The clock just struck Christmas here, and a song by the goo goo dolls is playing in my head.
And you ask me what I want this year And I try to make this kind and clear Just a chance that maybe we’ll find better days Cuz I don’t need boxes wrapped in strings And desire and love and empty things Just a chance that maybe we’ll find better days
So take these words And sing out loud Cuz everyone is forgiven now Cuz tonight’s the night the world begins again
And it’s someplace simple where we could live And something only you can give And that’s faith and trust and peace while we’re alive And the one poor child that saved this world And there’s 10 million more who probably could If we all just stopped and said a prayer for them
Regardless of what day Christ was really born on, today we celebrate a moment that changed history forever.
But really, shouldn’t every single child born make a mark on humanity?
Is there a way we can see the hope of salvation resting in every person we encounter, without devaluing Christ?
In his latest book Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell examines the forces behind successful people. He brings up several key factors such as mental and social competence, cultural upbringing, and pure luck.
Probably the most disappointing and intriguing ingredient to success Gladwell cites is that they just work harder than others.
He even goes on to identify 10,000 hours as the magic minimum number required to reach world class expertise at any one particular subject or skill. He references everyone from Bill Gates to the Beetles – there’s no shortcuts around pure hard work.
10,000 hours works out to roughly 10 years. While there are many other factors that lead to ‘tipping points’ of success, this one is at least somewhat quantifiable. What if we as church leaders looked at our investment in others and ourselves in at least 10 year increments?
Rather than turning back after giving something a try for a year, and assuming “God’s just not in it”, maybe we really haven’t put our dues in yet?
10 years really isn’t all that much. Reality is most of us can attempt working at dreams with ten-year plans several times over within our lifespans.
Guest blogger Zaya Kuyena is back with a reflective piece
Black Tuesdays
The end of a Tuesday last month led me to escape work on a taxi driven by a calmly mid-aged Indian who had me listen to the reports of the newly elected president, Barack Obama on Punjabi radio station. All I was hearing was the names Barack Obama and John McCain repeated rapidly as the graceful driver was leading me home while giving me update to date translations. As the taxi cab rolled around the circle where meets all three buildings contextually similar in design and aesthetic, my disregard for the elevator and my raps ascension on the stairs showed my electric excitement to watch history unfold on the télé just before the clock hit midnight.
I was greeted by my mother who didn’t allow me to take off my shoes until she hugged me and said with a Belgian-French accent,
“Nous avons la victoire!”.
By that exclamation without getting too political, until this day I’m still reflecting on her comment.
Who won?
America?
The West?
Black people?
The Arab world?
Colored folk?
Liberals?
Moderates?
Christians?
Muslims?
Yet, I’m still uncovering the layers of what my parent’s yearning and thoughts as post-colonial immigrants/Canadian citizens as they witness the first African-American president of the United-States. They had told me that just a half an hour ago when it was Wolf Blitzer had first stated his all too familiar “CNN predicts that…’ with an emotionally-embracing “…Sen. Barack Obama to be the next 44th President of the United-States of America”, all three buildings at Willowridge Road had people jump outside their balcony shouting exuberated shouts of joy, and statements like ‘Thank you Jesus’, ‘Subhan-Allah’ and ‘F*** yeah, first Black President’ filtered the air in between the high risers.
The experience left my family united throughout the night like an ending episode of the good old Cosby Show.
Just one month later on another Tuesday, but there was no taxi driving me home. Neither was there an English translation of a Punjabi radio news station. It was simply the regular 1 hour 2 bus drive home after work, waiting no excitement at the front door, and all balconies closed shut from the breeze. Yet at the beginning of this Tuesday, I was led to find police cars all around the same buildings I inhabit, blocking the passage way for the bus to station itself; along with officers signaling directions for arriving residences and cars. It seems like the only people who had better access were the media reporters. I was just hoping it didn’t involve any of the multitudes of youth that populate the Willowridge neighbourhood. Especially any black teens.
To my disappointment, it was. Only one. But one to many.
After making my round of inquiries trying to dodge one of the country’s major television company, I was initially told that a young boy was shot in the head afterwards threw out the balcony down 14 floors to his death. Such are the scenes we enjoy to see on the latest crime movies.
Yet this wasn’t a re-run of CSI.
After getting final reviews of the matter, the factual statement made out by the police was that the adolescent slipped while trying to jump from one balcony to the other attempting to escape what seemed to be the apprehension by the police on the scene after getting a call about a break-in. This is the only time, which I really had hoped that the police and apprehended him, even forcefully. But he was only caught by the hard concrete that awaited him below. Residents at that height of our buildings can catch a view of the CN Tower, but only he could see his surmountable downfall from such high peak.
That early morning Tuesday compressed a feeling of exasperation, deep sorrow and restlessness. It seemed like my sleep was being held hostage. I stayed up until the body left the scene around 3 o’clock that morning. I was wrestling with thoughts all morning, especially since I’ve work at organization that serves the poor which brings a whole different dimension of weight on my psyche, I had to end my night with the clearly disturbing view of a body soaked in cold blood on a freezing Canadian winter night. This time I avoided any news reports on the tube about the fate of a young boy. I primarily desired to be active in listening to the voice of the people in my community. But unlike the annoyingly-ever-knowing newscasters, sometimes the voices of my ‘hood takes more time to express themselves and even trust to whom they speak with whether you’re someone with a badge or a backpack.
As philosopher Cornel West evokes, “there will be a black face in a high place” exerting the rise of President-elect Obama,; it didn’t seem to deter the sorrowful fate and fall of another young black boy. Two drastically different Tuesdays; separated by month, season, feelings, fates and meaning.
But the same ol’ neighbourhood.
And as I overheard an cynical young woman utter in the in the elevator the very next morning, “it’s the same ol’ story…and he deserved it”.
My prayer is that the next time I attempt to take a leap of faith whether t I hope I land where history an be recreated which could uplift and arouse the community with new hope and not the ever-lurking presence of darkness that is all too familiar around these neck of the ‘hoods like outdated scene from Wes Craven. But growing up I never enjoyed watching scary movies, maybe caused by my post-traumatic tendencies that has me watching front stage horror realities all my life; whether it be on the t.v. sets, over their balconies, out their windows or even worse, inside myself.
I make a tribute to the young boy, the Willowridge community with this song by a good friend and musician Shad K. As I weakly creep into another Tuesday, I keep watching.
I’ve listened to Seth Godin’s Tribes audiobook several times over on my ipod touch these past few weeks.
The premise to the book is simple enough, a Tribe is a group of people connected to each other, to a leader and to an idea.
It’s odd that the church of Jesus Christ has the greatest leader, with the greatest story and the greatest ideas, and yet such a seemingly splintered and weak tribes people.
One fascinating insight from the book is the idea of tightening the tribe. Deepening the tribe, rather than expanding it. I wonder if after centuries of focusing on mass evangelization and conversions we’ve ruined our own tribe.
Another interesting quote was “Ultimately, people are most easily led where they wanted to go all along.”
So often it seems like the church at large tries to get people to go where they have no interest in going in the first place.
What would it look like if we were creating and leading distinct and peculiar tribes through our churches rather than maintaining programs or growing numbers?
Godin created his own triiibes network (which I was a day late on getting in before the book came out). Even though he advertises for people to join in the book, you’ll notice that it’s closed for new comers, because his tribe voted to keep it ‘tight’.
I’m thinking of opening up the new year with a talk on hell. Possible titles of “the Hell word” or “we didn’t start the fire” come to mind currently.
Where are you at with hell right now?
Who’s heading there? Who’s in it? How could God? Why would he? What’s it smell like? Is it full? Or is it empty? Have we been too fixated on it? Have we been avoiding it? Is it just? Is it full of friends and family? Does it really matter?
I’ll take any feedback in the moment, theological, anecdotal, struggles, convictions, recommended reading, anything.
