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Saturday, March 22, 2008
Easter and a Political Awakening
Easter preparations are under way for at Shelter Jordan. On Monday, we had a staff meeting to discuss plans to share the true meaning of Easter with our guests over the holiday.
I felt a little frustrated because it seemed like all our ideas were old and worn out like used Kleenex; when your nose is a drip and you really want a fresh Kleenex but all you’ve got left is a shriveled up dried wad and you have to settle for finding a little shred of clean fiber on which to wipe your nose… I didn’t want to settle. The Gospel is worth more than used Kleenex.
The problem is, when you are working in a Christian environment day in and day out, it gets hard to continually find new activities through which to share the truth. I think it is especially hard to make the Gospel relevant to an audience of people from all over the world in Amsterdam for every different reason.
So, we met and discussed different ideas. After two hours, the team had generated some pretty good ideas. We decided to center the Bible discussions for the week on facets of the crucifixion such as how Christ was abandoned by his friends.
The plan for the weekend is as follows: On Good Friday, we planned a hostel night, where we give the free dinner, and the presentation will be about the Symbols of Easter and their meanings. Saturday we paint eggs with guests and show the Casting Crowns mime about Christ saving us from the temptations of the world. Finally, on Sunday we will have a special breakfast with the café decorated with flowers, and then watch Ben Hurr that evening.
Today was Friday and my day off. The hostel has been booked solid this whole week, so there have been some awesome opportunities to speak with guests. We were all excited about the hostel night, but I knew I needed to take advantage of my time away from the Shelter, so I went to a liturgical service of the Stations of the Cross instead.
Christ Church is a beautiful, small Anglican church a few streets over from the Red Light district. The priest stood and explained the order of the service. His lilting Irish voice was soothing and only added to the experience of meditating on Christ’s last hours as he read the scripture and prayers aloud. After the service, Marco joined me outside and invited me and a New Zealander friend of his to come to his community house.
We walked into the heart of the Red Light district until we came to Kajuit Niewes. The first thing I saw was the fish tank, sitting inside the wall and next to the little coffee bar. The next thing I saw in the comfy little living room we had walked into was an old nun with a black cloth pinned to her head and some metal rimmed glasses perched upon her nose.
There were people from all ages sitting in the circle of chairs and kids running around in the adjacent dining room. I talked with Marco, then with two girls who were temporarily serving in the community house. The house serves as a ministry since they often bring people in who don’t have a stable life. They provide a secure lifestyle and help them get on their feet. They also help the prostitutes in the Red Light and often provide sanctuary for them. It was really encouraging to hear the story of the place.
Afterward, I headed to the Jordan to eat dinner. I settled down next to Coralline, a Dutch friend who often comes to hang out at the hostel; Barry, the guy from Sierra Leone who used to be a cleaner; and a German guest named Stefan. We talked about traveling for a long time and poured over a book of maps that was at least 20 years old. Stefan has traveled all over the world. I asked if he could recommend some good places for me to go in Europe. The conversation gradually shifted to deeper waters.
I had been reading a book for school about evangelizing through asking good questions. I just wanted to get to know these people. Coralinne left after awhile, but the guys and I delved into a discussion about traveling our own countries. We eventually got into European and African politics. I don’t like political conversations, but I do understand that politics are the basis by which a country is run. If I want to change what I dislike about a country, I have to go to the power at the top. I have a burden for the world. It’s been there since I was nine. I’m still waiting to see what God will do with it. This trip has taught me that I am not alone in that burden; God is preparing people continuously to go out into His world. If only I wasn’t such a broken vessel.
Barry started talking about how the subsidies in Europe are ruining the agriculture and economy in Africa. If a country (like Kenya) decides to abstain from signing a free trade agreement and keeps all its trade local, it will keep its economy healthy by keeping the cheap, mass-produced vegetables from Europe out. Unfortunately, organizations like the World Bank and IMF play hard ball. They tell Kenya that they will not bring their money unless Kenya opens its borders to outside trade. They know this will wreck Kenya’s economy, but they don’t care. Then our non-profit organizations come in and teach the people to receive aid, but we don’t teach them to do for themselves. It is a wretched, bloody, starving cycle.
And so, I vote for no more government subsidies. We then moved on to American politics. I realized it is not ok for me to exist in the realm of denial, not talking about my country and her problems. I love America. But we have issues. We have gang rape in our inner cities, we have AIDS running rampant, and we have war veterans sitting hungry and cold on street corners. I know these issues aren’t fixed overnight, but at least I am beginning to think about these things. I am a part of the problem if I sit and let them happen. I refuse to be a part of the problem.
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Pot Smokers on Street Corners
Last Friday was full. On Thursday night, I worked the sleeper shift—which means I worked from 10 p.m. to 12:30 a.m. cleaning the café, and then I slept at the hostel to back up the night man for extra security. Except on the sleeper shift, Derek was working night man for the first time, so he wanted people to come and hang out with him to keep him awake and keep him company. Two other staffers came, and we watched two movies, “Meet the Robinsons” and “Over the Edge.” I didn’t go to sleep until 4:30 a.m.
The next morning, I woke up at 9:30 a.m. and went to eat breakfast in the café. I sat down next to a Dutch staff member and friend. Immediately I felt a bit of tension. She was supposed to be working the breakfast shift, which was halfway over, and she was sitting down to eat breakfast. My gut twisted. The other morning café worker was in there all alone. Then I noticed she was eating one of the apple turnovers I put in the fridge to take to Douwe and Els. She probably hadn’t known this, but why would she take something that wasn’t hers? I had only gotten five hours of sleep. I knew my mind was a little foggy. But then she told me I shouldn’t eat my pancakes because they were unhealthy. I eyed the apple turnover sitting next to her bowl of cereal. My gut twisted again, and I sipped my orange juice quietly.
Most missionaries leave the field because of conflicts between staff members. Personality and cultural differences are insanely powerful in making one lose perspective. Thankfully, I finished my plate without saying anything to rectify our misunderstandings. I hung around the hostel and read my Bible while watching the activity of the café. I spoke with my friend while sitting in the café and learned that no one had a plan for the hostel night outreach to be held that evening. Two people were supposed to plan it, but all of us are still so new and there is still confusion about what these outreaches are supposed to look like. I went home and had an emergency planning meeting with one of the people who was in charge. It went really well. We went with a simple program for the night.
That evening, we served dinner, and then I gave a short testimony afterward. Our theme was relationships. I believe the two strongest feelings in the world are acceptance and rejection. Pretty obvious. People long for acceptance, but human beings are incapable of truly accepting one another because they can never give unconditional love, and they can never know each other completely.
I told the story of a friend in my past who had come to me for true acceptance. I was incapable of giving it. She was lost and lonely, pregnant and abandoned. But I tried. I accepted her as best I could. God showed me that He loves us completely and accepts us as we are. He is the only one who can completely know us through and through because he created us. God is just and definitely puts us through a purification process after we run to him, but it’s because of his awesome love.
Three guys from Spain came to the dinner, along with two French girls, and two girls from Germany. It was incredible. We had someone on staff and at the hostel night who was either from each of those countries or who spoke their language. Jens talked with the German girls, Elizabeth translated my testimony into Spanish for the guys, and Claire ended up talking with the girls from France.
Before I started talking, one of the Spanish guys raised his hand and asked, “Why are you telling us this in the first place?” Uhh… It took me a second to process what he was asking. “Well, I think I have something to teach through this story.” Awkward.
After I shared, everyone sat and talked for a while. I ate my dinner and talked with my friend who I had not understood earlier that morning. We had an awesome conversation. We connected over our shared experience of having a friend who needed help and who ran to us for acceptance. As I walked back to the café to work, I had a sense of awe. How can one have such misunderstanding in the morning, and such a connection just hours later. I am so thankful for these moments because I am storing them up for future times when I need to remember that conflicts can be solved in time.
That night, as I rode home, I soaked up the stillness of the city. Nearing the backdoor of the staff house, I decided to bike longer to give my legs a little exercise and my mind a little more time to think about the day. I biked down to the Browersgracht and turned till I came to a dead end, then turned again and kept going till I found a good street I knew.
The city is so quiet at night. I passed a group of young men lounging near some trash cans, smoking joints. I kept going, thinking about this city and its people. I passed the staff house again, biking toward the old church. The bars on the Leliegracht were full and loud, casting their amber glow into the street and projecting an image of warmth and camaraderie. People were walking, cold and distant in the street, some with friends, some heading home from a night at the pub. I passed a bar, and a man who had gotten on his bicycle was biking ahead of me. He was so drunk he couldn’t bike straight. He wove across the narrow street, back and forth. Finally he stopped and let me pass, then made another attempt at steadying himself on the bike.
I find myself embracing the culture of this city. I find myself settling in to the rhythm. Obviously I don’t plan on smoking pot or frequenting bars until I am falling off my bike (I fall off my bike without the help of alcohol!), but there is so much beauty in this city amidst the tares.
