Open hands

Our lives were enriched last week when Mike Todd from Waving or Drowning? came back to TO for a visit.  He gave me a copy of The Shack (payback time for NKOC, Mike?), and I devoured it this weekend.  This book will rock your world, blow apart your preconceived notions of God, and help set you free from religion.

The Shack is a simple, warmly-written novel, touted as this generation’s Pilgrim’s Progress.  A man who has experienced devastating tragedy meets God one weekend in the shack where his worst fears were realized.  Except that God isn’t some grandfatherly Gandalf, nor unapproachable burning bush, but the Trinity: a practical, no-nonsense African-American homemaker (as Papa, God the Father), an earthy Middle Eastern carpenter (Jesus), and an elusive warm spirit shimmering as an Asian woman (the Holy Spirit).   [And yes, Mike, I agree - I also pictured Papa as the Oracle from the Matrix.]

I’m going to be pushing this book on my family and friends.  Or, you can order your own copy here.

Also, just heard today that Paul Young, the author, will be in the Toronto area next week. 

Anybody see Charles McVety on The Hour with George Stromboulopoulous the other night?  If you missed it, catch the interview here - a rehash of the discussion I’ve previously blogged about here.  McVety advocates for government defunding of what many citizens would consider offensive material … notably this recent film.

His argument is: why should taxpayers fund this type of film?

He may have a point (though I tend towards a more libertarian viewpoint), but what I am more concerned about is the tone and approach of McVety as “evangelical spokesman”. 

First of all, who elected McVety as the evangelical pope?  And who says he gets to go on camera or on the front page of the Globe as representing evangelicals?  Obviously, the producers of The Hour and editors of the Globe are looking to create provocative material that increases viewership/readership, so kudos to them for doing their job.  And it is true that McVety appears in media interviews as president of CFAC, which is not a religious organization (though their website indicates a faith motivation).  But at the same time he is president of Canada Christian College, and defines himself as an evangelical.  The media spin, of course, is that he is speaking for all Canadian evangelicals.

The problem here is that faith is being defined in the public eye by someone who presents his case with anger, reinforcing narrow and untrue stereotypes of faith, and who lives in a moralistic, black-and-white world.  Unengaged, and unengaging.

This is what I find offensive.

Gideon Strauss sent me an advance copy of a book to write a review of it for Comment.  I’m delighted to do so, as the author - Andy Crouch - and I met last year over a leisurely summer lunch at a patio in Yorkville when he flew up from Philly for the day. 

The time spent with Andy was much more than just a lunch for me.  It was a conversation that has woven itself into my thinking on philanthropy, built on many other (often lengthy, often midnight) conversations over the past seven years from people such as Greg, Darrel, Glenn, Brent, Charlie, Fritz, Fred, and yes, Gideon.  (BTW: Where are the women?)

The book is Culture Making: Recovering Our Creative Calling, and I broke it open today.  As I read through this book, I’ll occasionally post my thoughts on this blog. 

Today, I was intrigued by Andy’s use of the humble omelet as cultural artifact.  Any human creation - from omelets to symphonies to philanthropy - makes assumptions about who we are, who we want to be, what is possible, what will not be possible, and what new creation could emerge.  In the case of omelets, these assumptions can initially seem rather mundane (I’m hungry, I want to be full, etc.), but on probing deeper, why has our culture stuck with eggs as breakfast food?  What industry has emerged because of our love for eggs?  Why do we like a variety of bright colours in our pale yellow eggs?  In contrast, I’m reminded of our month in China in 2006 when we encountered depressing daily breakfasts better eaten with chopsticks and hot sauce, and no eggs in sight.

Substitute digging water wells, or microfinance loans, or educating students, or food banks, and we encounter a whole other set of cultural assumptions that drive us to do each of these things.  And as a philanthropist, I must begin to think about the types of culture making is happening as a result of our grants.  Is culture being made or just expressed?  Are we following along with and reinforcing existing cultural expression, or are we seizing the opportunity to help craft new understandings of ourselves?

Food for thought.

This is “Graciela”, my first hero from Cartagena, Colombia (mentioned here) who inspired me a couple of weeks ago as I toured her neighbourhood with Opportunity International. I wanted you to see her photo, look into her eyes. A great woman of faith and resolve.

Hmmm…. Looks like I’m not the only one blubbering on a plane.  My friend Chris did also during his recent visit to Nepal as Executive Director of Word Made Flesh.  There he met a tiny 11-year old girl, constrained by dwarfism and webbed fingers.  Listen to his story about when he was leaving the children’s home: 

I got through the whole crowded room and then little Christine walked up to me. She fell into my arms and began crying. Rubbing her little hands into her eyes, tears just poured down her sweet face while sobs shook her tiny body. She climbed into my lap, buried her head under my neck and then threw her arms around my shoulders and wouldn’t let go.

For probably 45 minutes I held her as her sobs turned into frail little groans and moans. It was terrible. Having a tough time not crying myself, I tried to reassure her that I’d be back soon, in four months actually. That I’d keep her close to my heart and in my prayers. And that we’d have years and years of making memories to come.

Her tears kept coming.

It’s been a couple days and I can hardly stop thinking about her. Sitting on the Korean Airlines flight from Kathmandu to Seoul I could hardly hold back my own tears. I must have looked pathetic.

Christine has stolen my heart. She’s the reason why I do what I do and have made the sacrifices that I’ve made.

When I left Nepal I told Silas and Gautam that I’d do all I can to help find the money to help pay for a surgery to have Christine’s fingers separated.

I’d love to open that opportunity up to any of you who read this. If you could help out, even $5, anything, I know it would mean the world to her.

And hopefully we can raise MORE than just what it will cost for the surgery to separate her fingers so that we could also pay for any plastic surgery to ensure her hand is as beautiful as the hands you’re using to navigate the internet through your keyboard right now.

I sat on a plane last week and cried. 

It was the first time when it hit me so starkly that some people will ultimately choose to go down the safe, predictable pathway that leads to … safe predictability … but also low impact, reduced relevance, and minimal discomfort.

The scripture hit me - the one of the person who digs a hole to sock the valuable away for another day.  Thinking that they are preserving the treasure, they end up hiding it and covering it up.  The eventual result, I fear, is they will forget where it is hidden, and eventually will walk around aimlessly knowing there are gold coins in the earth somewhere … but where?

Why, when we are faced with the potential of multiplying impact, do we shrink back and maintain the status quo?  Why are we motivated by fear, not faith? 

This paschal weekend, mediate on this thought: the story of Easter is one of great risk. 

The Washington Times reported recently that private sector aid to Africa now makes up 83% of total charitable investment in the continent.  This is a complete reversal from the 1960s when government aid made up 68% of total investment.  

Fifty years ago, government played the major role in helping the developing world. In the 1960s, the U.S. government disbursed about $5 billion, about $30 billion in today’s dollars, which was about 68 percent of U.S. aid to the developing world. Private aid amounted to about $1.4 billion in the late ’60s, which is the equivalent to $8.6 billion today. 

Government aid has stayed about steady in real dollar terms since the late ’60s, with a $27.6 billion disbursement in 2005.

But by 2005, taxpayer-funded assistance was only 17 percent of the equation. Private-sector donations and aid had risen to $136 billion.

“This is an untold and remarkable story. This wasn’t planned. It’s just the generosity of the American church and corporations,” said Jay Hein, director of the White House Office of Faith Based and Community Initiatives.

Mr. Hein has said that U.S. private sector aid to Africa is the “the upside of globalization.”

Hat-tip to Excellence in Giving’s online newsletter.

Cartagena de Indias is known as La Heróica (The Heroic) because for 500 years the city has withstood attacks from pirates, the British, and the insecurities that the past 44 years of civil conflict brings.  Its fortifications and immense walls have stood the test of time, and weatherworn cannons point outward to the harbour.  In doing so, the historic centre has been maintained as a classic Spanish colonial gem which must be regarded as one of the most romantic places on earth.  (Unfortunately, Karen isn’t with me on this trip.)  Most tourists see this side of the city.

But a greater battle is being fought outside the tourist zone with the grinding poverty that grips the majority of the city’s million-plus inhabitants.  I walked through Olaya barrio today, accompanied by staff from Opportunity International.  A fat sow wallowed in the black, stagnant, disease-filled waters that flow outside homes down the unpaved street.  Toddlers, clad in soiled underpants, stood staring blankly in the doorways of the homes. 

We pause at one doorway, and I steel myself before crossing the threshhold. 

But inside I find my first hero. 

Graciela is sitting with an open worn Bible on her lap, thick reading glasses resting in the fold.  When I ask what she was reading, she speaks with confidence and conviction.  Only God can help her live day by day; He is her everything.  She has a small convenience store which provides items to the community, and is on her fifth loan cycle.  Her first loan was $200; now she has a $500 loan she is paying off faithfully.  And she is a saver, able with her growing business to regularly put small amounts away for the rainy day which is sure to come. 

Graciela leaves her house, locks her wooden door, and accompanies us to Manuel’s home a few steps away.  And I meet my second hero.  We stand in his dirt-floor home while he stirs a pot of carmelizing milk, which, when reduced, becomes arequipe (sticky caramel spread).  He fills small disposable containers which are sold for a $1 a pop and sold door-to-door, and with his Opportunity loan, is able to make ends meet for his family.

I can’t resist, and tell Manuel my arequipe story.  When our son was 1 1/2, we found him in the kitchen, painting our dog with arequipe.  Our dog was racing in circles with his tongue hanging out, trying to lick himself clean.  Manuel laughs loudly, his toothless grin full of life.

Our group is growing as we walk down the street.  Graciela and Manuel are stuck to us - it’s not everyday that your banker pays house calls.  And we appear at the door of my third hero, Carmina. 

Carmina is into everything.  A riot of candy is what first beckons, but as your eyes focus on her store, you also see school supplies arrayed behind a glass counter, three very used-looking computers (she charges kids to play games), a sign announcing you can rent her cellphone for local calls for 200 pesos (10 cents) per minute, and a catalogue business where she gets a commission for items purchased through her as middleman.  Her daughter sits with a notebook , recording time, date, length of call, and amount charged for the cellphone usage.  Her entrepreneurial spirit has made her the president of her local Opportunity trust bank.

So I met three heroes today.  Valiant and dignified people who are resisting poverty through faith and through the hands-up of an Opportunity loan.  I think there’s many more like them in this city they call La Heróica.