Announcement

I just found out that I will be serving as a Communication Officer for Church World Service in Nairobi.  You can follow the link for details, but in short, they run several programs, including ones focusing on access to water/sanitation, education, food security and women's empowerment.  My job will largely entail writing about these programs for the organization's website and other media.

Today, May 5th 2012, is my grandfather's 93rd birthday.  Or would have been.  I'm honestly not sure which tense to use.  He died a few weeks ago, on April 23rd.  It was sudden, but peaceful and merciful.  The Petersburg paper ran a lovely news article. The funeral was last Friday, the 27th, and there was a memorial at his retirement community Saturday the 28th for those who could not come Friday.  My cousin Jay spoke on behalf of my cousins at the funeral, and I spoke Saturday.  Below is the draft text of what I said.  

It has been said that good writers borrow from other writers, while great writers steal outright. My oldest cousin, Jay, spoke yesterday, and while I will not steal everything he said, I do wish to share one piece from his remarks.   

A few days ago, Jay asked each of the grandchildren to send him one word to describe our grandfather.   Those words were: love, sweet, wise, faith, distinguished, teacher and model.  While all of these words are apt descriptions of the man, they are, of course, incomplete descriptions of our feelings.  While I understand and agree with each of the words used, I want to take this time to violate Jay’s directive to limit ourselves to one word and speak some to my choice.

          A few years ago, I realized that like my grandfather, I was called to enter the ministry.  I began by spending a year working in Northern Ireland, and while there, applied to several seminaries, including his own Union, just up the road in Richmond.  Because I was abroad at the time, I did not do any traditional campus visits, but ultimately decided to come here, to what is now Union Presbyterian Seminary.  In August of 2010, my father and I came here to pick granddad up to go walk around campus.  The seminary had been informed of our visit, and was kind enough to arrange a current student to meet us and show us around.  Much of the campus had changed in the 62 year interval since he had graduated, but many elements remained the same, and he and my father remembered many places from when granddad was a student and my father a young child, including even the pew where they often sat during chapel services.  I am incredibly grateful that my first introduction to campus occurred that day, with him.  Dad, I’m glad you were there too.  

          One question sometimes asked of prospective ministers is who or what their model for ministry is.  My grandfather, who I grew up calling Bubba (which I think may have caused some irritation to others, but never to him) is both the most exceptional and daunting model I could have.  I always knew that he set a high bar.  The stories I have heard over the past few days, featuring his abundance of courage, kindness, humility, and patience have only served to raise that bar further.  I was never under the illusion that I could fully measure to the standard he set, I only hope that his memory will serve to ensure that I always strive emulate his courage, kindness and patience, while also reminding me of the need to remain ever humble.

Candidacy, Fellowship, and Ministries

We are coming up on the end of the semester, which of course means I've been phenomenally busy, but I do feel that I've accomplished a great deal.  Last night, I was endorsed by the session at Westminster for Candidacy.  In a few weeks I will meet with the Committee on Preparation for Ministry, if they also endorse me, then I will go before the next Presbytery meeting in June.  For those of you who aren't Presbyterian, or don't pay attention to polity, essentially what this means is that, if all goes well, I will be a step closer to being able to start looking for a call when I graduate in 2014.

Saturday was the 8th Annual Ultimate Frisbee Tournament at UPSem, and was a great time.  Both Union teams went 3-0 in the initial, Round-Robin phase, which included, for my team, a very exciting sudden-death win over one of Princeton's teams.  Unfortunately we then lost to Princeton's other team in the show-case round, but the other Union team pulled out a win over Southern Lutheran in the other showcase game.  It was a great weekend of frisbee and fellowship, and is something I will be sad to miss next year.

Earlier in the week, the Urban Ministry Committee hosted their 3rd Forum/Fair.  We brought in several wonderful ministries from around Richmond, including Boaz and Ruth, the Micah Initiative, and a great ministry in Washington D.C., called Christ House.  All are exciting ministries here in the U.S., and the event served as a valuable reminder for me that while it can be much easier to see need elsewhere, there is a great deal here in the U.S. as well, and as excellent as these ministries are, there are a great many people who are not being served.  I hope to be able to volunteer with one of these groups when I return from Africa next year.

On the note of serving God and people's needs in the U.S., the YAV program has several sites within the U.S. which are engaged in a wide variety of ministries, and the application deadline has been extended until May 25th.  If any of you are seeking direction for the next year, or know of someone who is, I urge you (or them) to look into national service through YAV.  The application and more information can be found here.

Ends, Beginnings, and Transition

Three years ago, a few months before graduating college, I first attended the Placement Event for the PC(USA) Young Adult Volunteer (aka YAV) placement event. I went hoping to serve in Kenya. I left very excited to serve in Northern Ireland. I spent a wonderful, enlightening and very formative year serving in Northern Ireland, that can be read about in the archives of this blog. The experience pushed me to grow as a Christian and as a person, and confirmed my sense of call to continue to serve God through the Church.

I returned to the US exhausted, stunned by the heat and humidity of a Virginia summer. I rested for a few weeks, and started seminary. Through all of this, I continued to feel called to East Africa. I began poking around, looking to see if I could go to East Africa as part of an internship. I discovered that yes, in fact, I could--and the Supervised Ministry staff here has been and continues to be wonderfully helpful and supportive. I explored a few options toward actually getting myself to Kenya, and eventually realized that the YAV program would be the best option.

Thus, last week, I again attended the Placement Event, triggering a great deal of déjà vu, and a flood of mixed emotions as I began to really think about what it would mean for this dream to become real, and entertained serious doubts about whether or not it would happen.  It did.  I was placed in the Kenya site, and will be departing in August. All that remains between me and going is a pile of paperwork, sorting out a few final details about the internship side of it, and time.

I am incredibly excited about going. In many ways, being placed there marks the culmination of 3 years of work and dreams. In many more ways, it marks a new beginning, a new chapter in my story. And, of course, launches me into a period of transition. Transition from being a YAV alum back to being a YAV; from classroom based education to field education; from dreaming to living; and from being just a few hours drive from most of those I love to being across an ocean and a continent.

All transitions carry with them both the pain of loss and the joy of opportunity. This is no different. Over the next few months I will be filled with joy, overflowing with sadness, and overcome with awe at the majesty of God, who has carried me so far, and will carry me still further. I will try to share much of that here, but some I will have to keep back, some I will forget to put up, and some I will be too busy to find the time for. I welcome you all to share the journey with me, and invite you to use the comment section to more fully participate.

Grace and Peace to you all.

Parental Thoughts Part Two

My father's thoughts on his visit.

RobSon,

I don’t recall when I started calling you RobSon, but I like it still and more since our trip with you in Northern Ireland; it’s been your home away for ten months. You were our guide, and you showed us Ireland in a way that I could never have experienced on my own. Starting with seeing you, waiting for the bus as we arrived in Belfast, to watching you drive away from the airport in Dublin, was overwhelming - a physical, emotional, intellectual recognition that that you had grown, that you were the same little boy who was my constant companion and that you were now a polished, professional man, obviously different but the same thoughtful and reflective, compassionate and wise, talented and athletic kid grown up. Every day I caught myself with smiles and tears watching you with unbelievable joy.

You were right to start us in Dunmurry, Lisburn, Lambeg, your home base on our first full day. Meeting Andy, seeing your apartment, visiting the Linen Museum, walking through the park, playing with the marble water ball (I want one here.), even eating in the sandwich shop was introduction. You set the stage for everything to come. You’ve always been good at setting the stage, literally and figuratively. Meeting the eleven-year-old boys at the Base was a treat. I have a photo of your hand print on the wall, surrounded by so many hand prints of boys and girls who care about you and whose lives are changed by an American who cares about them. Their questions were fun, and their soccer was impressive. Talking about setting the stage; they served up a prelude to the World Cup, which was so much more fun to watch in an Irish Pub with people who really get caught up in soccer. It just wasn’t the same watching in the den without fans around, although I do have a new interest in “football.”

Every day, every site, every hike was a wonder; even walking to Barclays Bank that first night was a joy. Most everyone I know has been to Ireland - the South, the Republic - but very few have seen the North. I’ve become a publicist. I talk too much about what they’ve missed, and I wouldn’t have missed any of it. Each day was a surprise. Belfast itself is wonderful, a beautiful city in human scale, easy to navigate, fun to wander. I especially liked the Folk and Transport Museum and St. George’s Market. Patricia was terrific company. I did miss trying a white chocolate and raspberry scone, my mistake not getting it when we passed by. They were gone when I returned. Of course, being in Harmony Hill twice, once when it was empty to get the full sense of the building, which I liked very much, and again on Sunday, when it was full to see the expressions and experience the community and their commitment to you. Dinner with David and Heather was lovely.

I loved it all. Armagh was a special visit, especially because of the greeting we received at St. Patricks, Church of Ireland, and the sense of history that the two cathedrals convey. I preferred the medieval, which you may have predicted, and the guided tour of the crypt and the opportunity to weigh in on whether it should be opened was an unexpected extra. I enjoyed all of the cathedrals, but Christ Church Dublin stood out, along with the park and memorial wall to Irish writers. And while I loved Trinity College Dublin and our visit to the emigration museum near Cork, the North Coast, Londonderry/Derry, and Sligo are what inspired and what I always talk about with whoever asks.

Derry changed my perspective. I won’t pretend to understand Northern Ireland and the troubles, but I will never forget being in Derry on the day of the Saville Report. The enthusiasm was contagious, the pubs were exciting, the people walking toward us after the speeches were exhilarated and exhilarating, and most of all, walking the wall looking down on the Bogside and then walking the streets of the Bogside looking up to the wall is an indelible memory, a transformative perspective for me. The murals also are transformative. I wouldn’t have thought it possible to capture so much heart, so much experience, so much violence, so much understanding in only 12 images. I fought back tears at every mural, and I now get a little of what went on and why. I kept thinking, “No wonder, no wonder.” The day made me love Northern Ireland, to want to go back, to want to understand. Being in Derry that day with you to show me the way was inspiring. I will never forget.  

Perspective may not be everything, but it’s critical to everything. Physical perspective, looking up and looking down in Derry, up at and down on, gave me a different perspective, meaning understanding of the troubles. And “up at” has a very different meaning than “up to,” which I wouldn’t say because it doesn’t work, isn’t true in this context. Does “down on” fit the historical context, or am I passing judgment or reflecting bias? It is what I felt that day without thinking. Looking at you straight on from the bus when we arrived gave me a new, largely emotional perspective, another kind of understanding. It was very clear among the boys at the Base and the congregation at Harmony Hill that they liked you, they appreciated you for what you contributed to them; and it’s very clear to me that they have influenced you. You have a new perspective, a very different take on yourself and on your calling than when you left for the airport with Claire last August.

Two other transformative perspectives for me were the North Coast, the Antrim Coast, and my experience in Sligo. I hadn’t expected Sligo, wasn’t aware that we would have opportunity to visit Drumcliff Church where William Butler Yeats is laid and to see Coole and the Lake Isle of Innisfree and to recognize Ben Bulben as we approached. I recall saying at the time that I was surprised by my reaction. I’m curious about why we seek out shrines and why we respond with silence, joy, even awe. Why did I come away with a deeper perspective onYeats? What was added to years of reading, to my naming the first two puppies, William Butler Yeats and Maud Gonne, born to my beagle, to my decision not to write my dissertation on Yeats? Physicality was added, and a better understanding of a poet whose poems reflect his landscape, as well as his passion for Ireland and the way that he captured violence. Several poems came immediately to mind, while I was standing at the grave site: the full text of the last stanza (VI) of “Under Ben Bulben,” because it includes the epitaph on the tomb stone; “The Lake Isle of Innisfree,” because we saw it and it’s a favorite of many readers because it’s taught in schools; and “Easter 1916” because it offers a commentary on the rebellion for Irish independence and a historic perspective on the Saville Report and our visit to Londonderry/Derry. I copied these three below for you and to remind myself. “A terrible beauty is born” from “Easter 1916” is memorable, even chilling, given what happened then and continued. Even after the Good Friday Accord, conflict continues now.

I really enjoyed visiting my friend Bob Welch and Angela and Killian in Coleraine before we drove from Londonderry to Sligo and south. Seeing them was another highlight of the trip. A very relaxed evening and dinner and lively conversation were gifts to me. I know that it slowed our trip and only hope that it enriched your evening, too. Bob’s experience with the University of Ulster is fascinating to me. I appreciated especially seeing him at home since he’s visited and been involved here in my work, planning, and conferences. I was impressed with his interest in what you’ve been doing, his enthusiasm for your plans, and his perspective and insight into what we experienced in Londonderry/Derry. I hope that he and Angela will come to see us again.

And then we saw the Giant’s Causeway, which is only the most spectacular place on a spectacular coast. Even the story of the giant, Finn, is spectacular. It may be the most beautiful coast I’ve seen, so beautiful that it inspires awe, perhaps another kind of terrible beauty - rough, craggy, magnificent, sublime, a word rarely used but perfect here. The whole experience of being there, looking over to Scotland and imagining the Scots crossing the Irish Sea is stunning. From the perspective of a Virginian growing up surrounded by Scots-Irish Presbyterians, who even founded my college, and seeing how they came to be Scots- Irish on the way to Virginia was a compelling experience. I now know something more, something quite specific, visual, and visceral about these people and America’s founding. I wonder whether some passed through Donegall, as we did. We had little time there but enough to buy exquisite stained-glass goblets and to inspire a return trip.

You are a wonder; you always have been. I don’t know how to end this rambling excursion through our visit, since it has no end. Age knows no limits. We will explore again and again.

If you like, let Yeats have the last word.

From Under Ben Bulben

Under bare Ben Bulben's head 

In Drumcliff churchyard Yeats is laid. 

An ancestor was rector there 

Long years ago, a church stands near, 

By the road an ancient cross. 

No marble, no conventional phrase; 

On limestone quarried near the spot 

By his command these words are cut:

 Cast a cold eye 

    On life, on death. 

        Horseman, pass by!

 The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, 

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, 

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, 

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; 

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, 

And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day 

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; 

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey, 

I hear it in the deep heart's core.

Easter 1916

I have met them at close of day

Coming with vivid faces

From counter or desk among grey

Eighteenth-century houses.

I have passed with a nod of the head

Or polite meaningless words,

Or have lingered awhile and said

Polite meaningless words,

And thought before I had done

Of a mocking tale or a gibe

To please a companion

Around the fire at the club,

Being certain that they and I

But lived where motley is worn:

All changed, changed utterly:

A terrible beauty is born.

That woman's days were spent

In ignorant good-will,

Her nights in argument

Until her voice grew shrill.

What voice more sweet than hers

When, young and beautiful,

She rode to harriers?

This man had kept a school

And rode our winged horse;

This other his helper and friend

Was coming into his force;

He might have won fame in the end,

So sensitive his nature seemed,

So daring and sweet his thought.

This other man I had dreamed

A drunken, vainglorious lout.

He had done most bitter wrong

To some who are near my heart,

Yet I number him in the song;

He, too, has resigned his part

In the casual comedy;

He, too, has been changed in his turn,

Transformed utterly:

A terrible beauty is born.

Hearts with one purpose alone

Through summer and winter seem

Enchanted to a stone

To trouble the living stream.

The horse that comes from the road.

The rider, the birds that range

From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute they change;
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;
A horse-hoof slides on the brim,
And a horse plashes within it;
The long-legged moor-hens dive,
And hens to moor-cocks call;
Minute by minute they live:
The stone's in the midst of all.

Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse -
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

Parental Thoughts Part One

My parents came to visit in June, and, inspired partly by Ginna's blog, I asked them for their thoughts on Northern Ireland and their visit.  Brevity is not a strong point in my family, so I've split it into two posts.  My Mom's thoughts are below, Dad's will follow tomorrow (hopefully).

Hey Sunshine,

            The trip to Ireland had so many highlights that I can't put them in order of best--and there was no worst.  I loved seeing you, you look terrific, and you are as terrific as you look. Ireland has left its mark on you: you have grown into a mature, confident, self-reliant young man. You always were brilliant, compassionate, and giving. You make me proud. You knock my socks off! Your suggestion that we might stay at the Europa in Belfast worked very well for us, with the train station and bus station right next door. Our being able to get right to you in 11 minutes was quick and easy.

            You did a great job of introducing us to Harmony Hill and the Base. I loved seeing the boys group playing football and then talking to us at the Base. You and John and your volunteers are making a difference in the lives of the children who come to the Base. You are an
excellent role model for them. If any of them turn out to be just like you, their mothers will be proud, too.  Attending church with you and singing "Battle Hymn of the Republic", as we did in my childhood church, was a happy experience, as was meeting members of the friendly and charming congregation. Dinner with David and Heather was a very special highlight.  Being in their home and experiencing their warm Irish hospitality and delicious Irish food added a delightful and relaxing element to our visit. They are fine people. I am glad to see how good they are to you and how much they think of you.   Going to St. George’s Market with Patricia was fun. Your friends Andy and Patricia have won us over completely--we hope they will come visit us in Charlottesville. The music and atmosphere of the City Market added to the fun of shopping and having lunch there. We met some very nice Irish people in the Market with whom we enjoyed a lovely conversation. Then Patricia and I went off for a tour of the impressive City Hall, where we both learned a great deal about the history and governance of Belfast as we were both awed by the beauty, vast size, and art of the building itself, particularly of the marble and stained glass.

            After five very active and fun days in Belfast, the three of us embarked, later in the day than we planned, in our big, fat rental car, on a trip to the North Coast, which we saw during two glorious days of bright sunshine! The colors came alive! Ireland is indeed emerald green and stunning. I loved the charming little village where we stopped for a very late lunch. Even the people we met there were friendly and picturesque. The sea, the Irish Sea, was as clear a blue
as the Caribbean, much to my surprise. I had pictured it to be a bottle green color. I guess the sunshine is what lit it up for us. We could see Scotland right across the Irish Sea. The hike to and from the Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge was a bit of a challenge for me, but not for you and your Dad. I am glad I made the effort; the scenery was lovely from every angle, in every direction. You were right to take us there.  Then our side trip to Coleraine to have dinner with your Dad's colleague, Bob  Welsh, his wife, Angela, and their son, Killian, was an unexpected pleasure since your Dad reached them in the late afternoon, and they called right back and invited us to dinner in their home that very night. The dinner conversation reminded me of the many evenings we spent on the Semester at Sea ship talking for hours with warm, intelligent, and intellectual friends. I felt the Welshes to be instant friends, even though I met for the first time that night. I am glad they suggested we stay with their neighbor in her four-story B&B.

            Then back to the North Coast the next morning in another whole day of brilliant sunshine. I am glad I walked down to the Giant's Causeway with you and your Dad, and even better was taking the bus back up the hill! I loved the legend of Fin McCool, the clever Irish Giant who dressed like a baby to scare away the Scottish Giant who destroyed the causeway to Scotland because after seeing Fin and thinking him a baby--he sure didn't want to have the father come after him.    I like the picture of the back of our heads looking out to sea from Dunluce Castle, our last adventure before Londonderry/Derry. I got just a glimpse of the old walled city of what is now part of the City of Derry, but what would have been called Londonderry once upon a time. The two names highlight the conflict between the descendents of the Protestant English and Scottish who were sent to settle in Northern Ireland and those of the present-day Irish Roman Catholics. I am glad that you and your Dad got to walk around the top of the wall, and see the towers and go into the Bogside to hear the Saville Report, the official British apology for Bloody Sunday in 1972, when 14 innocent Irish Catholic men, women, and children were killed by armed soldiers who in the Bogside. I am not glad I chose to stay on the particular bench I chose while you and your Dad went off on the Bogside adventure because of the crazy person who accosted me to tell me that I was an Angel... He was probably a very nice crazy-person, but he made me nervous, so I hid out at a McDonald's in the near-by Mall waiting for you two to return. I was glad to see you when you got back to me! I was also glad to hear of your experiences in the packed Pub in Bogside where you both heard the Saville Report along with the Irish Catholic crowd. Londonderry/Derry was the most historically significant stop on our trip because of the Saville Report. Yesterday I found myself re-reading the Irish newspapers we bought the next day. We have them in the den right on top of the television--as if it were a library stand. Come to think of it, a book stand would look good and be useful in the corner of the den.
            

I liked staying in the bed and breakfasts, and especially talking with the women who ran them. I both saw and felt the famous Irish warmth and hospitality in every encounter we had with people from the Belfast area to the North Coast of Northern Ireland to Coleraine and Londonderry/Derry to the Irish Republic in every place we visited ending with Dublin. An Irish friendliness permeated every place we went. Of course, my favorite place we spent the night was the Hotel in Cork, because I do like elegance and luxury. Those rooms were incredibly nice. All of the full Irish Breakfasts were good--but the dining room in Cork was the most posh. Speaking of food, I felt very fortunate to have two lavish Irish dinners in real Irish homes, first with David and Heather, and next with your Dad's colleague, Bob Welsh and his wife, Angela. I did like fish and chips, and eating in pubs, Very especially fun was watching the World Cup from the various pubs. I learned a lot from you and from the "football" fans in the pubs. I still think of it as soccer.  I am glad we stopped and found the grave of William Butler Yeats, especially for your Dad. I am glad I got to see it--Yeats has always been a favorite of mine--but I am even more glad that your Dad did. I loved the park by Christ's Church in Dublin where we saw the plaques on the wall honoring specific Irish writers. I was happy to see how many great Irish writers I know well from their work.  The picture of me with your pint in the Guinness (How do you spell that?) Storehouse in Dublin did not fool either of your sisters. Liza just laughed about it. She knew I couldn't drink a whole pint of ale. I am glad I at least tasted yours.  

The BEST part of the whole trip was having yet another adventure with, you to add Ireland to Scotland and Puerto Rico as places explored by the three of us!

You Call That Healing? [Luke 8.26-39 ] « [D]mergent

You Call That Healing? [Luke 8.26-39 ] « [D]mergent

[D]mergent is a fantastic blog run by some Disciples of Christ ministers (including one former YAV). The link is to a great sermon posted there.