I read Faith of Leap as part of the first class in the Academy for Missional Wisdom, and I resonated with much of it, knowing exactly what Frost & Hirsch mean in their critique of “churchy spirituality”. They emphasize the contrast between the churches of Christendom who wait and expect people to come to them, with missional communities who understand that discipleship is being sent out.

They lost me when they spent so many pages on material from Joseph Campbell’s The Hero’s Journey which has been rightly critiqued as dismissive of women’s perspectives and journeys. Frost & Hirsch emphasize adventure stories as examples of the kind of communities built around a shared mission, neglecting stories of community that resonate with women.

The process of entering into a community and learning about it in order to appropriately be in ministry with and for that community is helpful, and I’m interested enough in their reflections on Jesus as the new temple, i.e. the new center of life, to read their book ReJesus.

I think the concepts that Frost & Hirsch raise are important ones, but I was left in the end wondering if there wasn’t a better book on the subject.

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Photo from flickr stream by unschool

“Quiet Please”

This is my church’s reminder that there’s a service in progress in the chapel, with a gentle request for those passing in the hallway to be mindful that some of us are taking a breath during the midweek services of Holy Communion.

It didn’t work this week. I gathered as I was walking in that a funeral had just let out, but I didn’t think much of it as I was running late, as usual. I missed the lighting of the advent candle and the opening hymn, and found myself struggling to focus on the reading of scripture through the laughter and conversation just beyond the doors. I really started to get annoyed as the voices grew louder during the sermon, and I was struggling to follow. (A friend recently described our personality type as ADOS: Attention Deficit – “Oh, Shiny!”) Then I started to laugh at myself.

“From the fig tree, learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near.” Mark 13:28

I had studied over these scriptures for my own sermon the previous week. I talked about how Advent is a call to pay attention to what God is about in the world, and encouraged a struggling congregation to look for those places where the fig tree is pushing forth its leaves, for those places in the life of their community where there is yet life, where God is at work.  It occurred to me to take my own advice during the sermon I was listening to today and pay attention for those signs of life in the midst of the distraction from the hallway.

It brought to mind a hymn that I’ve loved by Fred Pratt Green (#592 in the United Methodist Hymnal):

When the church of Jesus
Shuts its outer door
Lest the roar of traffic
Drown the voice of prayer:
May our prayers, Lord, make us
Ten times more aware
That the world we banish
Is our Christian care.

Perhaps what God was calling to my attention were the signs of life in the hallway. Perhaps God was reminding me that our midweek gathering is not just for those in the chapel, but probably more so for those in the hallway.

I almost passed on The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb. There was a part of me when I first saw the title in my public library enews that felt like I was participating in the objectification of little people. I dare say after listening to Kim Mai’s excellent performance of Melanie Benjamin’s fictional story, that I found myself admiring Mrs. General Tom Thumb, aka Lavinia Mercy Warren Bump Stratton.

Ms. Benjamin creates a deep and strong character in Vinnie, as Mrs. Stratton was commonly known, showing her to be a woman who determined not to let her size limit her life. Indeed, with the help of PT Barnum, the extraordinary promoter of 19th century novelties, Mrs. Stratton used her not quite 32 inches in height to expand her life beyond the opportunities usually available to women of the time.

Vinnie’s marriage to General Tom Thumb, aka Charles Stratton, was the royal wedding of the 1800s, distracting a country at war with a romantic fantasy of two perfectly proportioned people in miniature. The author relates in an end note, however, that her fictional autobiography took life from the relationship between Vinnie and Mr. Barnum, which was a bond between two people looking for intellectual equals.

Ms. Mai brings Vinnie to life with a voice in higher registers that sounds appropriate for a little person, but filled out with a maturity that honors her intellect and strength. Changes in depth, tone, and cadence for other characters seem true and unforced, and at times provide a comic interpretation of incidental characters.

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One Amazing Thing is the featured book for Gulf Coast Reads this year. I heard someone recently who said that we have a lot of opportunities to listen these days, but not many opportunities to tell our stories (in more than 140 character blocks). While One Amazing Thing has a unifying narrative, it’s really a collection of stories told by individuals ranging in age from high school to grandparent. Ms. Divakaruni steps into the worlds of people of varying ethnicities, ages, and experiences and invites readers to consider an event in each of their lives that helped bring them to a point where they would share these stories with one another. I love that in considering books for regional reading events, the committees are intentional about honoring the rich diversity of the Houston-Gulf Coast reader. That Ms. Divakaruni is a Houstonian makes it even better.

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That said, on September 11, 2001, I was the campus minister at the Wesley Foundation at Kilgore College in Kilgore, Texas.  A student rushed into the building to tell us that a plane had hit the World Trade Center.  I don’t remember where I was standing or who was nearby, except for Laura Vaughn, the administrative assistant. I do remember that as soon as I realized how devastating this was, my first thought was about John Deuel, a dear friend I’ve known since we were 10 years old, and his husband, Bill Cruse, both of whom worked in New York City. Knowing that the phone lines were tied up, I went to AOL instant messenger.  I found Bill online at home and not in the city, and asked about John.  ”He’s here,” Bill typed back. John had been in the city, just a few blocks away when the first plane hit, and had sent everyone in his office home immediately. He was on one of the last trains to get out that day. John got online, and the only thing I needed or wanted to say was, “I love you.” He replied, “I love you, too.”

While I remembered that part of the story, I was reminded tonight of the larger story, told in a profound way through the Frontline program “Faith and Doubt at Ground Zero” which aired originally in 2002. One part of the program covers the phone calls from people in the Towers and on Flight 93 who realized that these were going to be their last words. They were not words of anger or calls for revenge, but words to the people they loved.  As my first instinct on hearing the news was to express my love for a friend, the last instincts of those who were able to use a phone were declarations of love.

Again and again we’ve told stories of the courage of the first responders who lost their lives that day, and we’ve told of the courage of the passengers of Flight 93 who made sure that no one else would suffer the same fate as those in the WTC and in the Pentagon. These were people who gave of themselves for the good of everyone. We have told the stories, but we have failed to honor their sacrifice. We have betrayed their memories.

We Americans have betrayed the courage of those who died 10 years ago through our failure to speak out against those who would fan the flames of fear for financial gain and political expediency. We have allowed that fear to divide us ideologically, economically, and spiritually. We have sacrificed our liberty, and countless more lives, for a fleeting sense of security. This is when I start feeling helpless (often) and hopeless (sometimes). I am not willing for an American citizen like Ms. Hebshi (or guests like the Indian men seated next to her, but that’s another issue to some) to be strip searched so that I can (falsely) feel a little more secure. Fear causes us to descend and act out of the worst of who we are.

The Bible says that “perfect love casts out fear”. Love unites what fear divides. Love builds up what fear tears down. No doubt, the people who made their last phone calls on September 11, 2001 were very much afraid, but they didn’t let fear be their final word. To honor their memories, neither should we.

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(again, half stars would be nice, because I would give Room 4.5 stars)

I love hearing stories told by native speakers. The Harry Potter series is outstanding work by performer Jim Dale, likewise Khaled Hosseini’s novels came to life through narrators who brought Afghani inflection and accent to the English. Even though I would have “heard” the southern accents easily in The Help, having them performed brought the women right into my car.

Had I not been listening to Michal Friedman’s portrayal of just-turned 5 year old Jack, it probably would have taken a lot longer to get into and get used to Room, since it’s told from Jack’s perspective, with a 5 year old’s sentence structure, and, thanks to Ms. Friedman, a 5 year old’s intonation and inflection. I remember when my niece was turning 5, she was talking to her twin brother the events coming up. “We’ll go to sleep, and it will be night time, and we’ll wake up and it will be our birthday, and then we’ll have our party, and then we’ll be 5.” I could hear her voice and her reasoning so clearly as I listened to Jack tell the story of his life in Room with Ma and Bed, and Wardrobe, and Rug. Room and the items in it are so named with capital letters because they are the only ones in Jack’s world, as Jack is the only Jack and Ma is the only Ma.

That the book is strongest when relating the events in Room echoes the strength of Ma, who creates the world for Jack, with the structure and boundaries that are comforting to small children. The story gets weaker (SPOILER ALERT) in the second half when Ma and Jack escape from Room and their structure and boundaries disintegrate. Ms. Donoghue makes Room a tangible place and invites readers to empathize with Jack and Ma as they struggle to find life Outside. There were times in Outside that it got a little preachy. Though the information about modern slavery and captivity is relevant, it might have been better from a different voice, like a newscaster, or in an Epilogue with an invitation to connect with organizations that are working for awareness and survivors’ rights.

The audiobook is brilliantly performed by Michal Friedman, who makes the listener forget she is an adult acting in the voice of a child. Other performances are strong, with the exception of Robert Petkoff’s “Old Nick” and, occasionally, Ellen Archer’s “Ma”. As voiceover actors, they have very strong, pleasant voices, which I didn’t think worked for “Old Nick”. At the end of the section where “Old Nick” was featured, Mr. Petkoff’s portrayal was too pretty, too compassionate sounding. This worked for the voice of Dr. Clay, but not for Old Nick. The same was true, at times, for Ellen Archer as Ma, but her performance was stronger and less pretty as the story got messier.

Emma Donoghue’s risk in telling the story of Room from Jack’s perspective was well taken, especially when partnered with the strong performances on the audiobook.

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Cute, fun read for Harry Potter fans. I especially enjoyed the contrast between academic language and everyday speech. Proceeds from the book went to charity, so I feel guilty that I got my copy at Half Price Books with a gift card.

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(I want to give it 3.5 stars, but Goodreads won’t let me do that.)

I’m a cancer survivor. Most of the time I feel guilty saying that because I don’t think I fit the typical image of a survivor. I got off pretty easy when it came to fighting cancer–just one surgery with a 6-week recovery, and the cancer part of it was done. I never had chemo or radiation, so I never had the gut-wrenching nausea and what hair I’ve lost has more to do with being post-menopausal in my 30′s.

Dr. Mukherjee describes with great tenderness the ordeals of patients suffering with cancer while telling in great depth the history of cancer from 2000 years of palliative care to the interventions of the last two centuries. The science is adapted well for a lay audience, which I found amazing since it covers biochemistry, genetics, microbiology and probably a multitude of other -ologies that I’ve never heard of. In addition to the science and the patient stories, Dr. Mukherjee tells the stories of doctors and researchers with the insight of an insider, weaving them with the efforts of early fundraisers and activists that led to the war on cancer proclaimed in the 1970s.

The book works on many levels, in large part because Dr. Mukherjee never forgets the patients. Their stories surround the science as a constant reminder that the biological processes have a context and that research has a goal. That said, the book is weakest, to me, when Dr. Mukherjee switches to first person to tell of his own experiences. It seems to me that these sections would have worked better as preface and/or epilogue, or another book entirely–the story of a doctor’s journey with his patients as they live with cancer. In fact, I hope that is Dr. Mukherjee’s next book. I give the book 3.5 stars rather than 4 in part for this, but also because I don’t feel like the book succeeds as a biography of an individual called Cancer. It seems like Cancer is more a large dysfunctional family that destroys the homes and communities in which it lives. The book is a well-told history, but the biographical structure isn’t consistent throughout.

Ten years later, I’m still dealing with the emotional fallout from not being able to have children. For a long time I didn’t feel much of anything. From 2002 to 2004 I was involved in an ongoing retreat where I met a woman who encouraged me to own that “infertility is huge”. So I’ve come to realize that my story now is less about cancer and more about childlessness. Time to start surfing the library catalog for that book.

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The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks is about the destructive power of secrets and the healing power of story. The secret is that cells from a tumor taken from Henrietta Lacks have been multiplying and used in labs long after Henrietta died in 1951. They were in space before John Glenn. They were instrumental in the development of the polio vaccine. They’ve been blown up with nuclear bombs and flooded with chemicals. Thanks to the research done on these cells, called HeLa cells, many of us have the possibility for cure of diseases that devastated our ancestors.

The secret was that Henrietta’s family didn’t know that Henrietta’s cells were still living and were confused and scared by what that meant once they found out. While being used themselves by scientists, they were never told that they were unlikely to contract the cancer that killed Henrietta. They were never told about HeLa cells and what their own blood and cells were being used for.

With great attention to craft and sensitivity to the Lacks family, Rebecca Skloot delivers one of the best books I’ve read all year. She carefully balances the tremendous advances in medicine that came from studying the HeLa cells, with the ethics of informed consent and privacy owed to patients and their families. By involving Henrietta’s daughter, Deborah Lacks-Pullum, in the research and retelling of the story, Ms. Skloot also offers empowerment and healing for the Lacks family. There are scenes where the two are on a research trip and Deborah would introduce herself and then "this here’s Rebecca, my reporter". It made me think that everyone should have a reporter among the professionals who support our families: teachers, doctors, lawyers, bankers, reporters.

The Immortal Life is a science book that braids together medical research, family history, and personal dynamics in such a way that there were times I was weeping with the families’ sadness, experiencing their fear, and laughing at every day nonsense, like the scene where Deborah’s 4 year old grandson flirts with author. The family learns with the author, and as they learn, the secrets lose their power and their fears are replaced with peace.

In acknowledgement that the story she told was not her own, Ms. Skloot has set up The Henrietta Lacks Foundation with proceeds from the book and donations from others, including scientists who work with HeLa cells. The Foundations’ mission is to assist descendants of Henrietta Lacks with education and medical needs, as well as others who have made or are descendants of those who have made a significant contribution to scientific research.

While the story answers questions about Henrietta and her family, it leaves the rest of us with even more ethical and legal questions about the use of human tissues in research and, ultimately, about who profits from the way those tissues are shared and marketed.

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