Urban Engagement Hawaii

2009-07-06T11:32:00.000-07:00

First Tongan United Methodist Church, Waimanalo.

Fusi, Ana, Kefie, Ema, Kala, Mesake

My Tongan name is Kefie, and I went to church with Kala, one of my housemates. Mesake, Fusi, Ana, and Ema all participated in the Concrete Christ Service Project camp last week. We had a happy Sunday reunion at their church. I couldn't understand the service, except when the pastor said "Kefie" which I knew meant for me to stand up to get a lei. Kala played translator, but I didn't need a translator to appreciate and sit in awe of the beautiful music, swaying to the upbeat and melodious tunes. The whole church seemed to be the choir. No hymnals were used, singing from memory in beautiful harmony with each other. I sat with my eyes closed, uplifted by the joyous voices on all sides of me. And not even twenty minutes into the service a little girl found her way onto my lap. I don't know why she chose to come to me, maybe it was because I was the only polangi face among the Tongans and she was curious, but she sat on my lap, trying to join the singing with babbles that desperately wanted to form words. She laughed and called out and swayed in my arms. And then she started picking the plumerias from my lei, at first tucking them behind her ear, but then finding great laughter in viciously ripping them off and throwing the pale yellow flowers on the ground. I couldn't help but laugh with her. It was good to be in a community of loving friends, who welcomed me in to their worship space, in their language to worship our God. The presence of the Lord knows no bounds; if only we could learn to love and appreciate everyone the same way. I think it is when our differences come together that we truly can see the awesome, mighty and loving God Christians around the world worship.

2009-06-16T14:49:00.000-07:00

Wesley White House Summer '09 residents
Lynn, Me, Kala, Lindsey, Leah

Visiting the Dead

2009-06-16T11:33:00.000-07:00

A few years ago I read Philippe Aries' Western Attitudes toward Death: From the Middle Ages to the Present. From what I remember Aries follows the change of attitudes of most western cultures toward death and dying including changes in ceremony, location of cemeteries, shifts in language used to talk about dying, etc. Basically most western cultures don't want to think about death; we want to push cemeteries as far from the center buzz of busy cities as possible. With modern medicine don't always know when actual death happens. Death has become an interruption for the living. So, Aries convincingly observes.

Aries' words surfaced the other day as I was driving with some Tongan friends, and one of the girls mentioned she hadn't been to see her brother in awhile so she needed to go see him. I asked where he lived. She said, "He's dead, so my family usually goes to have a BBQ or something where he is buried." I wanted to ask more questions, but it didn't seem entirely appropriate. Then she gently touched a picture of her brother that was posted on her dashboard and said, "I'll come by soon, bro."

There was no sign of interruption, inconvenience, or intrusion of her brother's death upon the lives of the living. He was still a part of the family, included in weekend picnics, holiday celebrations and everyday conversations.

A few days ago a 19 year-old Samoan girl from one of the local UMC congregations committed suicide. The funeral was not limited to one specific hour; rather family and friends gathered for a whole day, beginning at 3:00pm and going on through the night to the early morning. There was food, singing, testimonials, remembrances, tears, laughter, pictures, videos...friends and family gathering to honor, celebrate and remember the dead, and supporting one another.

I want to learn more about these island customs of death. Maybe they stem from the importance of family. When I first moved here I was told the two most important things on the islands are Family and food. Sometimes I think mainland people will joke that everyone on the islands are related; everyone is someone's brudda, sis, auntie, or cousin. Death does not take away these relations; the dead continue to be a part of the family, included in the lives of the living by more than just a yearly visit to place flowers at a marker.

I wonder what Aries would say about death in this culture.

The Connectional Church

2009-06-15T17:01:00.000-07:00

I haven't been blogging much. Hawaii keeps me busy. But I've also been frustrated and did not want my frustrations to leak out into my writing. But there is no blog etiquette that is stopping me from tossing out one complaint. I am not one to complain too much, and when I do I hope it will spark some conversation and growth.
One of the reasons I chose to be ordained in the United Methodist is because I love the connectional aspect of our world-wide church, connecting pastors and members of all ages from all over the globe. One, united family of God serving all the corners of the world.
I have been planning a summer service camp called Concrete Christ Service Project (CCSP) that involves high school youth from the Hawaii district United Methodist churches; it is a week of service to the island of Oahu through service projects at Kapiolani Medical Center for Children, Kilohana Adult Day Care, Kaha Gardens, Life Foundation, Institute for Human Services and other service sites the youth will be serving various needs of the island. It is a great service, learning, worship and fellowship experience that connects the youth from the Hawaii district.
However much to my dismay my rose colored glasses of how the connectional system could and should work have been shattered. This is one event that brings the district youth together and yet some pastors (definitely not all) refuse to help, and some even rudely look down on the project. I had one pastor send a curt email about how the camp does not address the root of the real problems the community is facing. It was a one-line curt email from a pastor I have never met, nor had I ever spoken to the man. I can think of more loving ways to bring up flaws in the program. Some pastors tossed the mailings I sent aside, and when I visited several churches this Sunday some people hadn't even heard about the camp, but were very interested after hearing me talk about it.
I certainly do not want to be ungracious by forgetting those few pastors who have supported the district-wide event; they have been my saving grace and a good lesson on how the connectional system can work. And I do not want anyone to suppose that I imagine myself more important than the next. I am not. I know churches have lots going on this summer. But it is disheartening as a future clergy woman that out of 41 churches I mailed information to, called, and emailed only 4 or 5 have cared to even respond. The silence is deafening, and it is daily eating away at my enthusiasm and passion.
The camp is June 26, nearly one week away and so far there are 4 campers and 4 counselors. I am tired and frustrated. I put a lot of energy and creativity into planning this camp, and my spirit is crushed by the lack of follow through by local churches. I am not ungrateful to those who have sent their registration papers in, but looking past the actual event and the goods and the bads, I am overall just disappointed in our United Methodist church.
A classmate at BU once asked me, "Are we United Methodist or Untied Methodist?" At the time I was shocked anyone would utter such heresies! But I am beginning to understand. And it makes me sad.

2009-05-27T11:44:00.000-07:00

Welcome and Graduate BBQ at UH Manoa Wesley Foundation
8 May 2009

(Left) Leah, Me, Crystal, Sheila

(Below) Me and Rev. Charlene Zuill

Three days after arriving in Honolulu, Hawaii I had the chance to eat and hang out with some of the students before everyone scattered for summer vacation.

Talk Story

2009-05-26T16:17:00.000-07:00

I've just learned a new Pidgin noun and verb--talk story. We are taking a group of students to the Good Samaritan assisted living and nursing home, and the chaplain told me the students can participate in their daily Bible study, eat lunch and talk story. To talk story is to open up to one another, sharing life stories. Of course talk story! Why did that term seem so foreign?! Isn't talk story just another name for oral tradition--a method all of our ancestors used to pass down our own stories. We inherited a lot from thousands of years of talk stories. Now what was once spoken has been recorded in print, so I don't think we talk story as much. We email, text, blog, read books and articles online--forms of talk story, but talk story is verbal communication. It is as much about what it is as where and with whom talk story is taking place. Talk story is community shaping. But how often do multiple generations sit around to talk story? Listen?

I loved bed time stories when I was younger; I still love to go home, even at 24, and have my mom make up some silly story that eventually lulls me to sleep. My mom used to tell me Bible stories this way. She wouldn't read from the Bible, rather she would tell them like a story, from memory, playing all the characters with different voices. As I dozed off those stories seeped into my dreams, weaving themselves into my memory. I also remember family gatherings when my dad's whole side of the family would get together for various celebrations. I always wanted to hear about when my grandmother was young and what my dad was like as a little boy. I wanted to know my family history; I loved to listen to my mom, dad, aunts, uncles, grandparents reminisce, talk story.

I don't think talk story is too far off from Jesus' method of teaching in parables, using stories to teach the family of believers, passing down truths in the form of stories. And weren't Paul's letters meant to be read aloud in churches--maybe a form of talk story? I think it was Bernard of Clairvaux who said that the best way to preach, teach, and spread the Good News is from the Book of Experience--talk stories---connecting with people by opening up ourselves, sharing bits of our lives, and passing down stories that might be used to instruct or entertain. I think that is why the Cistercians were second career monks; they did not accept children in their monasteries because Cistercians knew the the value of an experienced life and all the teachable lessons that accumulate over a lifetime. I am sure we are in for good talk stories at Good Samaritan--the average age of guests is 85. Those are pretty full books of experience!

Lokahi

2009-05-13T13:36:00.000-07:00

Lokahi means to come together in peace and harmony, and the Lokahi project is arranged and run by the UH religious council. We set up huge refrigerator boxes in all the dorms, collecting food, clothing, school supplies,toiletries and other items that students throw out when packing up their rooms for the summer. Everyday we bag up all the contents from each dorm, and haul the bags to a central location where the United Cerebral Palsy truck picks everything up each morning. This is a grunt work kind of ministry. A lot of hours are spent bagging up things in 85+ degree weather in dorms with no air condition. But it is a fantastic ministry that collects stuff which would otherwise find their way to trash cans. And at the end of the day we treat ourselves to watermelon or shaved ice.

A Lesson in the Park

2009-05-13T11:02:00.000-07:00

I hadn't even been in Hawaii for 24 hours before jumping into urban ministry. Every first and third Wednesdays the Wesley Foundation serves dinner to the homeless at Waikiki beach as part of H5--Hawaii Helping the Homeless Have Hope. At 3:30pm four girls gathered at the WF to begin making dinner. Menu: Beef stew over mashed potatoes with biscuits, salad, fruit, and lemonade. Yum! It is quite the task to prepare and transport a meal for 100+ people, but we had several pots simmering the beef stew and two very petite girls tirelessly working on the mashed potatoes, standing on chairs to put all their might into stirring and later piling the potatoes in foil trays and slathering butter on them like frosting. You would have thought the girls were at a girls night out as they chatted in pidgin, listening and dancing to the radio. Preparing these meals are something they look forward to each week; it is a time of fun fellowship and serving the community. They are very aware of homelessness in Hawaii, and want to help bring a little hope.

At 6:30 we carefully piled the meal and ourselves in a car to head to Waikiki. Several homeless people were anxiously waiting in the park. A few men helped unload the car, and we began setting up at a picnic bench. A stout little lady with a Great Dane chatted with us as we lined up the meal. "I just got my dog. He was at the humane society and I just had to have him. I used to have 27 dogs, but I had to give them away." Pause. Obviously reminiscing. Sigh. "But I have my Great Dane. We were on TV you know. Right on the news. He is a very popular dog in Honolulu. All the tourists love to pet him. We're very popular." She went on talking about the giant Great Dane and all her previous dogs. And when it was time to eat I was almost sad her dog wouldn't get anything to eat that night. How does she feed him?

A few more ladies sauntered to the table wearing very tight clothing. "Wow. This looks great! Are those mashed potatoes? We usually just have rice or pasta. Thank you!" Laughing and throwing their heads back. One blond lady bluntly confessed, "We spent all our money on crack, so we can't even feed ourselves." Laughing. The sad truth comes out and the students barely flinch; they know they're not there to judge. They're there to meet a basic need of all humans. Scoop of potatoes, scoop of beef stew, hand full of salad, scoop of chopped fruit and a biscuit placed on top like a cherry on a Sundae. Several men and women make their way through the line with plenty of "Thank yous" and "God Bless yous." One man pauses before stepping up to the table. "Is it rice tonight? I can't have rice. Every time I eat rice it comes right back out through my nose. I don't know why, but rice just doesn't stay in me. So, don't give me rice." He was happy to see we were serving mashed potatoes, not rice. Everyone was happy about the mashed potatoes, and many people came back for seconds of mashed potatoes.

The initial rush at the picnic bench slowed, and the people in the park sat together at benches or under trees on the ground, eating their supper and chatting with one another like many visitors to Waikiki do during the day. I watched these people settle happily with their plates of food, wondering about each of their stories. I was lost in thought when a man said, "Hello." And Charlene said, "Kat, a scoop of mashed potatoes for this gentleman." I looked up and a scruffy man stood before me. "Hi, I'm Mark." Scoop of mashed potatoes. "Hello, Mark. I'm Kat." I don't remember where our conversation went from there but before I knew it Mark was quoting Scripture and telling me about the night he went on the pier and heard God audibly say his name. "Kat, this park is full of people from the Bible. I'm Mark, the disciple of Jesus, and I have returned to tell the world about the Gospel. I have some good friends I want you to meet--Daniel, Job, Matthew, Timothy, James, Peter--we're all here. Look that's Daniel." Mark laughs and runs to greet Daniel. Daniel is an older gentleman with a long white beard and long white hair, two crystal-clear blue eyes hide behind all his hair. He greets me with a handshake; "This is a wonderful ministry you students have here. Thank you. I feel the presence of God here, in your hands. This is what Jesus talked about serving others. Thank you." He slowly walked back to a group of men--Job, Matthew, Timothy, James and Peter. Mark stood with me for a bit as we watched Daniel walk away. "Now, you have to meet the others." Ok. I glanced at Charlene to let her know I was stepping away for a bit.

"I want you to meet Kat. She's a student working with H5. Give her some of the Good News, brother." Mark motions to a black man sitting in the driver seat of an old VW van. He jumps out of the front seat and sits on the edge with his Bible. "I have a message for you." I waited. All the others brought out their Bibles. He recited Ephesians 4:11-13 "The gifts he gave were that some would be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry for building up the body of Christ, until all the saints come to unity of faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God..." "Kat, we hear and see a lot of awful preachers. Preachers that talk about this and that but don't DO anything about anything. We're here for these people in the park, bringing people like Mark into our group, teaching him the way of Love." I said to him, "You sound like a preacher to these people." He glances at his feet and then looks directly in my eyes. "I am a teacher. I cannot claim to be a preacher, but I teach what this book has to say--what is has said to me. Maybe I am a preacher. I don't know. I do know that preachers need to be teachers too, so maybe I am half a preacher. Did you hear what Ephesians said--we all have different gifts for building up God's kingdom, but the preacher has two responsibilities--teaching and preaching. So, I guess some would call me a preacher." He lets that thought roll by as he takes up another verse from Scripture, and more Scripture, and still other Bible verses, navigating God's words and interpreting what it means to him. I just watch and listen until I hear Charlene calling me to go. I say my goodbyes, shaking hands and hugging. In their presence I forgot about them as people that needed to be served; I was engaged in conversation about God with a group of men wanting to serve their people, and even though their interpretations weren't always agreeable to me, I saw how these men were giving back some dignity and hope to people who have fallen into some hard times. It humbled and challenged me to meet people where they are in life, beginning with some basic needs. Right before I left Mark said to me, "You know this is more than just a plate of food. It is the love of God made real. You know why the food you students bring is always the best?" He waited with a smile. I had no idea, but I guessed "We don't bring rice; we have mashed potatoes?" He laughed. "No, your food is made with love and care. Thank you."