the dorm rooms without a real kitchen to work with, or easy access to an Asian grocer. And we learnt to adapt anyway.
That's the life of living all around the world. We carry our stories, our food, our traditions and celebrations with us. We adapt where necessary, and we start new traditions and carry those with us to new corners of the world and fill even more pages of our stories with new friends, laughter, and always, always food.
And after the dishes have all been cleared away, we pause to sit down with a cuppa joe. And we give thanks for the stories we get to be a part of, the table of food and laughter shared, and for a rich and abundant life.
Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. May it be filled with love and laughter.
In all my years of celebrating Thanksgiving, I've only done the Black Friday madness once--only because Jenny and Becca convinced me that since it was my last Thanksgiving in the US, I had to at least get out there in the wee hours of the morning once, even if just for the cultural experience. I can't say I enjoyed the experience much; but maybe it's because I was more used to parking down in the Rhynard house for the Thanksgiving weekend 007 marathon with my homework or crochet, and trying to keep warm in the Michigan winter.
I remember my first snow. Danielle and I were going to pick Cody up from high-school (yes, Cody, I know you're grown-up now because you're in seminary, but I'll always remember you as that dorky high-schooler who wouldn't stop giving your sister crap, as all good brothers should) the day before Thanksgiving. We were walking in to the school when Danielle stopped me and said, "Look! It's snowing!"
Folks always talk about being excited about snow. But that first snow, I thought I was going to slip on the snow, hit my head on the side-walk and die. It didn't help that I crash-landed in a pile of snow when out on my first snow-mobile ride with Danielle and Cody. "Death by snow on her first Thanksgiving." Great headline, eh?
The years passed quicker than I was ready for them. My last two American Thanksgivings have been characteristically un-snowy--rainy at best, but snow would have been a major fluke in the weather system.
So we learn to adapt. We don't do snow or snow-mobiles, but we do stories. Turkeys cost four times as much here as they would in Michigan or Indiana, so we do chicken. Pumpkins only happen as a whole fruit and not in cans, so we puree our own for pies and coffee creamers. And we include friends for whom Thanksgivings may have never been, or will ever be, traditions, but whose stories we get to write together at least for this season.
It wasn't that many years ago that traditional celebration story-sharing started. Those first awkward Chinese New Year celebrations in the dorm rooms without a real kitchen to work with, or easy access to an Asian grocer. And we learnt to adapt anyway.
That's the life of living all around the world. We carry our stories, our food, our traditions and celebrations with us. We adapt where necessary, and we start new traditions and carry those with us to new corners of the world and fill even more pages of our stories with new friends, laughter, and always, always food.
And after the dishes have all been cleared away, we pause to sit down with a cuppa joe. And we give thanks for the stories we get to be a part of, the table of food and laughter shared, and for a rich and abundant life.
Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. May it be filled with love and laughter.
05 September 2011
Coffee Shop Conversations
She sat behind her computer typing away furiously with a slight frown. Occasionally she would look across the rows of trees below to let her thoughts breathe for a few seconds, and the frown would ease up just that little bit as she sipped her cappuccino.
For that few seconds, she let her mind race back to the last time she was in that coffee shop and a slight smile crept up on her face as she continued typing furiously. It was the beginning of a summer that was about to change her life, except she didn't realise it yet. And the people around that table--an eclectic group nonetheless--seemed to fit in so well with the fact that they were just outside of Berlin, Germany. "If Portland was the capital of Weird in the US, Berlin would probably be that equivalent for this part of the world," she thought to herself. Of all the places she had traveled to, it would of course make sense that these were her top two favourite cities. She was, after all, weird and proud of it.
She took another sip of her cappuccino as she furiously tried to put to words all the thoughts and theological implications that had gone through her head in the last week or so. "In every circle of friends, there has to be an old soul," she smiled as she remembered that comment she made in passing in one of those conversations. That was when she realised she had so many people in her life to fulfill the many layers of human relationships that were required for healthy human functionality. Each one of them gave her something different to be thankful for, and something else to think about. And she was becoming increasingly confident that regardless of where in the world she went to, it wouldn't be difficult to establish these circles again from next to nothing.
So lost was she in the attempt to process the current theological ramblings that she jumped when she finally looked up again and saw him sitting there.
"Holy crap, Papa! Don't do that to me again!" she let out in a harsh whisper. He simply smiled back.
"How long have you been... Never mind, don't answer that." She knew. He had followed her from the house to the bus-stop, to the train station. Then again, she was pretty sure he was at the airport with them earlier that day as well when the kids in the youth group decided to head there after church. And the last time she was at that spot. And the day she moved to Anderson. And TKGS. And...
"Ok, ok. Got it. I'm guessing we need to talk?"
Again, he said nothing and simply smiled.
"I know I've been doing a lot of thinking, and very little feeling," she finally said after some time passed since his silence. "And we both know that I've been doing a lot of thinking so that I can avoid feeling. I'm frustrated because I'd rather be in Auckland. But truth be told, this whole process has worn me down a lot, and I'm not even excited anymore. Everyday is just blah because I want a sense of "normalcy" and don't laugh because we all already know my life has been and will continue to be anything but normal. But that's not what I mean. Even if it turns out that Auckland would only be for a little while, I want to feel at "home" somewhere for that little while. I want to be able to walk into a shop somewhere and say, "I want this for my living space, and it's reasonably-priced and sized," and be able to buy it instead of thinking that it won't be able to fit into my two pieces of luggage. I've loved being able to drop everything at the last minute to go spend time with people because I don't know when's the next time I'll get to see them, but a loose schedule like that for more than just a couple of months is about to drive me crazy. I may have spent a lot of time with the Kenyan sisters this summer, but I'm still used to having SOME kind of structure. Am I ranting?"
He still said nothing and simply smiled.
And that was when she understood. Through all these transitions she craved nothing more than just one constant. That Constant had created all the circles she had just been so thankful for to hold her through each change, but Constant was still constant. And Constant constantly gave her space to think as she needed to think, feel as she needed to feel, not feel as she needed to not feel...
Constant constantly gave her space just so she had space.
"Hopes told you you had the gift of giving space," he finally said after she caught her breath.
"But I only have space to give because YOU give me space," she said.
"My child, I don't need answers from you. I don't need you to figure me out. I don't need you to rant when you're frustrated, sing when you're happy, or cry when you're upset.
I just need you to be you."
For that few seconds, she let her mind race back to the last time she was in that coffee shop and a slight smile crept up on her face as she continued typing furiously. It was the beginning of a summer that was about to change her life, except she didn't realise it yet. And the people around that table--an eclectic group nonetheless--seemed to fit in so well with the fact that they were just outside of Berlin, Germany. "If Portland was the capital of Weird in the US, Berlin would probably be that equivalent for this part of the world," she thought to herself. Of all the places she had traveled to, it would of course make sense that these were her top two favourite cities. She was, after all, weird and proud of it.
She took another sip of her cappuccino as she furiously tried to put to words all the thoughts and theological implications that had gone through her head in the last week or so. "In every circle of friends, there has to be an old soul," she smiled as she remembered that comment she made in passing in one of those conversations. That was when she realised she had so many people in her life to fulfill the many layers of human relationships that were required for healthy human functionality. Each one of them gave her something different to be thankful for, and something else to think about. And she was becoming increasingly confident that regardless of where in the world she went to, it wouldn't be difficult to establish these circles again from next to nothing.
So lost was she in the attempt to process the current theological ramblings that she jumped when she finally looked up again and saw him sitting there.
"Holy crap, Papa! Don't do that to me again!" she let out in a harsh whisper. He simply smiled back.
"How long have you been... Never mind, don't answer that." She knew. He had followed her from the house to the bus-stop, to the train station. Then again, she was pretty sure he was at the airport with them earlier that day as well when the kids in the youth group decided to head there after church. And the last time she was at that spot. And the day she moved to Anderson. And TKGS. And...
"Ok, ok. Got it. I'm guessing we need to talk?"
Again, he said nothing and simply smiled.
"I know I've been doing a lot of thinking, and very little feeling," she finally said after some time passed since his silence. "And we both know that I've been doing a lot of thinking so that I can avoid feeling. I'm frustrated because I'd rather be in Auckland. But truth be told, this whole process has worn me down a lot, and I'm not even excited anymore. Everyday is just blah because I want a sense of "normalcy" and don't laugh because we all already know my life has been and will continue to be anything but normal. But that's not what I mean. Even if it turns out that Auckland would only be for a little while, I want to feel at "home" somewhere for that little while. I want to be able to walk into a shop somewhere and say, "I want this for my living space, and it's reasonably-priced and sized," and be able to buy it instead of thinking that it won't be able to fit into my two pieces of luggage. I've loved being able to drop everything at the last minute to go spend time with people because I don't know when's the next time I'll get to see them, but a loose schedule like that for more than just a couple of months is about to drive me crazy. I may have spent a lot of time with the Kenyan sisters this summer, but I'm still used to having SOME kind of structure. Am I ranting?"
He still said nothing and simply smiled.
And that was when she understood. Through all these transitions she craved nothing more than just one constant. That Constant had created all the circles she had just been so thankful for to hold her through each change, but Constant was still constant. And Constant constantly gave her space to think as she needed to think, feel as she needed to feel, not feel as she needed to not feel...
Constant constantly gave her space just so she had space.
"Hopes told you you had the gift of giving space," he finally said after she caught her breath.
"But I only have space to give because YOU give me space," she said.
"My child, I don't need answers from you. I don't need you to figure me out. I don't need you to rant when you're frustrated, sing when you're happy, or cry when you're upset.
I just need you to be you."
16 January 2011
Guests in the Childhood Home
My mother has an impeccable gift of hospitality. Or as my BFF put it, "the gift of taking care of people." She's never been extravagant with anything, and it's the same with her hospitality. But her gift comes through being able to laugh at herself and make any person that walked through our front doors feel completely at home because she's "crazy". She engaged every person with a level of ridiculousness that you just had to laugh -- if not with her, then at her.
We always had strict rules in our household, and her home-cooked meals would be considered "too healthy" by most of our friends. But that never stopped our youth-group from making our home the most frequented hang-out after church because they didn't want to go home. And even though Auntie Florence would always make them eat a lot of veggies and Uncle Steven would make this horrible-tasting but very nutritious fruit juice, our friends, and eventually also the kids my mum tutored would still enjoy hanging out in our home.
Six-and-a-half years ago, my brother and I moved out of this home. But the guests still kept coming through those doors. Recently, when it became clear that we were moving out for good, our bedrooms became the living space for two Malaysian kids who were in Singapore for education. They were kids that my mum had been tutoring before they moved in. It was good for my parents because not only did it bring a slight addition to the household income, it also gave my mum more "kids" to "take care of".
And so now, we have become the guests in the childhood home. Except each year when we return, we get our own sets of keys, an EZ-link card (transport pass in Singapore), a cell-phone and spending money. We're still family, so we still get special treatment :) And each year when we leave, we return the keys, the EZ-link card, the cell-phone and whatever's left of the spending money. The doors are still open, as they've always been, even after we've developed "strange Western styles of living."
Home will always be home where the parentals are
Where the once-upon-a-time baby sister is
Where Grandma calls everyday to ask if we're hungry and if we want her to bring food over
Where the cousins gather for our Christmas party
Where the girl-friends from high school get together for our reunions
Even when we're only guests there once a year
Even if we find more distant lands to call home the rest of our lifetime
Because this is the home that gave me a legacy to live
This is the home that taught me about the craziness of hospitality
This is the home that taught me to always make sure no one is hungry
This is the home that taught me the importance of gathering together every once in a while
In a recent conversation with the BFF, she made me dream about where we might find ourselves in ten months time--the next time I'll be back in the country that owns my passport. And then she said this: "No matter where you go, no matter what you find yourself doing, whether it's in church or outside of the church, you will always be taking care of people. Because that's just what you do."
And it's only because of the legacy that this home taught me to live.
Because this is home.
Even if it's one of many homes.
We always had strict rules in our household, and her home-cooked meals would be considered "too healthy" by most of our friends. But that never stopped our youth-group from making our home the most frequented hang-out after church because they didn't want to go home. And even though Auntie Florence would always make them eat a lot of veggies and Uncle Steven would make this horrible-tasting but very nutritious fruit juice, our friends, and eventually also the kids my mum tutored would still enjoy hanging out in our home.
Six-and-a-half years ago, my brother and I moved out of this home. But the guests still kept coming through those doors. Recently, when it became clear that we were moving out for good, our bedrooms became the living space for two Malaysian kids who were in Singapore for education. They were kids that my mum had been tutoring before they moved in. It was good for my parents because not only did it bring a slight addition to the household income, it also gave my mum more "kids" to "take care of".
And so now, we have become the guests in the childhood home. Except each year when we return, we get our own sets of keys, an EZ-link card (transport pass in Singapore), a cell-phone and spending money. We're still family, so we still get special treatment :) And each year when we leave, we return the keys, the EZ-link card, the cell-phone and whatever's left of the spending money. The doors are still open, as they've always been, even after we've developed "strange Western styles of living."
Home will always be home where the parentals are
Where the once-upon-a-time baby sister is
Where Grandma calls everyday to ask if we're hungry and if we want her to bring food over
Where the cousins gather for our Christmas party
Where the girl-friends from high school get together for our reunions
Even when we're only guests there once a year
Even if we find more distant lands to call home the rest of our lifetime
Because this is the home that gave me a legacy to live
This is the home that taught me about the craziness of hospitality
This is the home that taught me to always make sure no one is hungry
This is the home that taught me the importance of gathering together every once in a while
In a recent conversation with the BFF, she made me dream about where we might find ourselves in ten months time--the next time I'll be back in the country that owns my passport. And then she said this: "No matter where you go, no matter what you find yourself doing, whether it's in church or outside of the church, you will always be taking care of people. Because that's just what you do."
And it's only because of the legacy that this home taught me to live.
Because this is home.
Even if it's one of many homes.
31 May 2010
Freckles on my Nose and Holes in my Shoes
I learnt a song in elementary school that goes something like this...
I've got freckles on my nose
Holes in my shoes
The wrong coloured socks
And a missing tooth
I'm not Superman
God, You made me the kid that I am
And...
Thank You God for who I am
I don't have to be a Superman
Thank You God for who I am
All I want to be is your best friend
Sometimes I'm weak
I fall on my knees
I've got skins and bruises
All over me
I'm not Superman
God, You made me the kid that I am
And...
Thank You God for who I am
I don't have to be a Superman
Thank You God for who I am
All I want to be is your best friend
For whatever reason, this is the song that has been stuck in my head all morning. I haven't heard that song in years, but then it dawned on me that this IS the song for this moment - or maybe just my life in general. Some days my socks are mismatched, other days I'm just the awkward kid in the room. Some days I trip over my own feet, other days I just have to laugh at myself and remind myself I'm really not Superman (or woman for those of you needing the political correctness).
But in spite of all that, this is the very reason I'm in Berlin - learning what it means to be the best friend I can be even if I'm awkward, mismatched and messy. To build intentional relationships even if I'm only here for a short time. To embrace brokenness in community and to find healing together. Like a stained glass art formed by pieces of broken glass pieced together by the Master Artist, we can only find true beauty when we step back and look at the bigger picture. When we see how our stories are put together and allow the Light of the Master to shine through, that's when we find meaning in our individual stories - not in insolation, but in community. And it is within this safe circle of friendship that we find the space to be creative with our giftedness to give back to each other, and to the community in which we live in.
And who better to have as mentors for this internship than Kelley and Rhonda?
Kelley sees the big picture and is never willing to put God or ministry in a box. He dreams big and is always willing to step aside and let someone else more gifted than he is in certain areas to take charge. Most importantly, he reminds me of the importance of laughter so that life and ministry won't drive us over the edge.
Rhonda on the other hand is the personification of hospitality. Growing up in a home where my brother and I always knew the kids from youth group can (and usually are dying to) come and hang out if they didn't want to go home, Mum did an exceptional job teaching us about hospitality. Rhonda reminds me of the warmth of hospitality such as remembering the simple things like an extra toothbrush, or celebrating life's big moments like birthdays or the day a husband comes home from war.
What can I say? I may have freckles on my nose and holes in my shoes, but as long as I remain obedient on this journey of faith, God knows.
I've got freckles on my nose
Holes in my shoes
The wrong coloured socks
And a missing tooth
I'm not Superman
God, You made me the kid that I am
And...
Thank You God for who I am
I don't have to be a Superman
Thank You God for who I am
All I want to be is your best friend
Sometimes I'm weak
I fall on my knees
I've got skins and bruises
All over me
I'm not Superman
God, You made me the kid that I am
And...
Thank You God for who I am
I don't have to be a Superman
Thank You God for who I am
All I want to be is your best friend
For whatever reason, this is the song that has been stuck in my head all morning. I haven't heard that song in years, but then it dawned on me that this IS the song for this moment - or maybe just my life in general. Some days my socks are mismatched, other days I'm just the awkward kid in the room. Some days I trip over my own feet, other days I just have to laugh at myself and remind myself I'm really not Superman (or woman for those of you needing the political correctness).
But in spite of all that, this is the very reason I'm in Berlin - learning what it means to be the best friend I can be even if I'm awkward, mismatched and messy. To build intentional relationships even if I'm only here for a short time. To embrace brokenness in community and to find healing together. Like a stained glass art formed by pieces of broken glass pieced together by the Master Artist, we can only find true beauty when we step back and look at the bigger picture. When we see how our stories are put together and allow the Light of the Master to shine through, that's when we find meaning in our individual stories - not in insolation, but in community. And it is within this safe circle of friendship that we find the space to be creative with our giftedness to give back to each other, and to the community in which we live in.
And who better to have as mentors for this internship than Kelley and Rhonda?
Kelley sees the big picture and is never willing to put God or ministry in a box. He dreams big and is always willing to step aside and let someone else more gifted than he is in certain areas to take charge. Most importantly, he reminds me of the importance of laughter so that life and ministry won't drive us over the edge.
Rhonda on the other hand is the personification of hospitality. Growing up in a home where my brother and I always knew the kids from youth group can (and usually are dying to) come and hang out if they didn't want to go home, Mum did an exceptional job teaching us about hospitality. Rhonda reminds me of the warmth of hospitality such as remembering the simple things like an extra toothbrush, or celebrating life's big moments like birthdays or the day a husband comes home from war.
What can I say? I may have freckles on my nose and holes in my shoes, but as long as I remain obedient on this journey of faith, God knows.
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