Have It Your Way - Or Not

Farm workers who pick tomatoes for Burger King's sandwiches earn 40 to 50 cents for every 32-pound bucket of tomatoes they pick, a rate that has not risen significantly in nearly 30 years. Workers who toil from dawn to dusk must pick two tons of tomatoes to earn $50 in one day.
Worse yet, modern-day slavery has reemerged in Florida's fields; since 1997, the U.S. Department of Justice has prosecuted five slavery rings, freeing more than 1,000 workers. As a major buyer of Florida tomatoes, Burger King's purchasing practices place downward pressure on farm worker wages and put corporate profits before human dignity.

Click here to send a message to Burger King: "Farm workers deserve fair wages!"

Source: Sojourners Action Alerts June 24, 2007

Divine Intention: How God's Work in the Early Church Empowers Us Today

Recently I read Larry Shallenberger’s book Divine Intention. I am pleased to say that this book has wonderfully challenged me in my personal journey. I believe that God works in a way similar to the proverb:”when the student is ready the teacher will appear.”

I was the student and I was so ready for this book. In his introduction Larry says, “Christian character seems little more than a veneer of politeness used to lubricate the social exchanges that occur before and after services.” He had caught my attention and interest, though I wondered if this would be another of “what’s wrong with” books about the church. As Larry continued in his introduction relating his background, my heart was pricked. I too related as one who grew up in the church and still retained good memories and the hope that what I have experienced as an adult “full-time ministry” person was not all God had intended.

Further on I read, “This book you are holding is for those who love the church but have been deeply disappointed by it.” I have not been disappointed by the practical insights presented in the historical context of the first century Larry brings from the Book of Acts. Each chapter, able to stand alone, built a renewed desire to hear from God anew and continue my journey.

The conversation tone allowed me to imagine that I was in a dialogue with Larry. Often the very question that arose in my mind was addressed in the following paragraphs. I appreciated the non-formulaic approach and the pointing out a path to progress on rather than pushing a particular agenda.

At the end of the introduction Larry wrote, “My prayer is that this book will be evaluated not on the number of interesting facts unearthed regarding the first century church, but on its ability to spark small personal reformation in the quality of our love for God and our love for others.” Larry in my heart your prayer has been answered.

A Year and a Day

new born out of old
familiar yields, becomes adventure
take flight

change occurs slowly
then avalanche
take shelter

darkness succumbs to light
squint into the glare
take notice

forgotten, only a mist
recall as a dream
take memories

time is hasty
day-night flicker on a screen
take a breath

My Name is Michael

Growing up I lived in three distinct worlds: school, church, and the neighborhood. There was no crossover between them. I had separate friends in each location and a different social standing and reputation in each.

During my years of Jr. High – grades 7 through 9 – this was before middle school, I had three school friends, Pat a red-headed Irish kid, Steve who I don’t really remember too well, and Hammie. Hammie was the brightest of the group or at least he had the best grades. He and I had a similar sense of humor and I became closer to him than the others.

None of us really fit in with any of the other groups at school. We weren’t “cool” enough for the in-crowd and not “odd” enough for any of the out-crowd groups.

Each of us was in a different section – the way our school was arranged. You took all of your classes with the same group of 30 – 35 kids. There were 17 sections. However, we were all in the same level so we had the same teachers, lessons, assignments….This had been a bit overwhelming for me coming from an elementary where there was one class of each grade and all of my friends from there were in lower expectation sections. In other words they went to shop class I was prepared for college.

We ate lunch at the same time, which is probably where we met. Lost and lonely, we found refuge at a lunch table. And after several hundred lunches and running the halls between classes we became “school” friends. Occasionally I hung out with Pat on the weekend, since we lived near each other but other than school the four of us had little interaction.

Our jr. high and high school were basically on the same property but separated by acres of athletic fields. The move to the high school buildings for 10th grade was even more traumatic then the move from elementary to jr. high. Another jr. high about the same size joined at 10th grade and the size of the high school doubled. As I stumbled through the unfamiliar halls and classes where I did not know anyone, I was on the look-out for my jr. high buddies.

On the second or perhaps the third day, I spotted my old pal Hammie leaning against some lockers among several upper classmen.
“Hey, Hammie, How ya doin!”
He looked straight ahead, above me, beyond me. “My name is Michael”, he said without emotion or expression.
At 14 I was not the always aware of social situations. “Huh, ya, ok. Hey, Michael” …: as I cheerfully began to ask about his classes….
Sternly, but now with sadness in his eyes he spoke again.
“My name is Michael!” with a strong emphasis on the first syllable, “and you don’t know me.”

I then noticed his military fatigue jacket and the upper classmen who were dressed the same, and no one was smiling.

I stammered awkwardly and backed away, very confused. I thought a lot about our encounter over that day and for several days after. I realized that there were no longer any black kids in my classes anymore. My elementary school was 60 % black, but the high school was less than 10%.

I was confronted that year by the stream of racism, a cultural barrier that I was both unaware and unprepared. I discovered the ugly hand of prejudice that year. And I learned that not all divisions are desired but the pressures to maintain those divisions are unmovable. From time to time I saw my friend Michael. We learned the subtle acknowledgement of a head nod but never had another conversation.

I would say that I came to accept and function “where I belonged” but still never really understood. Here’s to you, Hammie.

Better Days

In August of ’06 I received a CD in the mail – Better Days by the Robbie Seay Band. I am not totally sure why I had ordered it. Somehow and somewhere I had seen a recommendation and took a chance. I had it in the player of my car and it had probably played through once when I got into the car after receiving a phone call from my wife, Dottie.

She was in Miami for a routine breast examination at a clinic because her doctor was uneasy with the results of the yearly mammogram. Dottie had been told it’s probably nothing but the doctor thought it would be best to have a particular clinic in Miami examine her. Dottie’s call confirmed that the doctor at the clinic had found a lump – and I had one in my throat.
As I began to drive the title tract came on…

“First of all, thanks for listening to our song,
We hope this finds you driving in your car,…”

The words of the song flowed like a friend speaking to me as I clicked repeat time after time on the drive home.

“…Grace has found me,
Shaken up my soul,
Grace will follow,
Where ever you will go,…”

Never really said much about the song or the CD but I think Dottie thought it odd that the CD remained in the player for several weeks. I know my son did. I would let the album play through but each time Better Days came up I would replay it several times.

“…Here come better days
And here come better days,
Better days, and a better place I know.”

And through the weeks that became months, after each appointment and consultation where we were told by doctors, “I am sure that we will not need to …but let’s check just to be sure. The song became a friend and a rock to set my anchor as I believe God spoke to me through the song – Better Days – I knew it would be alright in the end.

“…Listen to me now for grace, oh grace, is calling…”

Through two operations, the learning that Chemotherapy was not an option but a requirement, as was the eight weeks of daily radiation treatments necessitating a 75 mile drive after teaching a sixth grade class all day.

“…Breathe out and breath again,
Know that life is hard,
But it's worth breathing…”

I believe that God speaks through His scriptures, in dreams and visions, from the “still small voice” but also through a song. The song was playing on the evening we learned that an operation was necessary, and after the first operation while I drove to the pharmacy to get some prescription filled.

“…Green grass, and I'm laying in the sunlight of you,
And the wind is moving through the trees ushering you,
And the better days you bring, the better places found,
Feasting at your table I am overwhelmed, …"

It was not the song but the presence of God that comforted me, but he used the song. How many times did it play, I don’t know but it spoke to me of hope and a future.

“…I lift my glass drink to love and never gave up,
Clouds pass fading into memories gone,
And all I'll show life is life, and love is.
What else could there be?”

Indeed God speaks once,
Or twice, yet no one notices it.
“In a dream, a vision of the night,
When sleep falls on men…
Job 33:14

I believe God spoke to me and I am thankful he did.