The Gospel

Hey people,

I'm home. After one heck of a semester I've packed my life up again and plopped it back in Unionville for a couple weeks. I'll be shipping it overseas in a few weeks, but until then I'd like to offer some thoughts.

We are always learning. All the time. Even if it's just directions to somewhere, how your friend's night was, or philosophical postulations on divine foreknowledge, the world is a never-ending book to learn from. Rather daunting, if you think about it. But still very exciting. So all of that to say, I learned a ton this semester. Much of it I would like to share with you, and lucky for you, I can! I spent much of the semester studying different theories of psychotherapy and internally wrestling with their implications for faith. At the end of it all, I wrote a whopper of a paper on my views of human nature and problems and solutions for mental health (which I am quite proud of). So if you're interested in learning about the "Bodenian" approach to therapy, you can find it here. Personal Counseling Theory

Alright. That's enough of that.

There is one thing I would like to say, and it deserves much more thought than what I have time to give it right now. It concerns the Gospel, the Good News, the Christian message, or whatever you would call it. I would like to share with you what months of philosophical-postulating, theological-pondering, and thoughtful beard-stroking has taught me. Through my Philosophy of Religion class and personal investment in the topic, I quite literally dissected every facet of my faith in Jesus Christ, held it up to every lens of logical scrutiny, and somehow tried to stuff it back into my heart, where it must reside and guide my life.

The Gospel, the core of Christian belief, the saving message of God is this -- to know God.

To know him. To truly, intimately, deeply, emotionally, intellectually know God. That's simple, you may think. Perhaps to you it is. But for those of us who find ourselves thinking often about God, talking about him and learning about him, how radical and revolutionary it is to realize that we can talk to him. God is not a distant star to study, but a person to know.

For me, that is what it means to be a Christian. Know God. Funny concept to boil it all down to two little words, but those words are the starting point for all the intricacies and compulsions of belief. Once we know God for who he is, how can we but love him with our whole heart, soul, mind, and strength? Once we have known him, how can we but read his Word and pray and sing and live for him?

To know God is to realize our own position before him. We deserve nothing, yet he loves us lavishly. We defy him daily, yet he forgives us undeservedly. We are crafted pottery, eternally cherished by an eternal Potter and created for his glory. 

So when we say we are "saved", what does that mean, exactly? We are saved from our crippling, sinful ignorance, and brought into redeeming knowledge of the Saviour. That's amazing.

In 1 Corinthians 1, Paul says that God has called us into fellowship with his Son Jesus Christ. That's what we are called to. Not just to Church or youth group or church potlucks or to be a good person and to do Christian things. But we are called to know God, and be daily transformed by that knowledge. To fellowship with Jesus Christ and grow everyday as branches drawing nearer to the vine.


1 Corinthians 13:12 "Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."

 - jmb

Lake Shore

Hello good world,

The times I feel most inspired to write something here seem to be the busiest, unfortunately. So then I come to a night like this where I have time to write, but I almost feel at a loss for material. I may have been at a real loss, in fact, had I not been presented with something rather frightening last night. Something terrible, terrifying, and quite frankly unbelievable.


Lake Shore.
Ladies and gentlemen, the Jersey Shore has come to Canada.


If you are familiar with Jersey Shore or its dazzlingly despicable legacy, then you might presently cease to read this post and retreat to some Apocalypse-ready bunker to wait out this onslaught of magnificently trashy entertainment. But that implies that it will end, when the scariest thing may be that it won't.

Jersey Shore is the ultimate in gratuitous reality television. For TV today it's not a novel concept. Just some filthy rich and beautiful people living their hedonistic lives -- drinking, tanning, working out, dating, fighting, crying, sleeping (together), shouting, and a little more drinking --  in front of the whole world. But I suppose what made Jersey Shore such a smashing success are the stereotypes. These unreal characters are beach bums (already room for stereotyping), living in New Jersey (sorry, Jersey, but more stereotypes), and are Italian. So throw it all together and you have hit television. We can watch from a distance, and giggle and gawk as every stereotype of such people is confirmed and strengthened.

I know people who live on the Jersey Shore. None of them are like the cast of the show, and yet their home will always be associated with this kind of blatant narcissism and youthful debauchery. Like it or not, the Jersey Shore will long be known for a small group of crazy kids. So when I was excitedly informed by a friend that "Canada has their own Jersey Shore!" I was less than impressed. Then I found out it's set in Toronto, and I was suddenly quite concerned. 

You see, this show is not just a copy of Jersey Shore. It's already been called "more offensive." The oh-so-tasteful producers have thrown 8 people from different ethnic backgrounds together, and given them appropriate names like "the Jew" or "the Pole" or "the Albanian." You get the picture. On the surface, it seems like a wonderful opportunity to showcase Toronto's diversity, and that's exactly what the producer claims he is doing.

The problem, of course, Mr. Producer, is that these people are not real people. Sure, they are Toronto residents and big Jersey Shore fans who lined up for hours and auditioned to make the final cut for a show that will hopefully shoot them towards fame... but who is going to do all that and stand before a panel of judges and be anything like themselves? They've all watched every episode of Jersey Shore. They know what makes reality TV popular. The producers want attitude and sex appeal and drama, and the young stars want fame and money. It's an easy trade.

As a proud Torontonian watching his city from afar, I really hope Toronto is not thrust into the world's consciousness by the fame of Lake Shore. I wish all the best for these folks, but this show truthfully doesn't do anyone any good. They are still deciding on a network to broadcast it, I believe, so there's still a chance it won't air. Lines from "the Turk" like, "I'm not racist; I hate everyone... especially Jews" may slow things down. But better yet, we could all just throw out our TVs, cause the stuff on it isn't likely to get any better. Yeah, that'll do it..

If you just stop for a second to see these characters as real people, created by God for so much more, you see that behind their loud and brash and obnoxious behavior they are just screaming for love and attention. They are empty and unfulfilled, so they are digging their emptiness deeper in an attempt to get out. It's really sad, actually, and even sadder that their vulnerability and hunger will be exploited for a quick profit, by an audience combating their own emptiness. I'll just say it straight: these people need Jesus, to live the lives we were created for.

So as funny as it sounds, maybe I'll pray for the cast of Lake Shore. It can't hurt, and it certainly seems like they could use it. But anyways, I hope this is the first and last mention you ever hear of this show.

Sorry to be so serious. I should work on some jokes for next time.
Oh! I got it. I went to Jon Stewart's Rally to Restore Sanity last week and this sign (one of many) made me chuckle.


To all of you supporting anti-immigration policies: 

You're right, immigrants are a problem.
Just ask the Native Americans.


Thank you very much. Have a good night.
jmb

I Like Maine

Hello world,

I've just returned from four days up in Maine, where I frolicked about with festive Fall frivolity among colorful trees, soaring hilltops and pounding ocean. We had a few days off for Fall Break, so I spent the time with a few friends at one fellow's house up there. Sure was beautiful. Breathtakingly so. 

Of course I'm grateful to God for all times of the year, but this season is especially awe-inspiring for me. Likely for you as well. Anyway, there's much I could say, but I wrote a little article for the Op-Ed section of our school paper. In case you don't subscribe to The Swinging Bridge, I've shortened it and posted below. Hope you like it!

What's Like Got to Do With It?

Your cousin gets engaged. You like that. You post vacation photos. Your mom likes that. You share a joke with a new friend. He likes it. That kid from 8th grade science likes it too. Justin Bieber smiles. And 15 million people like it. 

My question: what is like, exactly? 

It’s no secret that Facebook has radically altered our social world. From the moment we sign over our names we are forever members of a new community – an online society that exists everywhere . . . and yet exists nowhere. Connections unhindered unite us with mindless ease to 500 million people across all manners of time and space. 

Facebook is too large of a monster to wrestle in one go, and it’s too precious to us all to be adequately condemned. But there are certain aspects of this cyber-beast that rob too much of real friendship’s risk to be ignored. And this whole business of “liking”, for me, goes too far. 

Once upon a time, dear cousin would have called you personally to deliver the good news. Mom would’ve been delighted to see the scrapbook you completed. Your joke would’ve been a special moment between two friends. And Justin Bieber, well, in another time he wouldn’t be.

But that isn’t the world our social lives inhabit anymore. Instead, each action can become a public display. In this new reality, the user chooses each social move carefully. He crafts his own image and selects his encounters; or when he so desires he simply observes unnoticed.

So it is in this era of cheapened social interaction that we find the ‘like’ button cheaper still. It takes the remnant of authentic exchange and whittles it to the core – to a primal instinct of pleasure or displeasure. Your personal congratulation to your cousin turned into an exclamatory wall post; now it is a virtual thumbs-up. 

So we have ‘groups’ petitioning the folks at Facebook to create a ‘dislike’ button. After all, if we are reducing our response to a simple affirmative, why ignore the other basic affective state? If this happens, it doesn’t seem long before all words may be lost to our virtual selves; each newsfeed only a litany of thumbs up or down.

I believe that we were created for community and can function powerfully in authentic relationship. And it is this authenticity that is at risk when we maintain a friendship with sporadic 'likes.' There is no depth to our compliment or significance to our approval when it is so diminished. If we were vulnerable behind our Facebook profiles before, we are even less so when we use no words in our exchange. It’s simple and it’s safe to ‘like’ what you otherwise might have discussed – but perhaps it’s too simple, and perhaps too safe. 

You could argue that this isn't a big deal, that though interaction be cheapened, friendship itself is strengthened. Even if you are just ‘liking’ someone else’s social activity, it’s still better than not interacting at all, right? And, anyways, you have 1, 627 friends. You just don’t have time to provide a deeper comment.

But there is a bigger issue here, I think. It’s simply a matter of how much we dare to think. How much will we question the ideas thrown at our minds or the tools thrust in our hands? History is being made by every moment that passes, but it is shaped by the choices we make. So think for yourself about the quality of friendship you wish to pursue; the identity you wish to embrace; the stamp you leave on the world.

Here’s a thought: each action on Facebook is an indelible imprint in time, one that will last even until the day your grandchildren add you as a friend. What sorts of relationships do you cultivate? What do you say? What do you like? Know that this crazy social world we inhabit no longer exists in our memories and old letters on a dusty shelf. It’s with us everyday, and it’s open for all to see.

So what do we do? Perhaps nothing new. We just think about each action, and remember that the gravity of personal dialogue can never be fully reduced to a single click of approval. It’s messy, this friendship thing. Let’s keep it that way.

A Canadian Thanksgiving

A longer post is forthcoming. Until it arrives, I just wanted to wish everyone in the world a belated, but very happy Canadian Thanksgiving.

I learned yesterday that there are a few Canadian faculty here at Messiah. A number of people came up to me throughout the day to inform me that their Canadian professor had informed them that Monday was, in fact, Canadian Thanksgiving. Some of these professors are genuinely Canadian; others claim the title through a spouse or cousin or dog or whatever. The point is, you'll never feel more proud to be Canadian than when you're living in America.

So you tell your American friends that today is Thanksgiving Day in the motherland. And they exclaim, "What!? Canada has Thanksgiving? ...Um, what for?"

And you proceed to explain that though we had no Pilgrims, and no voyage of the Mayflower, and though our first encounter with the Natives is not recorded as a cordial family affair, we still have a harvest and a reason to be thankful. Then you'll tell them that it is celebrated in mid-October, because it's gosh-darn hard enough to farm the frozen tundra in July, let alone November. Then you'll describe how you celebrate in your ancestral igloo, but the turkey isn't cooked for fear of melting the roof. And after we gnaw the turkey, which is actually a Canadian Goose, we wash it down with some home-cooked poutine and throw on our toques before skating ootside.

But, I suppose, if they press you on your facts, they should know the truth. For instance, that the first recorded feast of thanksgiving in Canada dates to 1578. But whoever gets credit for originating the holiday, giving thanks is not as American as apple pie, anymore than it's as Canadian as peameal bacon.

So wherever you're at this Thanksgiving season (which, for me, spans 7 weeks and two countries), I hope it is blessed.

Cheers!
jmb




Mmm, peameal bacon.

Seize the Day! (or the late night ...)

I'm writing from an upstairs bedroom of the Guys' Restoration House, just off the campus of Messiah College, tucked away in the rolling hills of Grantham, Pennsylvania. The blaring horn of a passing freight train screams its plea for attention as the clanking and rattling of that great metallic serpent carries it winding and whining into the night. But I do not suppose you are here to read about freight trains. So allow me to explain what I've been up to.

For my friends north of the border, I'd call this my third year of university. For everyone else, I'm a college junior. I'm back in Grantham, Messiah's main campus, after my semester-long adventure in Philadelphia. I'm often asked if the transition from teeming urban campus to quaint rural setting was difficult. Truthfully, it wasn't. Though Messiah may be quieter and less socially turbulent and sometimes even a bit stifling, it's always been that way and that's, I think, precisely why we love it. It's such a safe and special place, so nurturing and yet so rich with opportunity. But ultimately, like any place one could ever go, it's all what you make of it.

So once again, I'm going to try to make this the best it can be. I'm living at the Restoration House, which is one of Messiah's themed "satellite houses". It's a small old house just across the train tracks from campus, focused on sustainable living and awareness and home to six fine gentlemen. There is a girls' house across the street, home to six fine young ladies who bake us muffins and help us when we're sad. It's like coming home everyday to a 12-person family.

Confused about the "sustainable living" bit? I was a little too, so that's why I joined the house. To boil it all down, we seek to be a strong community that encourages ourselves and our school to care about the effect of our actions on Creation. It's admittedly something I never thought too much about, except when (at home) I've had to discard my trash in three separate bins. So I'm living at this house, and I'm learning about the kind of impact we, as a society and as individuals, have on our world from the lifestyles we lead. All really takes to right some of these wrongs is some self-discipline and lifestyle changes. If you're wondering, I have yet to literally hug a tree, but it may happen someday.

I'm working for College Ministries. My official title is Worship Consultant, because, yes, even our worship needs consulting now. What I really do is plan and coordinate our weekly chapels, and give leadership in worship to different events around campus. So it's a lot of ministry-related stuff I've done for years, with some added desk-work, responsibility, and a paycheck. It's great. College ministry is no walk in the park, though, and many may be surprised to learn that planning a chapel service takes more than 'just picking a few songs' but I've learned a ton already.

Academically, this is the hardest semester of my college career thus far, but it's also hands down my favorite. I am a psychology major, finally studying psychology in depth. And I love it. I think I'll leave it at that for now, though. So stay tuned.

I regrettably have only had time for this pastime far past the time for my slumber. But I wanted to give a (very) brief overview of some of my involvements this semester. There is much more to be done and much more to be said, but as always I thank you greatly for supporting me on this ride.

Until next time, dear friends,
jmb

Return To Blogsville

Cue trumpets and wild fanfare. Send for your friends. Slaughter the fattened calf. Tonight we party, for the curator of this forgotten thought museum has returned!

Actually, do none of those things. Save the fattened calf for another time. But this humble author of his own reflections has, in fact, returned. I apologize for the prolonged absence, but I thank you for your patience and apparent devotion. I hereby declare the third season of this blog begun.

I'm admittedly a little too tired to write anything even remotely interesting, so I'll save my first post for the more favourable cognitive conditions of another day. Until then, thanks for checking in and I'll talk to you soon!

Feel free to talk back.
jmb

Who?

Hey World,

It's been a while. How you been?

I've been home for almost a month now, enjoying the familiar but all the same trying to view it with new lenses. I've been thinking about that a lot, actually. When one goes out and has memorable, formative experiences far from home, how does their perspective of home change? I'm trying to deliberately change mine for the better. What is this place I've grown up in -- the Greater Toronto Area -- and what sort of powerful, life-changing things can I experience in a place I've always known?

This all actually leads to the second major "lesson" I suppose I wanted to share based on my Philly experience. If the first could be expressed in a word, it would be WHY. The second, then, would be WHO.


Everybody has a story. That notion is no stranger to this little blog of mine, but it quite easily becomes one to this little mind of mine. And probably yours as well. So I'm on a mission to remedy that ailment of ignorance. I want to see the world from others' eyes, and find beauty in the story of their lives. The same God who created me (and you) and whom I praise for his love and providence in my life knows all these people just as intimately as myself.

I've been convicted lately of one peculiar pattern I've noticed. When a friend goes abroad for a semester or even overseas for a few weeks, I am so eager to hear their stories and so inspired by their experiences. For instance, a few friends went to China, and I was so excited for them and anxious to hear what it was like. What a fascinating cultural encounter! Then I come home, where nearly half of the people in my immediate neighborhood were born somewhere in Asia. Talk about an extraordinary story worth hearing. These are lives worth celebrating and people worth knowing.

But regardless of someone's birthplace, are they not still children of God beautiful and valuable to him? I guess like I've said before, I feel that so much could be accomplished if people just took an interest in other people's stories and perspectives. Asking "why" can only lead to a better understanding of just "who" we're dealing with.

God's Creation is a beautiful thing. It's unbelievable, really. If I may digress for a minute, the good people at the BBC recently produced what I see to be one of the most worship-inspiring videos ever -- Planet Earth. Of course they are evolutionary biologists working for a secular media company, but the images and natural beauty they've brought to DVD format points me directly to God. There is truly staggering beauty even in the darkest, deepest places. Why would God create such beautiful things that man would never see? Perhaps just because he is God. He is an awesome God with power incomparable and glory unending.

My point here, though, is that the beauty of Creation can be seen in all aspects of it. Including people. Especially people.  No two people are completely identical. Nobody's fingerprints are on anyone else's fingers. Your personality is your own. Your character is you, and it's yours alone. Everyone has a different story to tell. Everybody has heartaches and tragedies and hopes and desires and dreams. And they are all unique.

There are more cultures that one could ever know, and greater diversity than one could even fathom. But God knows it all. He created it all. It's common to praise diversity, but how often do we praise God for it? Like the beauty of Creation points me to the beauty of my Creator, so too the diversity of humans can only point me back to the eternal creativity of an eternal God. There are beautiful tales and innumerable stories to be heard in this world. So whether I'm on the other side of the world, or just bumming around at home, I want to hear those stories and worship the God who caused them all.

jmb.

Ask Why

Hello world,

Well, it's all coming to a close. I realize my writing here has been sporadic at best, but it hasn't been for lack of inspiration. No, I've been busy trying to make the most of my last month here in Philadelphia -- an ambition impeded by an ever-growing workload. But now even the work is winding down, so I figured I'd take some time to reflect.

Philadelphia, to me, is the noise. It's the traffic. It's the dirt and grime and sirens near and far. It's the smells. It's the music. It's the sights and the sightseeing. It's the poverty. It's the wealth. It's the crime. It's the news. It's the food. It's the snow. It's the heat. It's the shopping malls. It's the street vendors. It's the subway. It's the skyscrapers. It's the vacant lots. It's the service. It's the living. It's the learning. It's all of these things and more. But mostly, it's the stories.

So I'd like to share a few little lessons I've learned the past few months. They're important to me, so I hope you can gain something too. I'll share them over the next couple weeks, but tonight I want to focus on one that is foundational to all others, and certainly I hope to my entire life.

Lesson One: Ask Why

Anyone who has ever played a video game will probably be familiar with the EA Games slogan. It goes like this:
Multitude of voices droning in eerie unison: "EA Games"
Lone child's voice in a creepier whisper: "Challenge Everything"

Creepiness aside, I think the folks at EA Games are sending a powerful message. Though I would rephrase to: Ask Why. That's it. Plain and simple, but oh so complex and oh so difficult. It's a simple premise with life-changing application, but ... it's going to take a lot of work.

There is always a reason. There is always another story to explain another action, thought, or idea. So let's look for it. Why is there racism in the world? Why is there poverty hand-in-hand with wealth? Why do some people live abundantly? Why do some people live in constant suffering? Why can't people get along in politics?

These are tough questions, but there is always an answer. For some questions, God alone may hold the answers, but that is no reason not to ask. It's no reason not to look further for the truth and to see, as I've said before, the world through God's eyes. And that's what I feel we sometimes forget -- there is always more to see and learn, even with things we see as inexplicable. The issue of prejudice, for example, is so fascinating to me. I might look at someone who is racist with nothing but disbelief and disdain, but why are they that way?

Perhaps they were born in a homogeneous rural town in a community very antagonistic to those of other colors. The prejudice rubs off on impressionable young minds. And perhaps the townspeople themselves grew up in a similar environment, and their ancestors were slaveholders who would have hated slavery but depended on it completely for their survival in a competitive world and so demeaned their black workers and beat them into submission lest they ever think to rebel and overcome the system. These ancestors may have tried desperately to justify slaveholding, even using the Bible to hold their economic system intact. But the more they read the Bible to convince themselves, the more they felt uneasy. So they painted blacks as the enemy, a people to fear and revile and oppress, and taught such things to their children, whose children's children's children are with us today.

In case you got lost there, the point is that no sane person could ever choose to despise another race unless they were taught it was the right way. What if I was born then, not in a Canadian metropolis of the 21st Century but a southern American town in the 19th Century. Would I be any different?

And what about political divides? In my modest observations and highly caricatured interpretations, Liberals see Conservatives as tradition-bound buffoons with closed minds and obtuse noggins. Conservatives see Liberals as obstinate progressives who would see the very fabric of democracy unravel for the sake of "pleasing everybody." But what if John Stewart and Rush Limbaugh played golf and shared stories of growing up? What if Ann Coulter and Arianna Huffington (of the Huffington Post) went out for coffee and chatted about their childhoods and families. Could they ever see eye-to-eye? Maybe they would, if they only asked why.

No one is born a Democrat or a Republican, we choose a platform based on the world we know.  No one is forced to become wealthy or to give all their money away. We do things based on what we know. So what is the solution to all this misunderstanding, and even more so to problems of disparity and economic oppression? To me, it is to learn more. It is to live. It is to see the world beyond your own eyes, to experience the world beyond yourself. And you don't have to travel the world to do this, you just have to ask why.

All I'm Really Good For

This morning at LIFT Philadelphia I was working with a first-time client. We were doing the usual intake paperwork, going over her financial situation, family background and career goals. Somewhere along the way, I stopped to ask her, "If you could have any job right now, what would it be?"

"Oh, just some kind of cleaning," she replied sincerely. "That's really all I'm good for."

To me, that moment was a profound collision between my world and hers. For the briefest sliver of time, my sphere of privilege and opportunity clashed right up against a life with limits, realistic and inhibiting. For myself and fellow students, such questions of possibility are a part of daily thoughts: what do I want to be? what do I want to do? who do I want to become? We feel entitled to the world, which of course is ours for the taking. We are proud of our accomplishments, even though realistically we still haven't accomplished anything.

This mindset is by no means exclusive to this generation, and I don't even think it's a bad thing. There's no doubt that progress really only seems to be made by those who dream, who have the opportunity to seek more. But it's humbling to learn from those who seem to have stopped dreaming altogether -- those who see only as far as tomorrow while they try to make it through today.


Like this woman. We sat together at the same desk and shared an hour of each other's time. We are different in many visible ways -- age, race, gender -- and have done vastly different things during our lives thus far. But the most profound difference, the one that struck me this morning, is our ability to dream.

We both dream at night. But during the day, when the sun shines, when a child cries, when sadness reigns, when laughter overcomes, when sirens wail, when music soars, when solitude threatens, when company comforts, when loved ones pass, when new lives begin, when goodness overwhelms, when God is known, then what? What does she dream of -- for herself, for her children, for her community, for the world?

Or have the pressures of a difficult life robbed her of such vision?

I know my dreams. I know what it is to catch glimpses of God's glory that move me, to hear a song that stirs me, to see an image that captivates me, to read a book that shapes me. You probably do too. And I know what it is to dream in those moments.

But what do I dream of, how do I dream differently, for the sake of those who don't dream at all? For the sake of those who see little value in themselves, how do I see myself? How do you see yourself?

I don't know how to properly answer that question, except to remind myself and the world that there is a God who cares, a God who does more than dream, but a God who plans for all his children, from every tongue, tribe, and nation to bow before Him. For all all of them to live in perfect harmony and fulfillment for all eternity. There, with our divine purpose restored, we will no longer dream of something better, but live for something more.

It's easy, when exposed to such disparity and injustice, to become cynical and hopeless, never feeling like we are doing enough. But there is such solace in knowing that I serve a God who will one day completely restore this crazy planet -- in all its beauty and corruption, wealth and poverty, good and evil -- to something eternally perfect. But in the meantime we don't just twiddle our thumbs and wait for divine reparations to commence, we work out our salvation as Christ's hands and feet doing whatever he would have us do.

And because this is a debate that shouldn't be ignored, I am not making a call for "social justice." It's a call for Godly living, wherever that takes you -- to the pulpit, to the cubicle, or to the streets of Calcutta. And never lose the vision of something more.

Dream on,
jmb

The Missionary Impulse

 

This article was sent my way a few weeks ago. It's a piece about Laura Silsby, who, in the aftermath of Haiti's devastating earthquakes, tried to take some impoverished kids out of Port-Au-Prince to safety in the Dominican Republic. Sounds pretty harmless, right? One might even say it was downright nice of her. Well, they would have said that, except that she and her group got arrested at the border for trying to smuggle these kids out of the country without permission. Guess they should have thought of that. 

The story would have ended right there, had the media not found one additional fact -- Ms. Silsby is a Christian. Duh, duh, duh. Cue blinding spotlights and weeks of front-page drama. The ignorance! The hypocrisy! 

The torrential judgment that ensued fueled the writing of this article in the NY Times. So I'd encourage you to read it. My initial response is down below.

The Missionary Impulse -- The Opinionator

Well, first off I don't think anyone can deny that this is a pretty shameless case against Christianity, or at least Christian missions. But in my opinion, it's completely unfair and unwarranted. At least Ms. Silsby was doing something, motivated out of genuine compassion and following a biblical mandate to care for the oppressed. And, lest we forget, she was taking these kids to an orphanage. Reading some of these articles, one might think she was trying to take them home as slaves. If she had succeeded in her ill-guided scheme, remember the outcome would have been 30 kids nestled safely in warmer beds than the streets of Port-Au-Prince provide. Now that's not so evil, is it?
 

It becomes so easy to bash international Christian aid and mission efforts that have gone awry, and at the same time forget all the good that has been done by those same programs. Sure, perhaps the history of Christian missions is tainted by a few exceptional instances, but for every tragedy associated with Christianity, there has been much more good. For example, religious people consistently give four times as much to charity than any other group. And we should thank God for that, because, as that article points out, liberal atheists statistically don't give much to those in need.
 

I would argue that a few cases of ineffective (or even detrimental) Christian mission work does nothing to discredit two thousand years of caring for the poor and needy wherever they are -- the quiet servitude that will never make headlines. Of the hundreds of Christian volunteers who flooded into Haiti after the earthquake, 10 of them made some misguided attempts to help in the face of incredible suffering. The American media, in their incessant quest to find fault in "the righteous" blows the whole story into front-page material. In one of the greatest natural disasters in recent times, an unprecedented amount of relief work and aid flooded into a devastated nation with no strings attached. It's a story of unexplainable tragedy and compassion, yet the piece that snags the top spot is about one conservative Christian who made some mistakes.
 

So critical (presumably non-Christian) columnists point their fingers at one white American Christian woman who messed up, and, like in this article, inductively reason that Christian missions are a menace to society. The headlines also tell us that Tiger Woods is Buddhist. Hence, all Buddhists are selfish and sex-obsessed. Stalin was an atheist. So were the Columbine shooters. Atheists have done some bad things. So watch out for Atheists. They're a dangerous bunch.
 

I guess that's a little extreme, but I think it's also extreme to so vehemently antagonize this woman. I mean, nothing even happened. She got stopped, the kids were returned. End of story. Truth be told, the story isn't about kids being taken from Haiti. The story is about a Christian who isn't perfect.
  

I also think it would be a good idea for this evidently concerned columnist to perhaps redirect his energies to something more pressing. Say, the fact that hundreds of helpless Haitian kids are being trafficked out of Haiti as we speak. Turn the spotlight off a well-intentioned mishap before we completely miss the real tragedy.

As always, thanks for reading. I'd love to hear your thoughts!
Peace and love,
jmb

O Canada!

I realize I'm a little late, but there's something I've been dying to say:

GO CANADA GO!

For any Canadian who lives somewhere outside Canada, these past Olympics were something extra special. After years of enduring mindless misconceptions and pleading with peers for recognition, the world has turned its heavy gaze on my home and native land. It's so thrilling that people finally care.

Yes, it's a bit bothersome that their focus is narrow and brief, but to witness the impression that Vancouver 2010 has placed on American hearts is touching. Equally touching was their disbelief that there could be less snow in Vancouver than in Philadelphia. Imagine that...

Yes, there is a country up there, and no, it's not exactly the same as America.

No, I don't live anywhere near Vancouver, but I agree with you -- it's beautiful.

The tune of O Canada is stuck in your head? Pretty catchy, EH? Let me teach you the words!

Yeah, we have a pretty good sense of humour. And fashion. Check out those scarves.

Wait, Michael J. Fox is Canadian!? Why, yes he is. And guess who else?

Oh and did you notice we're the best hockey players in the world?

I'm so proud to be Canadian. And from this side of North America, I can firmly attest that everyone was impressed by these games. I heard a few people, so moved by the friendly faces and beautiful landscape of these Vancouver games, exclaim, "I'm moving to Canada!"

So there you have it. The world may sometimes forget us in the political shadow of our giant neighbour, but there is nothing but love for the True North, strong and free!

My name is Josh. And I Am Canadian.

Photo Essay

Dearest world,

Here's a visual glimpse into my life... if the words just aren't cutting it.

This was our first major project for Design for Journalism. We were supposed to document a week in our lives in pictures, then edit and string all the images together to tell some sort of coherent story.

I'm not much of a photographer (I had to borrow a camera for this), but it was actually a lot of fun.
Enjoi,
jmb

check out 'the week.'

Snow and Stories

I opened up BBC World News online this afternoon and read the headline, "Snowstorm Paralyses U.S. East Coast." The article covered crippling damage that's been inflicted in major cities, including D.C., Baltimore, and Philadelphia. I also received numerous messages from friends and family back home inquiring about my experience (and safety) smack dab in the middle of all the calamity. There have been several deaths, power outages, and a whole lot of car accidents.

So what has my experience been? Well, to be honest, it hasn't been all that dramatic. I watched a foot of snow pile up outside my window, I saw a few cars slip a little on the street below, I took some cool pictures, I had some snow spray in my face and in my jacket, I got my socks wet walking to lunch. Yup. That's about it.

So if someone were to ask me directly, "You're in Philadelphia. What's it like? Is everyone alright?" I would honestly have to reply, "Um, yeah. Actually, it's not so bad."

Because that's my experience. That's my perspective. That's my story.

But it's not really true. Or, at least, it's not completely true.

I have a class on Wednesday nights called EcoUrban Footprints of Post-Metropolis Life: Examining an Integral Relationship of Natural and Social Ecologies in Urban Environments. No, I don't know what it means either. I doubt even the instructor knows. But regardless, we watched a fascinating lecture last class by an African author named Chimamanda Adichie about "the danger of a single story."

How often do we think we know everything? Or perhaps we don't think we know everything, we just don't bother to learn anymore, to dig any deeper. In this lecture, which I would highly encourage you to watch in its entirety, Adichie explains her experiences as an African woman and successful author in America -- the prejudices she endures and the misconceptions she deals with daily.

Her tone is gentle and even humorous, but her message is strong and sharp: don't be blinded by the single story. Do not think that your personal experiences or observations -- with people, countries, ideas, cultures -- have given you a full understanding. For instance, when Adichie moved from Nigeria to the U.S. for university, her classmates knew only the American story of Africa. They were shocked beyond belief to learn she grew up in a house, not a hut, was part of a city, not a tribe, and listened to Mariah Carey ... on a CD, no less.

I'm challenging myself to think the same way here in Philadelphia. Every person I encounter, whether they are homeless on the street or sitting next to me in class, has a story. And it's a story worth hearing, because these are people worth loving.

This storm is bad, but my eyes only tell me a portion of the truth. Likewise, that guy begging for money looks like a mess. His eyes are puffy, his clothes are dirty, and his face is scruffy. And the story I've been told about guys like this is that they're total bums who will use my spare pennies for drugs. But what else is going on here? What's his story?

I'm trying my best to learn new stories this semester. I've already learned a few, through troubled teens at tutoring and clients over at LIFT, and I'm greatly anticipating my furthered understanding of things I used to think I knew.

What it comes down to, I believe, is this. God's creation is too complex to be understood by a single story. There's always something more. Another perspective. Another story to be told. We can never see it all, and we never will. But God does. And praise Him for that. So let's try to see the world the way God sees it.

From Philly: A Quick Update

Greetings, good folk!

A lengthier report I would love to provide, but a succinct summation will have to suffice. I will confess that I feel a tad self-indulgent posting such detailed accounts of my activities and ambitions with the expectation that people will take time out of busy schedules to read them. But, I guess I don't feel that bad because I'm doing it anyway... ;)

It's been a wonderful two weeks since I first arrived in the city of brotherly love. I've been enjoying the luxuries of little accumulated schoolwork and few nagging commitments, though I'm getting anxious for more to do. That said, in addition to the ever-present excitements of exploration and the thrills of navigating a new school, I have these things upcoming...

I'll be hosting some Messiah chums on their J-term break this weekend.

A tutoring ministry at a church across the street is beginning next week, and I'll be there Tuesday and Friday evenings.

I'm going to help lead some of the worship at our weekly community gatherings (aka. chapel).

I'm contributing some articles for the Broad Street Journal, MCPC's* student paper.

I'm looking forward to church at Epiphany Fellowship again this week. It's a really neat place, with incredible music, a young congregation (ha not that that is any indication of a good church, it just helps us belong), and a really solid pastor who consistently delivers refreshingly biblical teaching. Apparently this pastor, Eric Mason, speaks with such respected Reformed preachers as as John Piper. I believe it.

And lastly, and probably most exciting..ly, there's this program called LIFT down the street from here that I might be volunteering a few hours with each week. It's an organization that partners homeless and low-income folks in the area with students from Temple. We work with them to provide services and help them find jobs, housing, etc. Needless to say, it sounds awesome.

Last lastly, classes are great.

As always, thanks for reading! Your prayers and concerns are greatly appreciated. Know that I'm praying for you too.
jmb

p.s. Here's something that really spoke to me today. Let us not forget what we're working for!

* MCPC = Messiah College Philadelphia Campus

Intro to Philly Time

There are too many "producers" out there for a little guy like me to contend with. It's way too easy for one to become a very invested "consumer" of opinions and information and quite quickly forget why one ever bothered to produce one's own content. But alas, here I go again. Thank you to the few of you that convince me I have something worthwhile to say.

I'm treated tonight to the steady whoosh of cars whizzing past, the shrill choir of sirens distant and near, and the discordant hollers of excited frat boys. It's an unfamiliar neighbourhood in a city different from and far from home. And yet, this place is home for the next few months. Welcome to North Philadelphia.

Something about leaving all that's comfortable for a new place leaves you exhausted -- mentally, physically, emotionally -- but oh so excited. It's the overwhelming new sights, sounds and smells; the fascinating people you meet for the first (and last) time; the swelling sense of accomplishment you gain as this strange place becomes a little more of who you are.

So that's where I'm at. I'm spending the spring semester of my sophomore year studying at Messiah's Philadelphia Campus. Philly is comparable in size to Toronto, but I'm quickly discovering how incredibly different it is. The "Jane & Finch" area of Toronto is reputed as a neighbourhood rife with crime and danger, the no-go-zone in the minds of suburban kids across the GTA. Well, now I've been supplanted into the middle of a city with its fair share of "Jane & Finches" and I can't wait for all that's in store.

The tranquility of Grantham is long gone for now. I'll be sure to face plenty of challenges along with everything else this semester, but you grow the most when you're uncomfortable. So bring it on.

I have plenty more I could say now, but I'll save all of that for future musings. So stay tuned!
God is good, all the time.
jmb