About admin

In the process of starting a new grassroots movement in downtown Vancouver, Washington. In the process of fighting terminal cancer. In the process of learning to be a better neighbor, husband, father, Christ follower, and friend. As initiators of the Grassroots Conspiracy we hope to be a part of a movement of hope, imagination, and transformation in our developing downtown neighborhoods.

"The Fence of Matthew Shepard"–Reposted Blog

Posted on January 17, 2012 by admin

Richard Beck has not only written a great book that I’m almost all the way through but he’s also an exception blogger. His blog this morning struck me and made me ask myself “am I any different?”

“It’s gay awareness week.”

That’s what the killers said to Matthew Shepard before brutally beating and torturing him.

Eighteen hours after the prolonged beating a cyclist found Matthew, alive but unconscious, hanging on a fence (pictured right).

The cyclist initially mistook Matthew for a scarecrow.

Matthew was taken to Poudre Valley Hospital in Fort Collins, Colorado. We was in a coma. The autopsy later revealed that Matthew had been struck in the head 18 times with a pistol causing severe brain-stem damage. Matthew never regained consciousness. He died at 12:53 a.m. on October 12, 1998. He was twenty-two years old.

The Westboro Baptist Church attended Matthew’s funeral.

They held up signs.

“No Tears for Queers”

“Fag Matt in Hell”Many of us recall the news coverage of Matthew Shepard’s death. The outcry was enormous, eventually leading to advocacy groups requesting that attacks made on the basis of sexual orientation be added to the federal definition of a hate crime. After numerous setbacks and a great deal of political posturing the legislation was finally passed in 2009 by the US Senate and House. President Obama signed the bill into law on October 28, 2009, eleven years after Matthew’s death.

…

People wonder from time to time why I write about the relationship between the gay community and the Christian church. It’s not a comfortable topic where I live and work. But the answer is pretty simple.

I’m haunted by the scarecrow hanging on the fence.

In James Cone’s recent book The Cross and the Lynching Tree he makes the argument that the cross and the lynching tree need to form a dialectic. If the two are separated the cross becomes innocuous and meaningless. As Cone writes:

Unfortunately, during the course of 2,000 years of Christian history, this symbol of salvation has been detached from any reference to the ongoing suffering and oppression of human beings…The cross has been transformed into harmless, non-offensive ornament that Christians wear around their neck.Cone argues that during the Civil Rights struggle the Christian symbol of salvation should have been, though it was not, connected with the lynching tree–an actual and ongoing location of human oppression and cruelty. For when the two become separated–when the cross hung around our neck or in our church fails to bring to mind current and ongoing locations of cruelty in our world–then the Christian faith has lost its way.

The cross, to be a truly Christian symbol, must bring to mind the lynching trees of the world.

Christ hangs from the cross as Blacks hung from trees. As Matthew Shepard hung from a fence.

Cursed scarecrows all.

As it says in the Good Book: “Anyone who is hung on a tree is under God’s curse.” (Deut. 21.23)

Until we see Jesus standing with the cursed we will never understand the central symbol of our faith nor what it means to be a Christian.

Saul falls on his face on the road to Damascus. He looks into the blinding light and asks, “Who are you Lord?” And the reply comes: “I am one you are persecuting.”

Jesus hangs on the crosses of the world, from the trees and from the fences. It is as Elie Wiesel describes in his memoir Night. After watching a young boy hanged by the Nazis in the concentration camp:

Behind me, I heard a man asking:

“Where is God now?”

And I heard a voice within me answer him:

“Where is He? He is–He is hanging here on this gallows…”I don’t want to be read as drawing a strict equivalence between the history of African-Americans in the United States and that of the gay community. I don’t want to put sorrows in the balance. Gay persons are not being lynched and hung from the trees as Blacks were in the Jim Crow south. Because of this we might conclude that the fence of Matthew Shepard is an isolated incident, a crime committed by two hateful and deranged individuals. That the death of Matthew Shepard has nothing to do with me, has nothing to do with you, has nothing to do with the church.

And yet. And yet. I am haunted by the fence of Matthew Shepard.

As I reflect on my Christian walk I often ponder this question: If I had lived in Nazi Germany would I have stood up for the Jews?

Most Christians didn’t. And as I psychologist I’m familiar with studies like the Sanford Prison study and the Milgram Obedience study. I’m aware that normal, god-fearing people can do horrible things when pressure is put upon them.

So what makes me so special? Statistically speaking, odds are I would have made a good Nazi.

I also think a lot about the Civil Rights Movement in the US. I ask myself: If I had lived in the South would I have marched with Martin Luther King, Jr.? As Cone asks, would the cross in my church have made me think of the lynching trees in my nation? Would I have seen the connection?

Again, most Christians didn’t.

And I keep wondering. Am I any different? What makes me think I’d be a courageous agent of light in those circumstances? Odds are I’d be just like everyone else.

And then I think about the fence of Matthew Shepard.

Let me tell you what keeps me up at night. My deepest fear in life is that I’m going to end up on the wrong side of God’s history. Like so many Christians before me. My fear is that a moment will come when I am asked to stand up for those hanging on the trees, literally and symbolically, and I’ll respond with “That has nothing to do with me. That has nothing to do with the church.”

Where are the cursed scarecrows of this world? And does the sight of the cross bring them to mind?

I’ve read a lot of books and written a lot of words about Christian theology. But really, it’s all pretty simple.

Jesus hangs from crosses, from trees and fences.

And to see that, like Saul on the Road to Damascus, is the day of your conversion.

The day you become a Christian.

Listening to Mo

Posted on January 16, 2012 by admin

Mo and I have been friends for quite a while now (going on four years). We originally met in the now-burnt-down-then rebuilt-then reopened under a new name-and now closed again Marcell’s Cafe. She ‘baptized’ me into coffee shop life. Until I met her I was a coffee shop recluse, sitting in the back corner minding my own business and leaving everyone alone. Because of her influence I now annoy everyone in sight, make friends, and bug the heck out of store owners who want me to get my coffee and leave. (thank you Mo)

Over the past four years the two of us have awkwardly cried together in both coffee shops and living rooms. She’s been a great support for my wife and I all throughout the last eight months and continues to dream for how she can care for our family in the future. We’re as different as can be…and it hasn’t mattered a bit.

Early on in our friendship I asked Mo if she would tell some of her story for one of my Downtown Dispatches and lately it just keeps coming up in my mind. I think her voice is important and it’s worth reposting even three years later. I’m certain, as is true with much of anything I’ve said that’s dated three years, that there are tweaks and changes to how she perceives and understands her story today–but with that caveat please read her story, in her own words. I think it’ll be worth your time.

I was raised in a household where religion and faith were not emphasized. Whenever my grandfather came to visit around the holidays I would be dressed up and expected to accompany him to Catholic Mass. Sometimes my parents would come too. Usually not. My father was 3 months away from ordination as a priest when he stepped away from the church and it seems like that was a pivotal moment in his early adulthood. He won’t talk much about it though. My mother was raised Buddhist, but never spoke of it. While in high school, I fell in with a “bad element” and began attending church and youth group functions. My parents were dismayed. We settled on a compromise. I could be a “user” but not a “pusher”. Eventually I went on to attend seminary. One of the things that drew me to church was the fellowship of Christians and finding a social “home”. The idea of a church family was incredibly alluring to me.

After quite a lot of time and introspection, I have come to realize that the idea of family, community and love were what I was “in it” for. I never experienced a personal relationship with God, Jesus or Buddha. So it comes as no surprise that I am no longer practicing at faith. Unfortunately, within many families love, support and community come with the price that you observe the social contracts established. When I came to accept that I was gay, my church family reacted by casting me out.

I felt like the carrier of plague. I was treated as though contact with me might contaminate otherwise happily heterosexual church members. I was also constantly aware of how much I had disappointed everyone. I think that humans are by nature likely to revert to cliquish behavior and that within the microcosm of a Christian community you can often see the power that this instinct can have. Sometimes for good. In my case. Not so much.

Love tolerance and acceptance of people where they are in their particular walk is rarely extended to my gay brothers and sisters who are still struggling to maintain their connection to faith and a church body. I was subjected to a surprise “intervention” by my pastor and church body and when I responded honestly that I was not prepared to repress and repent for my sin of homosexuality, I was cast out from my church. With a series of benchmarks and “proofs” I had to provide if I wanted to repent at a later time and rejoin the family.

I absolutely love that Mo’s essay is short and doesn’t end with some kind of tidy and pretty conclusion. It almost needs an ellipsis to capture the hanging nature of it…and I like that…bu then again if you read my blogs you’ll know that I love ellipsises…is that how you pluralize ‘ellipses’?

I hope you find time in your life to listen to people’s stories. It doesn’t matter if you agree or disagree with how they define themselves, it doesn’t matter if you have made similar or opposite choices…it doens’t matter. What matters is that each and every person is created by and indelibly stamped with the image of God and is deserving of dignity, of being listened to, and of being loved. Mo has definitely showed this to me as she’s listened to my ramblings for four years, I hope that in some way I’ve also listened her into free speech.

A Blog About Narwals

Posted on January 15, 2012 by admin

(that’s right, this is a blog about Narwhal whales. Why? I’m not quite sure. Is there a point to it? No. Is there any great meaning to this blog post? No. Is it funny? As it turns out…not so much. Is this a departure from my usual blogs of amazing depth and valuable content? Most would say no. So without further adieu…Narwhal…)

Narwhal whales are spectacular. They shouldn’t be real…I’m actually not sure that they are. I mean, lets be honest, they’re the unicorn’s of the sea…and we all know that unicorns aren’t real. But Narwhal’s are real. They’re real and they’re awesome. Awesomely real.

A friend recently started using the term ‘unicorn’ to refer to things that aren’t actually ever seen in real life. Think: a husband who does dishes, a cat that’s enjoyable to be around, a successful small business in Vancouver, you get the idea. But Narwhal’s aren’t unicorns, they’re not husbands who willingly watch their own kids. They’re actually whales with a bucktooth. Yes, that’s right, the Narwhal’s spectacular unicorn-like spike is actually a giant tooth protruding from its mouth. The Narwhal is actually more like a beaver than a majestic unicorn. Disappointed? Don’t be. Beavers are awesome too. They make homes in water out of sticks, they eat trees, and they gave Mel Gibson a chance to re-make himself.

The moral of the story? Simple: some things appear to be awesome and others appear to be mythical…some even appear to be both. Chances are, they’re not. Chances are it’s just a beaver with a blowhole. So when you try to be awesome by showing off your magnificent ‘tusk’ remember that you might be more of a beaver than a unicorn…and that’s not bad.

**I’d like to clarify three important things. One, I chose to capitalize “Narwhal” as gesture of honor to the most awesomestly real animal I’ve never seen. Two, I’m not quite sure why I wrote this blog nor what it means. Three, I think the reason I wrote this blog is because Narwhal’s are rocking my world right now.

My Story in 800 Words

Posted on January 14, 2012 by admin

I was invited to share my story through a developing website called Stories of Sifted which is an extension of the Exponential Conference. It was a great exercise for me to attempt to capture my story in 800ish words. I’ve included it below…

My story of sifting is neither tidy nor complete. As I write this, everything is still unresolved and messy, as we wait daily to receive test results telling me if I’m closer to dying or to further living.

In May of 2011, shortly before my 29th birthday, we discovered that the strange limp that had developed in my right leg was in fact caused by a stage four cancerous tumor in the middle of my spine separating my spinal cord in two. Prior to this discovery I had never been admitted into the hospital, never made an emergency room visit for myself, never had an IV, never broken a bone, nothing. As a young, active, healthy, organic-eating, almost vegetarian who recycles and prays, this was absolutely unexpected. Two months prior I had been sent by my previous church to downtown Vancouver, Washington, to plant their daughter church, three weeks prior I had finished my graduate degree (the last hurdle before fully delving into being a lead church planter), and three days prior I had just returned from taking my wife and kids to Disneyland.

On May 31st I went in for surgery—at the time the doctors were confident that it was a benign self-encapsulated tumor, but by the time I emerged from surgery the doctors revealed that while they still believed it to be benign it was in fact completely entangled in my spinal tissue and they could not remove all of it. Additionally I woke up from surgery paralyzed from the abdomen down. The next two weeks in the hospital were a whirlwind of ups and downs as my body healed from the surgery, as I began the long process of re-learning to walk, as I had to learn how dress myself again, put on shoes without being able to life my legs, as my wife had to learn to give me shots, and as we waited tenuously for official pathology results. As I stated in the beginning, contrary to doctors original assessment the tumor was not benign and was in fact a high level incurable tumor known as an Glioblastoma Astrocytoma. At the age of 28, I was given a short shelf life.

Once I was back home from the hospital we began the next stage of the journey which included extensive work with a naturopath, radiation treatments, and oral chemotherapy. Routine MRI’s would show over this time period that neither the initial six weeks of daily radiation nor the chemo would have any affect on the tumor—and in fact the tumor appeared to be growing (though few new physical symptoms emerged). There were all the usual physical obstacles along the way: back pain, infections, blood clotting, and a pulmonary embolism. Today I am on a regimen of stronger chemotherapy pills that I take for five days every month leaving me sick for about two weeks at a time.

The most mysterious thing throughout this entire journey has been the manner in which God’s story has been told. God has not promised me another day, I do not believe he has promised healing (though I do believe he can bring it!), but he has made an audacious claim to restore beauty for ashes, to give joy instead of sorrow, praise over despair—he has promised to tell a beautiful and redeeming story in our life and our death. And that is exactly what I have experienced him doing. The timing of my sickness was such that it seemed to interrupt our work of initiating a new gospel movement in downtown Vancouver that we are calling the Grassroots Conspiracy. But the reality that we have had to deal with is that the gospel movement has not been interrupted, rather it has been given a new canvas for fresh interpretation. Our ministry here is almost exclusively focused on those who are very far from faith, who have never set foot in church, and who find the usual rhythms of church practice foreign to their lives but what God has been doing through my sickness is to create a portrait of the gospel that is drawing new people to him. Fighting cancer has not stopped our church planting it has transformed it! This is not an interruption to the story; it is the story! So whether the gospel story is revealed in my neighborhood through my death or through my miraculous recovery what we are learning is that God’s grace is extended through his ability to redeem every moment, every sickness, every interruption and make it a mirror of love to the world. The question is: will we allow God to enter into our story and thus transform our sifting into something beautiful?

Help a Brotha Out

Posted on January 13, 2012 by admin

I started blogging back in 2005 because it was fun. I continued blogging for the next five years because it was therapeutic for me. Very few people ever read my blog and it never really mattered to me because I primarily blogged for myself. It helped me to think through my life, to be present with my own thoughts, and to capture my thoughts in a semi-permanent way for longevity sake. More recently, however, people have started reading what I write. It was overwhelming at first because it drew with it a level of accountability–if people read what I write then I’ve got to mean what I say!

My story of fighting cancer thus far has resonated with many people. I think it is partially because I’m not the kind of person that needs much privacy and finds more solace in putting my story out there rather then keeping to myself. Sometimes I’m critical of myself and my story–I question whether I really say anything of value. But I’m learning to trust what’s happening in my life, knowing that I’m not alone in this, knowing that others have experience the same thing and still others are about to engage in a similar journey. For this reason I’m trying to move forward with confidence and therefore would like to ask you to partner with me in sharing my story. If you read a blog that you think is of value would you mind clicking on one of the “share and enjoy” icons at the end of the post? Suggest it to Stumbleupon, Digg, your Facebook page, or one of the other options.

I don’t really know how all this stuff works, but I’m learning. My blog that catalogues all of my cancer posts (http://su.pr/2cadME) might be a good place for some people to find hope or a voice in their own journey…I don’t know…

Thank you to all of you, friends, online stalkers, family, and acquaintances for your partnership in all of this. Oh what a difference it makes!

Peace.

Ryan

Musings From The Ground Up

Initiating a new grassroots movement in downtown Vancouver

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