A Mother Emmanuel Moment

The other night (June 24^th) I joined many other believers (several hundred) at Marion Square for a Prayer Vigil for the families of the Mother Emmanuel Nine, for our city, state & nation.

It was a sweet and powerful event filled with strong, Gospel words from Philip Pinckney, a relative of Clementa Pinckney, a Citadel grad and a young minister, along with joyful singing and uplifting prayers. People of every race and background (many not Christians) were gathered, and the entire atmosphere was filled with encouragement and love.

Around 9:00 pm, we began to make our way towards Mother Emmanuel AME, the police having blocked the streets for us, and God, unbeknownst to me, was about to shift the focus, with this simple minister right in the middle.

Pastors were leading the way, while everyone was singing, and we merged with the multi-colored host already at the church. The next moment I and several others were in front of Emmanuel facing the crowd, when the young man leading us in song says, “Now, a few people are going to say some things.”

Not knowing that I was on God’s agenda, I began to pray, “Do I have something to say, if so, what?” Then I heard that still, small voice, “Repent of your racism.” I waited, wrestled and prayed.

They called the brother to my left, who exhorted the crowd, calling all to embrace the “sound of heaven coming down.” They called the guy to my right, who proclaimed a grace filled word of the Kingdom. While he was speaking, his wife leaned over and said, “You’re next.” Then there I was standing alone before the throng, “from every language tribe and tongue.”

To the best of my recollection, these were my words…

“I am a son of this city, and I grew up insulated and ignorant. I went to a segregated church and didn’t know a black classmate until the 6^th grade.

I didn’t know what racism was, or that I was a racist, but I stand before you now (speaking especially to my black brothers and sisters), repenting and asking your forgiveness, for I have come to know that all races are equally precious in the Kingdom of God.

This is a critical, historic hour in our city and our nation; I believe it may be the African American moment, for you hold the key.

Underneath the pain, hurt, and injustices, we need your gift of forgiveness. Repentance, forgiveness and reconciliation are the only way forward towards a true awakening and move of God, and you are the key.

I do not want to be your white brother; I do not want you to be my black brother or sister. I desire to simply be your brother.

I stand here now, first for myself, but may it also be for my white brothers and sisters, repenting of my sin.

Will you forgive me?”

When I stopped there was a moment of silence, then a dear sister in Christ (I must say black for this telling) ran up and embraced me with the words, “I forgive you!” This was followed by one after another, and cheers, and shouts, “We forgive you!”

While this may have been the beginning of a new day for me and God’s people, and surely one small step among many, I had never felt more clean and whole in all my life.

Winter

Winter...

darkness and doubt, clouds and confusion

     and You remain silent

i walked empty beaches listening for Your voice

    the winds and the waves were my only companions

i trekked abandoned, ice covered streets 
    straining for Your whisper

        the creaking and rustling of tree limbs alone met my ear
i hiked alone on a snow covered mountain
    squawking crows in the distant and a solitary jet
           merely momentarily piercing the isolation

i read Your Word into the late hours of the night

    agreeing with its truth, not returning to You void

               while somehow my heart seemed drained, empty

Your wounded and weary servants come to me

    i put on my "Barnabas" hat and encourage them

               with words of hope i believe for them not myself

we all celebrate yesterday's giants of the faith

    writing and wrestling with their dark nights of the soul

               Job like characters that declare their unfailing trust

but i am a mouse not a giant

    and not a noble, Narnian Reepicheep type

               but blind and tail-less, very small indeed

no ordinary, atheist rodent, mind you, i'm a church mouse

   although i think i understand how Camus, Hitchins
          Nietzsche, Rand, Sartre, others grappled with despair

their god was dead and they saw nothing beyond but

   meaninglessness, absurdity, randomness and nihilism

mine's not dead but certainly veiled

   as i look through a glass darkly, face to face a faded hope

Francis Schaeffer mocks me with 
           "He is there, and he is not silent"

C. S. Lewis paints with words the eternal dance

      others compose and join in, but the music fades  

 while i wrestle with "That Hideous Strength"

      as it sucks my joy, my vitality, 
             my hope, my vision, my dreams

a wasting disease gnaws at my psyche 
      as Winter becomes wither

             weighing me down further, because 
i'm not supposed to be this way

     the seasoned, resilient, energetic, "Spirit-filled" 
              mature, man of faith

nevertheless i’m unable to escape the sense

   You & i have cooperated in bringing me to this place

after the earthquakes, wind and fire swirling in my soul

    there comes the sound of a gentle blowing…

“I am the vine; you are the branches.
       Whoever abides in me and I in him,

                 he it is that bears much fruit, 
                     for apart from me you can do nothing.”

“But your iniquities have made a separation
 between you and your God, and your sins 
      have hidden His face from you so that He does not hear.”

“For if anyone thinks he is something when he is nothing, 
       he deceives himself.”

 “Humble yourselves in the presence of the Lord, 
             and He will exalt you.”

“He must increase, but I must decrease.”

“Let us not lose heart in doing good, 
        for in due time we will reap 
               if we do not grow weary.”

“For I am confident of this very thing, 
         that He who began a good work in you
             will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.”

“Therefore, having this ministry by the mercy of God, 
         we do not lose heart.”

“Where can I flee from Your presence?”

“But if I say, ‘I will not remember Him 
         or speak anymore in His name,’

then in my heart it becomes like a burning fire 
         shut up in my bones;

and I am weary of holding it in, and I cannot endure it.”

“Lo! The hosts of evil ’round us, 
Scorn Thy Christ, assail His ways.

From the fears that long have bound us, 
Free our hearts to faith and praise.

Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,

For the living of these days, for the living of these days.”

it is Winter within and without

    even so, there is someone blowing on my embers

          and red gardenias bloom outside my window

mark d. cooke, 2-3-2014

The Airport..."I can't live if living is without you."

The Airport..."I can't live if living is without you."
"Excuse me sir, are you flying Delta?" The Kiosk sales girl said to get my attention. I'm in terminal A; there's nothing but Delta here, so I kept walking.
  After breakfast in the Mercure Hotel, Santo Domingo, and a 15 mile drive along the Carribean, we entered the world of flying - checking bags, browsing gift shops, going through security and watching the masses from all over the world.
  The flight to Atlanta wasn't full, so I had an empty seat and no chitchat with a stranger. In flight movie and sermon prep (Jack not David slew the giant), before making a smooth landing back in the USA, where I quickly cleared Customs and took the tram to Terminal A.
  I know our country is a mess, but it's still the land that I love; so anytime I travel overseas, I always have a great sense of pilgrimage home, when I step off the plane in an American airport.
  For years we've had a running contest in our family about who's been in the most countries. Our oldest son is tops by several, and he claims that airports don't count. (I've been in Nairobi, Adis Ababa, Zurich, Rome, and Paris but never out of their Airports.) Well even if they don't count, when I walk into the Atlanta terminals (and mostly hear English), I feel that I'm home.
  Being home truly has multiple levels - ordering pizza, hearing English, getting cellphone coverage, reacquainting with the familiar, reconnecting with family, sleeping in my own bed, but most of all it's about being back with Jane.
   I ate dinner in a piano bar where the guy was playing, "I can't live if living is without you," and suddenly I was unconsciously singing under my breath. If I was more spiritual like the Apostle Paul, I would say, "For me to live is Christ, to die is gain." (Which I used to quote while surfing in thunderstorms), but in this life, in years of journey, Jane has ever been my faithful friend, constant companion, sacrificial servant and intimate lover.
  We've boarded for Charleston, a full flight, I'm in the middle seat with strangers on either side (you can't look out the window or to the aisle without them thinking you're staring at them); this stage of the adventure is winding down. My airport field trip is nearly over (Charleston International here I come!); I can almost feel her embrace - then I'll be home.

Santo Domingo - "Beisboll bin beddy, beddy gud to mi."

Santo Domingo - "Beisboll bin beddy, beddy gud to mi."
  It's 9:00 pm, and I'm watching my Cards play the Pirates in Spanish. One more night in the DR, we're in the Colonial District, the oldest part of the oldest city in the New World, home to 3 million plus. Baseball is king here, and over 70 Dominicans play in the Major League.
  Mission teams usually have a day to unwind or play tourist before heading back to their homes, so this morning we left San Pedro de Macoris and headed for the Capitol. After navigating the smog filled highways and streets, we checked into our hotel and played tourist.
  Cristoval Colon Plaza (how do we get Christopher Columbus?) with the statue of the explorer pointing West, the Cathedral of Saint Mary of the Incarnation, the oldest fort, the oldest castle, the oldest everything, the Museum of National Heroes (used to be a Jesuit church, now an eternal flame, plaques & tombs, guards and intervals with the National anthem) and cigar stores with master craftsmen at work - most of it, most of us had seen before, but we traipsed through the tropical heat simply preparing ourselves for "re-entry."
  In reality my ministry continued with some of the team - I have already mentioned how disparate this group was, and I had spent as much time on the trip praying about my pastoral role with them as with the Dominicans, so while we sat in the shade, shooed the pigeons and hung out at a cafe, I had searching discussions with several.
  One of our Catholic members (quite devout) could not understand Christians being so judgmental towards gays, "when they were born that way." I spoke of our universal brokenness, different proclivities and brought her to Scripture, while challenging how she had been conditioned by our secular media into buying misinformation and accepting things that she admitted to being uncomfortable with.
  When one brings people to the clarity of God's word, it is not long before arguments of straw are exposed, but it also shows how biblically illiterate the average church goer is. Being illiterate, people become content with crafting their own theology and ethic, unwittingly using these to defend their own self-willed, wounded nature. So much of my trip has been navigating how to lovingly and prayerfully speak truth and grace to religious Americans.
  Another team member, searching deeply and in a bad relationship back home, is trying to find God's will for their life, while having been raised in traditional and "boring" (their words) churches that reinforced the dichotomy of the secular and the sacred. Another describes me as "over the top" because of my passion and desire to see everything as sacred, while another lectures me on the twenty minute limit to good sermons - I smile and say nothing, knowing that they can scream for three hours at a Clemson or Carolina game.
  Well the Cardinals have won, and I'm less than a day away from reuniting with Jane. As I lay my head down tonight, I am mixed with hope and deep concern. I ever hope because the finished work of the cross and an empty tomb, but I am deeply concerned for our nation, the western church and the spirits loose in our land.
 For now, it's late; I know that the Lord is on his throne and "mercy triumphs over judgment." I'll edit and post this, turn out the lights, and think this is an amazing day in which to be serving the King.

Ana Maria de Jarabacoa...

Ana Maria de Jarabacoa...
  She is 42, widowed with four children and a grandchild. I don't know all of the story, but I first met Ana Maria via Facebook. She had worked in the Episcopal church in the DR and met mutual friends from Charleston, who brought her to the states for medical care. My Facebook friends would post photos and ask for prayer. What I do know is that she loves the Lord, loves people and loves to pray.
  Now back in her home town, she felt led to go on a mission trip in her own country, so she made the five hour trip from the cool, highlands of Jarabacoa to the heat and humidity of Angelina and Los Conucos. The entire team is so glad she came.
  As we would daily pray with scores of patients, whenever Ana Maria wasn't checking a blood pressure or filling out a patient form, I would call out, "Ana Maria, por favor, ayudame, vamos orar!" "Please, help me, we're going to pray." - or some variation.
  Though limited, I'm not too bad with church Spanish, "Come, Lord. Touch this person with your grace. Touch them with your healing in their entire body. Heal their minds and fill them with your Spirit, love and peace. Give them many miracles in their family (everyone we were with needed miracles!) and visit them with your presence." Like a broken record (but with sincerity of heart) I would pray some arrangement of this over and over, but when Ana Maria prayed, her passion and faith gave me a sense that we were opening Heaven's gate and pulling the Kingdom down. You can understand why I would call her over as often as possible.
  Many of us on the team speak Spanish better than we hear it, well enough that the patient often would take off in rapid style explaining their problems. We would quickly call Ana Maria; she would listen, then explain in slower, clearer Spanish, some Spanglish.
  Our regular procedure, with two doctor stations, was getting basic patient information and their problems at the front of the church, examination by the Doc, with me assisting one (I'm not a nurse in real life, but I play one in the DR), followed by me anointing and praying, then a short trip to the "pharmacy" (a few steps up by the altar), then possibly to the optical or the dentist. Ana Maria helped everyone, everywhere, whenever we called, whatever we asked, all the while hanging in there, not used to 93 degrees and 96% humidity (no big deal for Charlestonians).
  It is now the last evening of the mission - we wrapped up this afternoon, returned to the retreat center, rested, dined, worshipped and debriefed. Tomorrow we will all begin to head back to our very disparate worlds - the four Episcopalians back north, the three Catholics back to Boston, five Anglicans and a Methodist back to South Carolina, and Ana Maria back to Jarabacoa.
  I'm sure that I will be processing and praying for some time about my time here, but one thing is for sure. I will forever be grateful and remember to pray for the young widow from Jarabacoa that loved Jesus, served the broken and showed me God's face and heaven's glory.

Los Ninos y Los Motos - a right of passage...

Los Ninos y Los Motos - a right of passage...
  For every car in the DR (and there are many), there are at least ten motorcycles, with most of them blowing some serious smoke. Occasionally you'll see a helmet, then only half way on, but for the most part everyone moves around with "Easy Rider" abandon.
  It is not uncommon to see lovers zipping through traffic, with the girl's arms tightly around the man's waist, and it it not rare to see a couple with their little children sandwiched between them. Everywhere you look, a parent or guardian with an infant in one hand, the handlebar in the other or a small child sitting in front of them.
  On any given day between smog and the motorcycle mania, this is a pretty dangerous place, and from where we've been, it's a rather unhealthy place.
  In Angelina we saw over and over again high blood pressure and high blood sugar; diabetes and hypertension - the two great killers of the poor, but today it was quite different.
  We went to Los Conucos, the other place pastored by Father Feilx, 15 kilometers west of town, barrios built on the edge of immaculate golf resorts and country clubs, with a large population of Haitians. In the DR the Haitanos are the lowest of the low, with so many levels of depravation and oppression that I cannot begin to fathom. If in Angelina we saw poverty, in Los Conucos we saw wretched poverty.
  All the children (most of them screaming) were dirty with infected scabies, infantigo, diarrhea, parasites, lice and other skin infections. With no electricity (no fans), stifling heat, and a chaotic crowd of patients, it was an exhausting day.
   As we prayed for each patient and family, anointing them and laying hands on them (with a lot of hand sanitizer in between), I was forever praying internally, "Lord, how did you do this? What does Your authentic compassion look and feel like. Lord, I want to run to my safe, air conditioned, insulated, wi-fi world!"
   When the last patient of the day was seen and prayed for, we all looked at each with an expression that said, "We made it!"
  Now we are back at our air conditioned rooms (although the power's been out for almost an hour); our bellies are full; and we've had warm showers, recovering from a world that seemingly forever is filled with brokenness, sickness and pain, but as I listen to our team members' stories, I find that our earthly prosperity easily hides deep brokenness, sickness and pain.
  When we come here does it minimize our challenges and heartaches or does it anesthetize us from our need for healing - healing of hurting relationships, sin scarred lives, despair in the face of unfulfilled dreams, deep seated addictions, rebellion towards God and more.
  For the moment we're winding down toward our final day of service, physically and emotionally drained. We'll unwind for a day in the Capitol, Santo Domingo; the Doc will probably smoke a Havana, and I'll sit in the shade at Columbus Square and have a little Ron (rum).
The motos still rumble by, and the power just came back. Life is good!

Conviction and compromise on the ground in the DR...

Conviction and compromise on the ground in the DR...
   There seems to be no rest for clergy in the DR; Father Felix's normal Sunday is a 6:30 am service in Angelina (north of San Pedro de Macoris), 8:30 in Santa Fe (east of San Pedro, 5:00 pm in Los Conucos (west of San Pedro), with him making house visits before the 5:00.
  Today Felix is on vacation, and I'm the fill in priest (I do that a lot in SC too.), so I'm up before 5:00 am, celebrating the Eucharist at the morning services, and preaching and celebrating at 5:00 pm with a Creole speaking congregation.
  I generally don't enjoy listening to the same sermon twice (had a 3x's Sunday at the Cathedral this summer!), but I was grateful for the opportunity to sit and practice, lip reading the Communion service, while a deacon preached. You see, I celebrated in Spanish, and on my best days I speak Spanglish. I did get to use the Prayer Book.
   I had only done this once before in Honduras, and reading a foreign cadence and catching all the right, syllabic accents can be quite tricky. Nevertheless, we made it through, and when I stumbled or botched a word, the people would graciously help me along. And what sweet services we had!
   Angelina was a smaller, quieter group (but what crowd is lively at 6:30?), and the Spirit was sweet. Santa Fe was larger and livelier, and I was right at home with the rhythm and the dancing (I could be a Latin Anglican!)
  For lunch we transported all the leaders of Iglesia Santiago Apostol in Angelina to the retreat center in San Pedro and fed them a grand lunch. Without a doubt it will be their biggest meal of this week and of many others.
  Sitting in the services today, I reflected how we have had two teams in one; our New England & New York liberal friends slept in and attended a later service at a church near our lodging, but everyone from SC was up with me before dawn, not wanting to miss worship with our Dominican family.
  Working with our northern friends has been an enlightening experience - doing medical minimizes the spiritual side for them, while I have been free to minister as I felt led. Still "how can two walk together, lest they be in agreement"?
  The poor really don't care about our theology, but our theology truly shapes what we bring them. And I'm afraid that when the "haves" reach out and lift up the "have nots", the "have nots" generally will embrace the theology of their benefactors.
  The Episcopal Church in the DR has been the recipient of significant financial and human resources from the Episcopal Church in America (It is actually part of the national church), and I know that I am working this week with an organization that has greatly compromised the Gospel. I'm left with the dilemma of how that translates on the ground, knowing the poor in these villages love the Lord, as do their priests.
  So while I believe that the Diocese of the DR has reached a point of irreconcilable compromise and liberal Americans are with me here this week, meeting real medical and physical needs, I have come with the Gospel of my Lord, the ministry of His Spirit and a commitment to His Word.
   I'm pretty sure I will not do this again (The divide between us is glaring.), but it has been a valuable lesson on how American churches can positively or negatively effect the world. Resolving the necessary tension between truth & grace can only be obtained by a total commitment to both, and this is only gained by His Word and Spirit.
At the end of the day, there are people you can and should minister to that you should never try to minister with.