keeping with the beat (and losing it)

"we hear a familiar sound

jazz, scratching, digging, bluing, swinging jazz

and we listen,

and we feel,

and live."

-bob kauffman

In niagara falls YouthWorks houses in a church called, "The Potters House". The Potters house is a vibrant church full of spirit and soul. Lead by their fearless (and I mean very fearless) Bishop Stephen Booze and Co-pastor Booze each sunday is filled with shouts of gospel music, spurts of loud out breaks and grooving organ and bass lines.

What specifically strikes me is the rhythm that infuses each service, from the very first song  to the time that the very last individual leaves the sanctuary a dancing bass line, powerful organ and smooth rhythm of drums fills the atmosphere. Even when the groove stops to pound home a specific moment in the announcements, sermon, or alter call the rhythm hangs in the air like mist over a lake.

The rhythm is simply striking. It literally creates the entire atmosphere of the service.

I think this rhythm should never end. Additionally, I think this rhythm has always existed, the musicians at the potters house bring the rhythm that hangs over our heads into fruition with organ, bass, drum and guitar.  Others hear it through the splashing of waves on a beach, a symphony of liturgy, or the cry of children playing, others have lost the rhythm as I sometimes do.

At my best I hear this moving bass line, this jazz, this groove, clearly in my head - I move and breath with this rhythm. 

I feel however, like there are also times when I loose the beat; when the metronome grows dim, faint and distant and somewhat frustrating and I grow louder and louder and more and more selfish. Many times I quiet myself and realize I have not been keeping with the beat of this internal click track for quit some time. Like a accompanist playing to loudly and recklessly to realize they are no longer accompanying anyone. Then I settle, I center, and find that beat again.

My prayer is that I never stray to far from this sweet rhythm that so easily jumps into the physical realm at the potters house. I pray I can easily flow to the music, that is moves me, stirs up passions within me and settles my spirit. 

My prayer is that one day i may not only hear the beat but maybe play along.

This makes me feel like a proud grandpa.

This is a video I threw together comprised of bits and pieces of a skit my Mon Valley staff puts on for their youth participants.

                                                

The flight of the winged terror

A little update: After leading eight wonderful staff through their first week of programming together in Niagara Falls two weeks ago, I traveled south to the mother lands to lead my Steubenville Ohio site in their first week. It was great. I'll write more about it at a later time. 

For now, please check out Reuben's blog titled "justifications" to read more about early bird. Although I have proved to be a far superior four square player to Reuben, he is a better writer so take his words on early bird and digest them well. 

http://hagreu.blogspot.com/2009/06/justification.html

Secondly, Niagara Falls housing site has a bat problem. Thats right a bat problem. I am going to be recording this problem through my blog from Reuben's blog and entitling it...

"The Bat Journal"

There has thus far been two entries to the "The Bat Journal" and I pray every night that there will be many more.

Entry #1

When we arrived at Potter's House and Deacon Ron was giving us a tour and again when Ben and I were inspecting the building for prior damages with Deacon Joe, we were informed of the bat that haunts the ol' place. Noted. Last night the five of us were sitting around the staff room, very near to calling it a night, when the bat flew into the room. It made a few circles and left us cringing in fear. It returned a few minutes later; Ben instructed us not to move and then explained how sonar worked. He is applying for a science teacher position at the local high school, too. Then the bat retreated into the kitchen. After much hullabaloo, Wesley, Ben, and I mustered up our courage, entered said kitchen, and spent probably ten minutes trying to figure out how to get this five-inch creature out of our residence. Ben and I ended up chasing the thing wildly around the room; the bat ran into Ben's chest and head several times, which explained the truly unearthly sounds he was making, and I finally trapped the beast with the big Iowa flag I wisely purchased before leaving for the summer and threw it all out the window. The next ten minutes were spent changing out of the completely soiled pairs of pants that we all ended up with afterward. 

Entry # 2

On Wednesday night everyone was in the gym, hanging out before it was time for bed. The YouthWorks! staff and all the adult leaders (except the leader from Illinois, who was planning on making a quick trip into Canada, and did, and brought back ketchup-flavored chips) were engaged in an intense "leaders only" game of four square. At about ten to eleven, when lights out was going to happen, we decided the game was done, and as the crowd of spectators and players broke up, someone yelled, "There's a bat!" and, lo and behold, there indeed was a bat. Was it the same one that had violently attacked us in our quarters upstairs the week before? No one knows. All I do know is that pandemonium ensued; seasoned YouthWorks! veteran Ben said he had never seen chaos erupt so quickly on a YouthWorks! site in his life. The first thing that happened after every junior high girl in there started screaming was that someone threw the four square ball in the bat's general direction, and several leaders, assuming it was one of the younger boys, immediately condemned the action. It turns out that Mark threw the ball, though: "I thought it'd be sweet if I hit the bat with it." Which it would have been, really. The four square ball was not the only ball that got thrown at the bat; the trip leader from Michigan also resorted to throwing one of his kid's new football but got it stuck in the rafters, right after the kid had said, "Don't use my football." He'd gotten it two days before as a birthday gift from his small group leader; Wesley and I used rope to get it down the next day. Balls were notthe only things that got hurled at the bat; the trip leader from Pennsylvania threw this dish rack at the thing super hard and it almost went right over the tarp that constitutes one wall of the girls sleeping room. That dish rack was not the only thing that wanted badly to go into the girls sleeping room; at one point in the confusion, the bat, which spent most of the time tediously circling the entire gym, made a nose dive out of our sight and into the aforementioned girls sleeping room. Obviously this solicited many a shriek and scream from everyone in there, which was the first funny part. Kinda. The second was how long the bat stayed down there; I sort of assumed that it had caught itself in some thirteen-year-old's hair. The third funny part of the nose dive was that there was this adult leader who was in the makeshift doorway of the sleeping room, and I watched her the entire time. She put her hand over her mouth as she watched whatever it was that was happening in that tarped-off area, laughing but gasping in disbelief several times and doing double takes all over the place, and then in the end she doubled over in laughter. Which I was soon reduced to. Before and after that, Ben and I just stood in the middle of the room, watching. I was completely at a loss as to what to do, despite being sort of in charge. One of us suggested to the other that maybe we could move everyone out into the courtyard, but then, after a pause, we shook that idea off. The other site director on site that night, Steubenville's very own Kim, didn't help at all; it turns out that she and Lisa had been in the kitchen during the entire event, calmly eating Oreos and watching all the male staff members and leaders run around and leap into the air to try to capture or maim the bat with garbage bags, dish racks, big cardboard boxes, and Iowa flags. As for the other female staff members, well, I don't really know where Kryn was, but I know Stockton was in a corner shielding herself and a couple middle school girls with some Happy Fun Bags, which are paper sacks that you'd imagine using for a inanimate, nonthreatening lunch and not in defense of a bloodthirsty flying mammalian. To each his or her own, I guess. Ultimately, Lisa left her cookie post and got a ladder and pole used to extend paint brushes, and the bat landed in high up in one corner. Ben climbed up the ladder and brought the pole back to smash the creature, but not before turning around and yelling, "Cover your eyes and ears." He then knocked the bat unconscious. Hoping to salvage a bit of glory, I swooped in and grabbed the bat with my Iowa flag. If only I had a dollar for every time I've used that thing to carry a bat outside. Ben and I marched ("Walk slow and somber, and put your head down") past the sobbing mourners (I am not making that up) in the hall and went outside; I released the bat into the night from whence it came. Will we see it again? Time will tell. When all was said and done, lights out was done only ten minutes later than scheduled, even though the bat's reign of terror had seemed to last a lifetime. What did I learn from this experience? Nothing, because I still think that there was fancy little that could be done. The only precaution we have decided to take is to do "bat drills" on Sunday night so the participants are prepared for this type of intrusion when it goes down. And, lastly, Ben said he was going to text our supervisor Heather the following: "I just slaughtered a bat in front of seventy participants...do I need to fill out an incident report?" 

knowing how to stop

"More and more, the desire grows in me simply to walk around, greet people, enter their homes, sit on their doorsteps, play ball, throw water, and be known as someone who wants to live with them. It is a privilege to have the time to practice this simple ministry of presence. Still, it is not as simple as it seems. My own desire to be useful, to do something significant, or to be part of some impressive project is so strong that soon my time is taken up by meetings, conferences, study groups, and workshops that prevent me from walking the streets. It is difficult not to have plans, not to organize people around an urgent cause, and not to feel that you are working directly for social progress. But I wonder more and more if the first thing shouldn’t be to know people by name, to eat and drink with them, to listen to their stories and tell your own, and to let them know with words, handshakes, and hugs that you do not simply like them, but truly love them. "

-  Henri Nouwen

I have been hit in the chest and pummeled backwards 100 yards by this quote recently through the process of a few events.

I will start by saying that being an area director this summer has been one of the greater privileges of my life, what a joy it is to be able to see such a big picture of YouthWorks, to have the opportunity to serve twelve staff, to invest and sink some roots into three communities, and to observe hundreds and hundreds of youth filter through these sites, catch a glimpse of what Jesus is about and take it home.  As an area director however, a lot of my job for the first part of the summer seems to be quality control. Straight up I need to make sure what we are putting out there is good enough. Entertaining enough building signs, powerful enough programing, fast enough meal crews and busy enough ministries. My mind gets wrapped around thinking in these terms and I start to snowball, are we on time, did I cross every T and dot every i, and then there is the all pervasive question that gets drilled into my head from all angles.... are they staying busy enough on ministry sites....is there enough work for them.

Last week that question was sitting heavy in my mind as I pulled onto a side street in the south side of Niagara Falls. On this side street resided a woman who for privacies sake I will call Betty, I had heard good reports from my staff about the youth and adults really enjoying the ministry there and I wanted to see the site for myself. To be honest, I wanted to make sure everyone had enough "work". When I showed up at Betty's I was greeted and brought into the living room where Betty sat along with several youth and a few adult leaders. Lisa (Niagara's work project staff), explained who I am and Betty nodded respectfully. I thanked Betty for allowing us to work with her this week and asked her how everything was going. Betty who had by this time creaked out of her floral printed recliner and was standing next to me, her soft hand gripping my arm, leaned into my side a bit and leaked several large tears. 

There is something about an elderly woman crying on your side that sends ones heart through a meat processor, possibly I am more prone to this due to the loss of my own grandmother recently but whatever the cost I was a goner. I looked over at Lisa who to my relief was letting her own Mississippi river flow down her face. Betty then went on to articulate to me her own recent history which included the death of her husband and her own inability to really get around as before. She thanked me for the work the youth had done through gasps of breath between a steady stream and I felt at peace.

Upon leaving I realized that I had not done my job, I had gotten so caught up in the emotion of it all that I had neglected to make sure every youth had enough to do and to be frank I dont think they really did. It was at this time that the Henri Nouwen quote hit me in the chest causing what I hope will prove to be permanent damage.I realized for the umpteenth time in my life that I cannot do anything on my own power, I cannot create an experience that will change the life of a youth, I can only observe what is going on and be okay and pray that I get to play some part in it.

along the road: Howdy's Dari Owl

from Ben:

It is no secret that I have a special place in my heart for tiny eateries, road side vegetable stands and ridiculous ice cream stands. Upon arriving in Steubenville this morning, my staff who fully know and understand my love, took me to a new favorite ice cream stand. 

Howdy's Dari Owl is unique for two reasons: 1. there is a giant owl who's eyes glow in the dark advertising this delectable diner (I mean, who dose not associate owls and ice cream) and 2. the ice cream stands nearly straddles the West Virginia/ Ohio border, settling in WV but over looking the Ohio Valley. It is quite the spectacle. 

After crossing over the boarder via one terrifying bridge. I settled on black berry ice cream in a waffle cone. I was very pleased.

                              

the art of living in churches across the nation.

From Ben:

Living in churches is an incredible life style. I have come to find an immense amount of comfort within the brick walls of several unique churches in my life. 

The first church I ever lived in was in Hartville Ohio. New Life Christian Center and its 10 person  congregation housed me for the summer of 2005 while I acted as worship leader, janitor, and overall intern. I distinctly remember moving into the old nursery, creating shelves out of boxes and shimmying a large wooden desk to the corner of the room to serve as my dresser.  I slept on couch cushions that summer and lit candles to pretend that there were no mice. I lived in this church alone, me and the mice and ate Ramen noodles for many of my meals. The stove did not work, neither did the microwave, I did find a good outlet in the kitchen to plug in my hot pot so i could boil water. I spent nights laying on the top of my astro van staring at stars, reading Thoreau and Tolstoy. I began to be honest with my self that summer, I suppose you have to when you live alone in a large church that is over all never really very full. I spent my days working at the Hartville flea market and hiking Quail Hollow  state park. I like to think of that summer as the summer I learnt to think.    

Two summers went by before I lived in a church again, this time far from Ohio. I lived next in a Presbyterian church in Houma Louisiana, the church was our host church for YouthWorks that summer and I was serving as the site director. First Presby located in a very quaint part of town near the "downtown" area. We frequented, "The Scarlet Scoop", a local ice cream store between the church we spent our days and the episcopal school that we slept at. I think I tried every flavor. I spent many late nights at that church and that school, learning how to live, how to lead, how to function in the real world. I spent hours swinging on the swings behind the school and developing a relationship that would lead to marriage. There were no showers so we showered at the YMCA which I frequented no less then twice a week ( and no more the three times). 

The next summer I lived in a lutheran church in the center of downtown Minneapolis. This church brought with it by far the most character. It was a massive brick structure that once housed hundreds and hundreds of parishioners. The number had dwindled down below a hundred and the church felt like a vacant lot for a lot of the week. The large sanctuary uttered unique noises that offered no explanation what so ever. The noises simply were. We ate freezy pops by the arm load and fought off the fruit flies with all but nuclear warfare. I often crawled up to the roof of the building and scrambled to the peak of the roof so that I could overlook the downtown skyline for eye level. I wrote journal entries about humility and servitude, two concepts I had no chance at grasping. 

This brings me to today, this year I have become a "church hoper" of sorts. I leap between three churches and supervise how well three staff teams are living in their respective churches. It is truly a joy to watch staff teams embrace the same types of quirks and horrors that envelope living in a church as i did when i was in their shoes. All the brick, the bats, the squeaky elevators, the unique janitors. Living in a church is an art form and I am now a trainer. What an honor.  

Your Music Within

From Bekah:

I had an insane moment of clarity and purpose a few moments ago. i was popping in a dvd simply for some "background noise" while i work an an IEP (or individualized education plan-for those of you who aren't familiar with the alphabet soup of special ed) and a preview came on that i have somehow never encountered before...

some background-

for those of you who don't know this about me, i am a special education teacher. currently, one who works with students with severe behavioral and emotional disorders. i am not unlike my special education counterparts. but, i do have one thing that is special about me. my grandfather, my uncle and my cousin. these three individuals are the foundation of who i am as a teacher. you see my uncle has autism. i grew up with a wonderful man around that even as a 2 year old i knew was "different" than me. as i became older i became more inquisitive of his disability. why does he say "wa wa" over and over again? why does he rock like that when he stands in front of the tv? why doesn't he ever call me by the right name? why does he get angry when there are still visitors in his house at 9 o'clock? why does he have to put on his pajama's without fail at 7? why? why? why?

in many ways i never really got answers to many of those questions. b/c well...he is who he is. a wonderful loving man who views the world in his own way and needs his tightly locked schedule to feel happy, safe and secure. which doesn't everyone want that anyway? he just had his own way of creating that life for himself.  while i will never know a concrete answer...what i did receive was a demonstration by my grandfather. a demonstration of love, devotion, admiration, perseverance, determination and teaching. my grandfather was an advocate. he pushed the schools to educate my uncle and to provide functional life experiences that would help him to gain the skills needed to sustain an income. through the acts of faith and kindness by what he did not what he said...he instilled a love for all people. especially those with disabilities that often don't get what they deserve in life because they are "different."

my younger cousin, although she's only younger by a matter of 5 months, has Down Syndrome. being so close in age to her growing up made the differences between us developmentally all the more apparent. what makes her different from me? maybe i'm the different one? she is one of the most giving and wonderful people on this entire planet. i'm not sure i could love this woman more. every year without fail i get a birthday card on my birthday made from scratch by her and for me from her heart. i look forward to that small gift of love every year and it honestly means more to me than any gift i could receive on my birthday. i can't imagine how sad i would feel if that card didn't come any more. (and for those of you who know me well, know i don't really like birthdays) but i do like the card!!! ;)

however, during the formative years of my life i came to understand something horrible. life isn't fair and my family is not treated fairly because of their disabilities. i overheard many a conversation (even before i understood what it was) about the school system and how my uncle or cousin were treated unfairly or abused in some cases. i was appalled because i didn't understand how anyone could mistreat my family! as i grew these stories left a bad taste in my mouth. i hated the education system and how special education programs were run. during the end of high school and the very beginning of college i stayed as fair away from special education as i could. but it kept drawing me back. by the end of my freshman year i had declared a double major, one of which was special education. 

so this is me. a person who is deeply, passionately and emotionally engulfed in special education with all of the good, the bad and the ugly that comes with it. 

back on track-

so the point of this post was not to explain my past but it helps to understand this next part. 

the preview-

the preview that almost miraculously appeared on my dvd was for the movie "Music Within," which i learned is based on a true story. the movie depicts a typical man who after being rejected from a program at northwestern decides to enlist during the vietnam war in which he is deafened by a bomb. upon returning, he is suddenly thrown into the world as a man with a disability and all of the stigma that comes with it. not an easy thing to take on i'm sure, especially suddenly. he befriends a man with a Cerebral Palsy. In the case of Art Honneyman, he has a severe case of CP which includes convulsion like tremors and speech impairments. Art appeared to be "retarded" as some people might describe but mentally he was all there. So, when people stared at him and made fun of how he sounded he understood everything perfectly. the 2 friends despite the odds make their voices heard and help to initiate the Americans with Disabilities Act. the movie was made in 2007 and i'm almost angry that i had never heard of it until now. after watching the preview i searched for it on the internet. i began to cry while reading about the road to making the film, the real men that the movie is based around and the amazing work that they have done and how they have paved the way for all person's with disabilities. 

movies like this that don't help people change their minds about persons with disabilities but about themselves inspire me and give that kick that i need to make it through another grueling day at work. the statistic is that special educators don't make it more than 5 years in the field before they run screaming for the hills. i always thought beating this stat would be easy, but after the year that i've had...it makes a lot more sense. i was incredibly emotional and tearing up while i watched the preview and read about their lives... they are truly inspiring.

 i haven't given up yet and i'll keep pushing forward to make my community a more understanding and accepting place. even if i can't change any one's mind then at least i'll have my family and friends and they will always understand. 

i know i'll never be an art honneyman or richard pimentel, but i consider myself lucky to know people of the same strength and character. men like them renew my faith in humanity and my career choice. i can't wait to actually see this movie after reading about their lives. 

so the question is...what kind of music play in you?

grace and peace and acceptance.

-b