I am You: on becoming an American

I am a new American. On November 9 my wife and I traveled to the Gerald R. Ford Museum in Grand Rapids for my citizenship ceremony. People from more than 20 countries became citizens that day.

I grew up in Canada. As a white Canadian I know I’m not the image that comes to mind when most Americans think of immigrants, but I feel as much an immigrant as person coming from a country thousands of miles away.

One quality that many Canadians hold dear is that they are not Americans. Living next door to the world’s political and cultural superpower, it is hard not to feel a little threatened by our neighbors to the south. Former Canadian prime minister Pierre Trudeau once said of the USA “Living next to you is in some ways like sleeping with an elephant. No matter how friendly and even-tempered is the beast, if I can call it that, one is affected by every twitch and grunt.” Canadians spend a lot of energy protecting and reinforcing their Canadian identity from the “twitches and grunts” of this elephant.

When I was a youth one of the ways we did this was by making “American” jokes. This often involved telling stories, typically laced with hyperbole and imagination, of our run-ins with Americans. They often involved scenarios of Americans coming to Canada in July and wondering where the snow was. This also included making fun of American’s comparative ignorance of Canadian geography or politics. We knew much more about the US, than Americans knew about Canada. Our stereotype of Americans was they were fat, stupid, arrogant, and armed, and our stereotype of Canadians is that we were none of those things.

Then I moved to the United States. There is nothing like meeting real people to break apart imagined stereotypes. I have lived in California, Indiana, and Michigan. But for the 25 years that I’ve lived in the U.S. I’ve lived as a non-citizen – first on a student visa, and then, after marrying an American woman, as a permanent resident with a green card. I liked this in but not of, relationship. My language only needed to switch from “those Americans” to “you Americans.” “What is it with You Americans and guns?” “What is it with You Americans and your health care system?” “What is it with You Americans and invading countries?” Sitting on the sidelines and making snide comments may be briefly satisfying, but it is not very constructive or kind.

And now I feel I must no longer stand safely apart. I have finally recognized that this place is my home, and “you Americans” are my family, my neighbors, my coworkers, my people.

This doesn’t mean that I’m not occasionally confused and frustrated by the actions and attitudes of Americans, but no less than I’m occasionally confused and frustrated by my own actions and attitudes. But I am now committed to participate in this country; to get my hands dirty and work to fix the things I think are wrong, and to hold up the ideals that I think makes this country great.

I finally made the choice to become a citizen because I am You.

Why Should I Vote?

A letter to my state representative. (I’ll let you know how he replies, if he replies.) 

Greetings Representative Miller,

This past summer my wife and I moved near Three Rivers and into your state district. We have long loved this area and after nearly 20 years in Lansing are glad to call this place home.

After 25 years of living in the US (I am from Canada) I became a citizen in early November. It was an important decision to pursue citizenship, and one I did not, and do not, take lightly.

A representative of the MI Secretary of State’s office was at the citizenship ceremony and I was able to register to vote that same day. Voting is obviously and important privilege, right, and responsibility.

But my question to you is, Why should I vote?

I have lived in Michigan for nearly 20 years and while not able to vote, I do pay close attention to state government. In my time I have seen state representatives redraw district maps in such ways as to disempower voters from the other party which means that even when a majority of the votes are cast for Democratic candidates, a majority of the seats are filled by Republicans.

I have seen state representatives draft voting rules and regulations that make it more difficult to vote.

I have seen state representatives take ballot measures that were supported by the majority of the voter and undermine the will of the electorate by watering down those ballot initiatives so they barely resemble the electorate’s wishes.

I have seen state representatives take steps to remove the powers from elective offices – for the sole reason that someone from the other party was elected to those offices.

Both parties share some blame, but the Michigan Republicans seem to be going overboard with their disregard for the decisions of voters.

So, I ask you, why should I vote? What can you tell me to convince me that my vote will be a participation in true democracy, and not something disregarded by the whim of a party.

Don’t get me wrong, I will vote, but I would love to hear from you why you think I should and how my vote will matter.

Blessings to your and your family this holiday season,

Kevin Driedger

 

Icons made by Freepik from www.flaticon.com is licensed by CC 3.0 BY

Prayer for an attentive ear

 “An attentive ear is the desire of the wise.” (Sirach 3:29)

O deep, listening wisdom,

who am I to desire the desire of the wise?

I ask that you listen to a fool like me,

for I’ve listened enough to know that an attentive ear is not only the desire of the wise,

but also the source of their wisdom.

Give me ears to hear the laments of the broken-hearted.

Give me ears to hear the cries of the displaced.

Give me ears to hear the voices too scared to speak up.

Give me ears to hear the breath of persistent life.

Give me ears to hear the hidden rhythms of the earth.

Give me ears to hear the chorus of the universe.

Give me ears to hear the melody of truth.

Give me ears to hear the resounding echo of your love.

Listening one,

I desire that the ear of my heart be always inclined toward you,

and in the silent space of our mutual listening

wisdom will sing herself into being.

Amen

"Invitation to Retreat" by Ruth Haley Barton

Invitation to Retreat: The Gift and Necessity of Time Away with God by Ruth Haley Barton. IVP Books, 2018

Ruth Haley Barton and her work with Transforming Center has built a strong collection of resources aimed at tending to the spiritual lives of pastors and Christian leaders. Her volume “Strengthening the Soul of Your Leadership” published in 2008 with a second edition published in 2018 laid the foundation of much of her following work. Through workshops, retreats, podcasts, and further books Barton has shown that the work of Christian leadership is soul work. Her work follows a similar path to that of Richard Foster in teaching a largely evangelical audience the wisdom ancient spiritual practices have for modern busy leaders.

Her latest book explores the spiritual practice of retreat.

As every Christian book about retreat should do, she grounds her invitation to retreat in the example of Jesus and his own practice of retreating to a quiet place to pray, as well as his calling his disciples come away to a deserted place and rest a while. (Mk 6:30-31) Since that time, people in the church have recognized the importance of balancing their active life of work, with a time of retreat to give deeper attention to their relationship with God. “Retreat in the context of the spiritual life is an extended time apart for the purpose of being with God and giving God our full and undivided attention.” (P. 4)

Retreat often has two phases. The first phase is a retreat away from something. Barton uses the military phrase of strategic withdrawal from those places where we might be in danger. These dangers include distractions, trying too hard, exhaustion, poor boundaries, and feeling as if everything depends on you.

At The Hermitage, a retreat center in southwest Michigan where I am on staff, we will encourage retreatants to begin their time of retreat simply with relaxing and not doing anything. People need time to let go. Sometimes, that is all that can be, or needs to be accomplished on a retreat; simply letting go.

Once you have retreated away from something, the next phase is to retreat into something – and Barton describes that something as the rhythm of your retreat. She takes a few chapters to discuss moving into a different rhythm, one based largely on fixed-hour prayer. She sees fixed hour prayer as an important way to reset one’s mode of being. In an appendix she provides an order of prayer for praying four times a day during one’s retreat.

At the Hermitage we often talk about the rhythms of the Hermitage with daily morning prayer, including Eucharist on Wednesdays and centering prayer on Saturdays. Communal meals eaten in silence also help to live into the rhythm of daily life. These rhythms provide a structure, or a framework upon which the retreatants, and the staff, can shape and guide their day and give space to their intentions.

After the initial getting away to a retreat, Barton acknowledges that the retreatant can move into an experience of a deeper letting go and relinquishing. Letting go of control – you may have planned to read a few books, or write a paper, but on retreat you realize the Spirit is calling you to something completely different. Barton relates that retreatants may also experience a relinquishing of false-selves, and a letting go of identity.

In the next chapters Barton discusses the creative possibilities that can happen on retreat. Retreats can become productive times of discernment, recalibration, and finding spiritual freedom. It is important not to rush to these more productive experiences of retreat too quickly without giving enough time to let go and enter into the rhythm of the retreat.

Her final two chapters discuss the very important topic of returning from retreat. The retreat is not an end in itself. “The purpose of retreat is twofold: to become more deeply grounded in God as the ultimate orienting reality of our lives, and to return to the life God has given us with renewed strength, vitality, and clarity about how we are called to be in God for the world.” (p. 115) It is not uncommon for people to want to remain in the heightened experience they had on retreat – I have felt that way too – but returning from retreat is important.

On the driveway exiting the Hermitage departing retreatants see the sign “Return slowly.” This is not an indication that we don’t want to see them again, but it is a reminder that a retreat should serve the purpose of return. People returning to a time of retreat too quickly and too often may actually be escaping rather than retreating.

Barton has an easy going and approachable writing style. This short book is built on a strong foundation which Barton translates into practical suggestions and guidance. The format is especially geared to novice for whom retreat might only conjure up sleepless nights on rowdy church youth retreats or extended boring corporate meetings filled with activities nobody wants to do.

With all that Barton and Transforming Center accomplishes, it is hard to imagine when she finds the time to heed the invitation to retreat, but her book demonstrates she speaks with the wisdom of thoughtful experience.

In my work at The Hermitage, I feel fortunate that I get to extend the invitation to retreat, and provide the rhythms and structures which foster attentiveness to God.

For those who are interested in exploring spaces for retreat, some resources include Retreat Finder and Find the Divine. Your are also always welcome to pay me a visit at The Hermitage.

Me and the Prairies: an Expansive and Intimate God

(My “faith statement” shared on Sept. 16, 2018 as I join Florence Church of the Brethren Mennonite.)

I was born and raised in a Russian Mennonite community on the Canadian prairies.

As often happens, it wasn’t until I moved away that I discovered how deeply this environment had shaped me.

In my mid-twenties I spent two years living and working as a Mennonite Voluntary Services worker in San Francisco. San Francisco may just well be the complete opposite of Winkler, Manitoba – culturally, environmentally, and geographically. While it was an exciting place to live for two years in my mid-twenties, I was also very glad to leave. I could fully exhale again.

I left there and went to Elkhart, Indiana to attend seminary. It was around this time that I read Kathleen Norris’ wonderful book “Dakota”. While Norris’ western south Dakota is geographically a little different than my prairies, her language about her land and her faith opened my eyes, mind, and heart to the geography of the place where I was raised, and how deeply it had shaped me, and my faith.

The prairies are a land of expansive spaciousness, and deep vulnerability. The prairies teach you that God truly does rain on the just and the unjust, and that rain can be a long-awaited relief after too many days without, and it can come with such ferocity that your electric rain gauge measure an inch every 10 minutes.

The overwhelming expansiveness of the blue prairie sky can’t but impress upon you something of the character of God, and your place in God’s universe. And if the sky doesn’t disrupt you, the endless miles of flat, nearly barren landscape will remind you just how small you are.

That huge sky can also bring forth a western wall of clouds so black and ominous that any conceit about subduing and controlling the earth blows away with the first foreboding breeze.

Waking up to 12 foot snow drifts across the roads makes a mockery of any wishful plans you made for that day.

So, what do the prairies and their weather have to do with my faith? They have taught me that any sense of defining, limiting, or controlling God is just a vain exercise of hubris.

In my Russian Mennonite community, humility was the highest virtue and pride the cardinal sin. Now, that can lead some of its own disfunctions, but these lessons were reinforced by the expansiveness of the prairies and the unknowability of the elements. The prairies offer a good lesson in humility.

My people placed high moral value on working hard, but there was also the recognition that a bountiful harvest was ultimately God’s to provide, or not.

Despite this, and while not exactly in these words, in Sunday School and at home I was taught that God was orderly and composed and so we should be too. But, at a deeper level, I feel like I was taught both by the people and the place that God was wild and we were vulnerable. I don’t mean God was capricious and we were servile, but God was God, and we were not.

I continue to be deeply grateful for how this space has shaped me and continues to shape me today, but in the last 10 or so years I’ve recognized that my experience of God, and of myself has expanded. The intimacy of God has become much more evident. And with that intimacy is an awareness of a depth of love. I’ve come to a growing awareness of God’s presence in me and my presence in God.

While it was the prairies that taught me about God’s power and wildness, I am not as certain what prepared me for this understanding of God as intimate love. Although the image that came to mind as I was pondering this is of me sitting and waiting. And in that waiting I was discovering my own inner spaciousness; my own inner prairie. And on this prairie, the overpowering cloud from the west is simply love.

God is intimate, and God is expansive. God is uncontrollable, and God is self-giving love.

Now, I feel that as a good Mennonite, as a good Anabaptist, I should be talking about Jesus, and discipleship, and service, and ethics. Even if you look at our two scripture texts, June chose the Matthew one and I chose the Psalm. If these things weren’t important to me I wouldn’t be standing here in front of you desiring to join this Anabaptist congregation. I am increasingly recognizing these good Mennonite principles as being born out of an understanding of and an encounter with God, who is expansive and intimate, and we, who are humble and loved.