Category Archives: Global Community Development

Global Community Development:

What do you get when you unleash a vibrant global community into shared local missions?

Today God is forming a world-wide church, who for the first time ever is aware of one another through instant technological access. Yet, I believe that God is also preparing this church to do no less then enact their global vision in their local communities. After all, we do not need to travel the world over to serve people in need. They are all around us. And we are around them.

I invented the term Global Community Development to describe how an example vibrant global communtiy can become a transformative agent in any local community. In “Global Community Development” you never let global concerns outweigh local responsibilty. Yet, at the same time, you never let the weight of local concerns veil a needed global sensibility. And (here is the secret recipe), I believe that a vibrant global community can diffuse deeply parochial and historical injustices in their local communities while at the same time provide the interpersonal context needed to enact intercultural embrace within the same community. Vibrant global communities are formed only when its individual members reverentially cross the various barriers and boundaries veined throughout. What better way is there than putting our hands together to serve others?

What do you get when you unleash a vibrant global community into shared local missions? Perhaps a small embodiment of God’s vision for earth as it is in heaven (Revelation 7.9).

Compassion and Nehemiah 3

There is no more important posture one needs, in rebuilding broken things, than compassion “a willingness to suffer” with those who languish under the weight of ruins. Suffering with another person is the willingness to enter into the mess and, with a Christ-like reverence for those whose lives are broken, being present with them in the reconstruction process. As Thomas Merton said in The Sign of Jonas of God’s compassion: “I am noisy, fully of the racket of my imperfections and passions, and the wide open wounds left by my sins. Full of my own emptiness. Yet, ruined as my house is, You live there!”

The ministry of Young Life played an important role in my adolescent years. My local leader, Phil, served as a constant presence in my messy young existence. He shepherded me to three impactful weeks of summer camps, bravely sought me out for short conversations at school events, was willing to look like a fool week in and out performing skits and outdated pop-songs at our weekly club, and organized regular nerf-war games in his church fellowship halls on Saturday nights. I am confident that this kept us out of a lot of trouble we might have otherwise conjured up. I was a mess of a kid, emotionally and relationally. There was no more vivid symbol of this than my first camp experience. The night before departure, I came down with a wicked cold. I lost my voice and I became a flowing fountain of mucous. By the time we arrived at camp two days later, having sat and slept in a fifteen-passenger van, there were three Kleenex boxes worth of tissue-balls piled around me and scattered throughout the van. At Young Life camp, arriving in wild style is one of the most important aspects of the week. They pulled us immediately out of the van and took us on a clothes-soaking ride atop a giant intertube on the massive Minnesotan lake. Soaked, we were rushed off to a spectacular introduction to the rest of the camp grounds. I found out later that Phil spent a small portion of his free time that day gathering up the moist tissue balls to throw them away. I shudder. If anything, Phil resolved to suffer with me on the first leg of what would be a decisive week of my life. I’m sure this was only a small glimpse of the ways Phil suffered in those years for giving me a role model in return. Ruined as my house was, Phil lived with me there for a season.

Without compassion the kingdom of God cannot be established. We see another symbol of this reality in way Nehemiah chose to dwell among Jerusalem’s ruined house and rally together those there living in ruins. As told in Nehemiah 3, he catalyzed everyone as manual laborers, from the unlikely High Priest with his order to the Gibeonites who the author tells us had some relationship to those in charge of Judea. This means that there were tensions of authority inherent among these two groups. The author describes the complex community of co-laborers and their work in a counter-clockwise fashion, beginning at the sheep gate (near the temple) and ending at the little north-west portion of the wall that stood between the muster gate and the sheep gate. This mean that in that section the priests and the goldsmiths and merchants worked next to one another. Would that be true in our day as well. May professional Christians and business men somehow labor side by side. Some workers focused on the gates, while others performed epic restructuring of long stretches of the wall: “Hanun and the inhabitants of Zanoah repaired the Valley Gate; they rebuilt it and set up its doors, its bolts, and its bars, and repaired a thousand cubits of the wall, as far as the dung gate’ (3.13). Some worked in relatively common sections, while others worked near the palace and grave of David. People from all classes and tribes suffered together to rebuild Jerusalem. Only the nobles of Tekoa ‘would not put their shoulders to the work of their Lord’ (3.5). Lord, let not our nobles be like Tekoan nobility. The author of Nehemiah gives us no sense in this chapter of discord or a sense of self-importance rising from one quarter or another. Almost all put their shoulders to work, and the picture is of great harmony as the psalmist celebrated, “How very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in unity” (Psalm 133.1). With such concord, the community would be ready to take their stand against inevitable opposition, coming in the next chapter as a great cloud of sand.

The Heart of Social Presence

An excerpt from “A Spirituality of Social Presence”, by Keith Jagger. (Epiphany Academy Dissertation).

At the center of the Judeo-Christian worldview towers one stubborn conviction: “The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it and all who live in it” (Psalm 24.1). Yet our headlines fill themselves daily with news of genocide, corruption, rising global temperatures, widespread extinction of species, violence, wasting of resources, and evils far more insidious. The world seems to spin out of control. If this entire place is God’s, then it appears that something is very wrong.  Something sinister has crept in or been allowed entry. The hands that run the machines of our age seem too strong to oppose. And many resort to violence, for one cause or another, confident that they are doing right. Others have resigned themselves to the way things are, as we found them. We are after all each in our own stages of survival. Damned if you care, damned if you don’t. Now, with our spiritual and moral guides muted by the contemporary “wisdom” of progress, and in the face of such deep social turmoil, many ask themselves what they, one small human, can do to fix this world. We forget to follow the advice of the sages and to ask the most important question of all: who am I becoming?

This question poses itself to us all, but I want to ask it here for those interested in social work, community development, or for anyone who still believes that we can we have a role to play in changing the world, not simply maintaining it.

One of my key observations after half of a decade of work in my local community is that doing justice is never about mustering up enough energy or compassion to complete a project, no matter how noble. Rather than fighting the evils of racism, violence, poverty, and ecological ruin with our own power and ingenuity, we need something far more powerful: strong, consistent, and purified hearts. The hidden pride of the human heart can trick even the most spiritual among us. We are a thicket of mixed motivations. We are attached too much to success and to the ideas we think up. At worst, we turn people, even God, into objects that serve our ambitions. God should never become our co-pilot. People are never projects. So time and time again I have had to return to God’s altar. Often I came looking for forgiveness and guidance, the chance to offer God my struggling projects, and the opportunity to express my deep longing to love and be loved. Much of the time, I sought to release some inexpressible weight, collected over the course of too much striving.

What I needed more than strategies and mission statements (though vision is important) was to be schooled in faith, hope, and love and to gain the blessed realization that in the darkest of alleyways, God was there first. He has been working on the toughest issues long before we arrived. And to join him we need to become far more like Jesus than we may think possible. Carlo Carretto, social activist turned monk put it this way: “There is something much greater than human action: prayer; and it has a power much stronger than the words of men: love.”[1] Samuel Escobar, scholar of world Christianity, agrees, “If Christian mission is first and foremost God’s mission, Christians must always conduct mission in an attitude of humility and dependence upon God.”[2] Love. Dependence. These take the pressure off of too much striving. We long to be transformed into true healers, but we must confront our own demons along the way. We long for an authentic spirituality but we find it in an unexpected place, where God is in control and we are along for the awe-filled but unexpected ride. We long, in the end of it all, to be stretched by His loving hands.

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So, for the community developer, how is the heart steadied (faith), strengthened (hope), and purified (love), and what can we expect to change about this world once our hearts are made ready? For starters, we need faith in order to do the work we do, a confident attitude that Jesus is Lord, even today. Next, we must avoid faith’s shadow forms, which include excessive fear on the one hand and the need for certainty on the other. We remember what Jesus said to Thomas, “blessed rather are those who have not seen and yet believed” (John 20.29). Crucially, faith, as it turns out, grows more consistent when in community, not in isolation. When we come to moments in our journey when we lose sight of our confidence, we need others who have experienced God. When we cannot see, we learn to see through their eyes. We turn to Jesus as the primary witness to God’s presence among us. He was intensely devoted to the invisible God, and (as his followers tell us) reflected God perfectly. We also need the spiritual masters who for two millennia have given witness to their experiences of God. And we need to listen in relationship with living saints to these blessedly departed. We need scripture and the masters. We need to become part of this scripture-saturated web of faith. So if you haven’t found a small community yet who reads, and worships, and contemplates on God’s recorded actions and upon his creation together, do so. You cannot become a person of radical faith alone. You need some form of small group and a worshipping community. Then, over the course of time, you will find that the witness of faith we received from others becomes validated by our own spiritual insights.

We also need strong hope. Hope is a steadfast endurance in the conviction that whatever we do in the Lord is not in vain (1 Corinthians 15.58). The enduring muscle of hope strengthens or atrophies for a number of reasons. Hope atrophies when we loose grip on the meaning of our suffering. We must continually pray and reflect on what formative purpose suffering may hold for us, sufferings that range from small disappointments to outright assaults on our faith or ministry. Also, hope atrophies when we engage in “grass is greener on the other side” mentality. Hope atrophies when we yearn to escape situations that depress us. We must learn to recognize what exactly it is that causes us to pine for other situations, and we must learn then to stay in our own situations that tempt us to escape. We must learn contentment in our present situations, and we must stay faithful to the relationships and work, to which God calls us, unless we begin to crack. Then we prayerful retreat rather than attempt to restore. This is why journaling is so important. It is nearly impossible to know why we suffer until we go through it. It is nearly impossible to learn why we catch ourselves pining for something else if we do not already have a record of God’s past reasons for taking us through previous pain. God never orchestrates evil, but He uses everything for our good, and our hope grows when we have eyes to see that. But, there is something deeper. Hope has a core, and when the world wants to weaken our hope it goes after the core first: resurrection. We believe that Jesus was resurrected in the middle of history, as a first fruits of what will happen to us and as a jumpstart of New Creation. As the psalmist foresaw about hope, we expect to see God’s goodness in the land of the living (Psalm 27.13).   Learn everything you can about the resurrection so to put your hope in something worthy of the hope you feel inside.

Love is the most mysterious. We have little control over the purification of love in our hearts. Love purifies when the sins of our heart are drowned, our pride, our envy, our greed, and so forth. God leads this work. So we must abandon ourselves in every minute detail of our lives to God. Learn to make the connections between your trials and joys and God’s purifying work in your life. And when in community you find your spiritual heart beating purely (love), with strength (hope), and consistently (faith), so will you find your reverence for life increasing, your appreciation for people’s uniqueness intensifying, your ability to draw the best out in others around you widening, your willingness to work across boundaries expanding, and your spirit will be filled with the harmony that Jesus demonstrated, with the convergence of justice, compassion, peace and action.

If you want to become this type of person, you need a small community of people to do this with.  And together you need to listen wisely and carefully to the witness of social masters from the past.  You also need to listen to nature.  Together they tell a story about a way of life that we have both lost and have yet to imagine.  You furthermore need to find a way to reflect and contemplate.  If journaling works for you, this is the best proven method. You need to keep track of the meaning in your suffering and keep in tune with the way that your life is being purified by the successive situations you experience day in and day out.   And together, and this is crucial, you need to start serving.  Hope cannot grow in a stagnant community.  You must get outside of yourself and let others bless you in return.  Next, you have to commit to stay in situations that you want out of unless they promise to crush you.  And all the while you need to engage your brain.  Learn everything you can about the resurrection…it is the hope center of Christianity. Resurrection gives life and endurance to communities of change.

The blessedly-departed Father Adrian van Kaam was a Spiritan Priest who was set to graduate from seminary six months prior to the Nazi occupation of his home in the Netherlands. He spent seven long and hungry months sheltering and caring for terrified Christians, Jews, and Atheists from all walks of life. That experience convinced him that our world needed and would need a practical spirituality that translated across many barriers for the sake of the gospel to be rooted in the ancient 2000 year old Christian tradition.   His vision of 21st Century Christian social presence included:

consonant people who stand up for human rights demanded by the potential for human splendor. Their presence is marked by a personal respect for each person they meet. Therefore they emit a powerful appeal, evoking the best in others. Many feel uplifted by them. [3]

What if we committed to becoming this type of person? What if our communities were filled with these types of people? How many of these hope-filled, purified, strong people would it take to confront sufficiently the evils we experience around us? How many would it take to free those around who are enslaved by a host of modern captors?

The best of Christian spirituality works. But it does not strive. Nor does it flail. God invites many, including prophets and activists, into his light through his means of grace, not simply to transform communities but so that the insignificant many can become beacons of light that help others become their very best versions of themselves as possible. We can do this, we can become steadfast luminaries even in the darkest of situations, through which many struggle today.

[1] Carlo Carretto (1972). Letters from the Desert. tr. RM Hancock. Maryknoll: Orbis, xvii.

[2] Samuel Escobar (2003). The New Global Mission: The Gospel from Everywhere to Everyone. Downer’s Grove: Intervarsity Press, 94.

[3] Adrian, van Kaam (2002). Formation of the Human Heart. Pittsburgh: Epiphany, 280.

Would it Be Possible for God’s People to Transform a Trail of Tears?

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about this phrase: transforming what was meant for evil into the salvation for many (Genesis 50).  I’ve been wondering, “God does this.  So, in a ministry shaped in the image of God, should we be doing this too?”

When we turn towards historical injustices in order to transform them, we attempt to repair the past.   But how exactly is this done? Repairing the past for the sake of the future is a complex matter and likely never finished.  Primarily, there is a spiritual element with which we must reckon.

In his book on God’s passion for ethnic diversity, Cherokee pastor Randy Woodley courageously discusses our stained American past and reflects on the nature of historical injustice.  Reflecting about a stretch of land once stained the blood of a Cherokee-British battle, he notes: “In one particular area we noticed that the trees were deformed, even gruesome. Not one of us could explain it, but I believe it was a visible result of the battle that claimed so many lives.”[1]  Elsewhere he outlines the systematic removal of his people from their lands, forced to march over long stretches of trail.

It makes me wonder.  Do we have to just live with these things in our past, or can we somehow engage them.  I mean, we can’t undo the past.  Nor can we really repay it.  But can we transform it?  For example, why have we never organized a mission trip to hike together on one of these trails?  It would be a mission of repentance.  Can you imagine not only how it would build awareness and empathy;  but think about the possible relationships that would be forged.  Done well, this mission trip could be a powerful way for future justice. Not only could we work on repairing the past together, but we could work on transforming it for the salvation of many including the future of God’s people now divided by a wall of hostility.


[1] Randy Woodley, Living in Color: Embracing God’s Passion for Ethnic Diversity (Downer’s Grove: Intervarsity Press, 2001), pp. 154.

Where Spirituality and Social Action Collide: Some Wisdom

First: The active life must be surrounded not with acts of devotion (we are often too busy for that).  The active life must be filled with the age old skill of listening to God in every circumstance that comes our way.  If we find ourselves in a season of dryness or depression as someone who is trying to make a difference, we approach the season itself as a gift from above and abandon ourselves anew to the higher power Who cares far more than we ever could.

Second, we pay attention to our limits.  We can over-express our call to join God in the dark places.  We trust that God will protect us as we join Him, though we also know that we cannot work along side God in every way.  We listen to the ways we have been uniquely made and led and gently but decisively press into limited areas of God’s broken but sacred creation.

Third, obedience is less about gritting-it-out especially when you don’t want to.  It is more about what originates in the hidden sanctuary and the guidance found there.  I used to hate the part of ministry where you had to approach somebody in the cold or worse write a card to him or her if they put their name on the attendance ledger that week.  I disingenuously did it anyway out of a lower sense of obedience.   Obedience as more of a faithfulness to our unique selves and what bubbles up from it.

Fourth, in social work, we often experience a God like impulse for care.  This can be very dangerous.  I put myself in a kingly role while you, poor you, are the recipient of my care.  This way disregards the hidden nobility in others and the texture of God’s kingdom that persistently reminds us of the spiritual riches we might find in the marginalized and physically destitute.  In reaction to this possible abuse of power, some throw the baby out with the bath water.  We must not crush the impulse to be God-like, we must reorient ourselves to God’s true self.  When we discover that God is a glory giver, not a glory grabber, we see that our most God-like moments will be filled with suffering and self-giving.

Divinity Schools are Dying in the West, Deemed Irrelevant: Why I am Going for A PhD Christian Origins

If you’re like me, you love this world. And you feel a terrible tenderness for humanity, the evil it lives with and the death it must face. And for all your doubt, you have come to the somewhat unshakable conviction that evil and death were faced square on some two thousand years ago. The teaching and deeds and death of a Jewish peasant swirls through your heart almost daily.

You conclude that though God doesn’t do it, hadn’t done it before, or yet again, the resurrection happened, with Jesus’ body.  In this once in million years act, you see in it the celebration of life and promise of living without evil or death.  You sense that the longings of the human heart were fulfilled in that moment.  You know it isn’t escapist, because while you spend the days dwelling in your issues, you see marks of life sprouting all around.  You catch faint echoes of a deep love dwelling strongly in dark places.  And when you follow the reverberations of this hope, you find yourself just a little bit more every day living into your destiny and becoming the person you feel just right about.   You find yourself strong, a healer, whose breath gets taken away sometimes by the world’s landscapes and the humans dwelling upon them.

That’s why I aspire to apprentice in the healing ministry Jesus began.  That’s why I feel called to dwell on and eventually teach the historical origins of the man and his earliest followers.  That’s why I have compiled this platform of resources for contemplation– for like-minded individuals and communities seeking to share life together and their concern for this world and its people.

Dancing with a Homeless Man

It is a cold November morning on the streets of Boulder Colorado.  My wife and I find ourselves welling with compassion.  We see a homeless man begging on the streets outside the local starbucks.  We pass him at first.  But a sense of concern comes bubbling up.  We turn back, invite him in for some breakfast with us.  His is a likely story.  He needs money for bus tickets to see his parents.  As we share ourselves with this man, I can’t help but notice his shirt.  It reads, “John 316”.  I say, “Where did you get that shirt?”  He replies, “somewhere.  I don’t know.”  “Do you know that is a reference to the Bible?”  My wife happens to have her bible on her.  We open it, share its message with the young man and give him the book.  As we are leaving, I wad up a 50 dollar bill inside some ones.  “This is all I have,” I say.  Who knows when he found the 50 or what he used it for.  I sense in that moment a rightness about life, that we are doing something that matters to God who was mysteriously present with this man even before we arrived.

I suspect I need to continually make room in my life for encounters like these and hope that if I ever find myself on the streets I would have the grace to be patronized by a young privileged couple discovering the world.   Why did we do it?  Perhaps out of some half-selfish motive.  But as I look back on it know, I see it may have been full of right inspirations as three beloved children of God experienced the fingerprints of the creator networking us together in a sacred dance of transformation.

New Christan Lamentations Songs

All over the world today, Christian radio reaches workaday ears.   Whether folks are driving to their job, passing the day away in the shop, or enjoying a music-filled sunset on their friend’s porch, religious waves will find them.  My daughter calls them “God songs.” Recently, in my part of the world (the American Midwest), a trend of lamentation songs has washed across the station, all suggesting that we have ignored a portion of our people.  “Step out on a crowded street, see a girl and our eyes meet, does her best to smile at me to hide what’s underneath.  All these people going somewhere, why have I never cared.” Or another: “A traveler is far from home. He sheds his coat and quietly sinks into the back row.  The weight of their judgmental glances tells him  that his chances are better out on his own.  If we are the Body, why aren’t his arms reaching. Why aren’t his hands healing? Why aren’t his words teaching?  And if we are the body, why aren’t his feet going? Why is his love not showing them there is a way?” And there are others.  In all of these songs the main voice paints a picture of a wounded or broken person and laments about our inaction.  And in the case of this last song, the main character wonders why.  Why is there a whole population of people out there who the privileged refuse to see?  The implicit answer: perhaps there is something suspect about our motivations.  Maybe there’s something flawed with our inspiration. But what is it?