Diet & Discipleship

I've been thinking these days about changing my diet. Not because of weight issues or personal heath issues, though that should also warrant consideration in my process. But I am thinking of altering my diet as a matter of discipleship.

Recently I have been reflecting on creation theology, and how our understanding of creation impacts our view of the natural world as well as the implications of creation care for not only the environment, but the poor. I have come to realize, more than ever, that God still loves the cosmos, the world He created and entrusted to us. I now believe that there is a deep connection between humanity and all of creation, and that together we embrace salvation, restoration and even a shared destiny. (Call me a tree-hugger... I now believe the affection is a biblical mandate!) But maybe the more revelatory aspect of my study of creation, and its connection to humanity, is how it affects the most vulnerable people on the planet - the poor. When the natural world starts showing signs of wear and tear (deforestation, contaminated rivers, polluted air, climate change that alters rain patterns, etc.) - the poorest among us feel it first. These changes on the planet change their daily reality in ways I am only beginning to realize.

And so... as a follower of Jesus, I am thinking about changing the way I eat out of love for the planet and the poor, as God is deeply committed to both.

Why my diet? What about my diet is unloving? How can the food I eat be a matter of spiritual consequence? How can I put diet and discipleship in the same sentence? I am learning that the way I eat affects others in ways I never knew before.

I am a hardcore carnivore, I always have been. I love meat, especially beef and pork. I enjoy marinading a tri tip steak and roasting it to perfection. I massage a spice blend of cardamom and cinnamon on pork chops before grilling them. I make some of the best varieties of meatballs, sometimes flavored with fennel and orange, other times with the more classic thyme, rosemary, parsley and garlic... sometimes even with chipotle and mint! I often glaze a pork tenderloin with balsamic vinegar or a mustard glaze and serve with homemade apple sauce. Such pleasure I derive from preparing and eating meat!

However, I discovered recently that my demand for meat is unhealthy. Maybe not unhealthy for my own body (now they say it is processed meats like bacon that really are the culinary villains), but ill advised for the well being of the planet and the poor. Eating so much meat actually harms the ecosystem and threatens those most dependent on it. It is meat production that requires the use of 30% of the ice-free land in the world - and that meat is feeding the west for the most part. (Though reports show that Indian and China are increasing their consumption as they gain wealth, which will increase demand and threaten more land.) It is meat production that is one of the leading causes of water pollution, generation of greenhouse gases, consumption of mass amounts of energy and deforestation. As a matter of fact, the meat industry produced abut one-fifth of all greenhouse gases world-wide... more than transportation! So here is an industry that I regularly support with my consumption habits, and it is doing harm to the environment on a massive scale. And I can do something about it - I can eat less meat and lower a bit of the demand.

As of 2008, 800 million people suffer from hunger or malnutrition. (It is not far-fetched to imagine that many of them surround me here, on the African continent.) Yet, more soy and corn is grown to feed animals than to feed people. So this meat consumption and production does hurt people, it almost takes the food right out of their mouth. The cost of feed for animals is also on the rise, which means prices for grains for people gets higher, and the poor can afford less and less of what they need in their diet. So now my diet, heavy on savory meats, is a cause of a severe lack in their diets... basic grains for their children.

My diet affects the diets of the poor - those that God loves - now this has become a discipleship issue for me. Now my own diet choices become laden with values. What do I value more - my nightly steak, Sunday pot roast, pork chops and apple sauce? Or those who live off the land and need it to hold together, those who cannot feed their family if food prices increase again, those who will loose access to clean water (and the fish in those waters) if meat production continues to contaminate their water source? Is it right for me to have more than my fair share of the food, the land, the environmental resources? Should I consider consuming less (literally) so that others can have more - so that many can have enough? Does what I eat become a matter of justice, even? I am coming to an answer... yes.

This is not an easy thing for me, as I love meat. But I love Jesus more deeply than my own food preferences. I want to follow Him and submit more and more of my life to Him and the world He so loves. And recently, it means changing my diet to be a better disciple. It means eating in a manner that is seasoned with love for the other over my own gluttony.

You are what you eat... so I want to eat in a way that does not deprive others, deplete the earth or diminish the ecosystem we have been entrusted. This is a huge change for me... but following Jesus demands nothing less than a willingness to repent, to rethink our view and embrace His in every aspect of life. So I will eat much less meat, eat more plants and pray there is enough at the table for all of my brothers and sisters around the world.

Another Spiritual Discipline?

I have been a terrible blogger lately. Well, I never have seen myself as a blogger. First, I see myself as someone who writes and occasionally posts on a blog or two. Second, to be a blogger would require regularity, treating a blog like a journal or a watch that are part of my daily routine. So, a blogger I am not.

But all this is beside the point. I am a serial journal writer, I have been since college. I have boxes and boxes of journals (uniform composition books, actually) in storage. I always have a journal on my nightstand, it travels with me in my carry-on when I am in transit, it is always with me where ever I go. The routine of writing is soothing, clarifying and, sometimes, enlightening. I have often said that the habit of writing in my journal is, for me, a spiritual discipline. There is a daily routine, safe place to explore internal realities, pray on paper, listen to what comes as the pen spills ink across each page. Of all the disciplines - and I know Richard Foster and Dallas Willard have lists - writing in my journal has been the most enduring for me. The most nourishing. The one I return to, even after a lapse in discipline from season to season.

But maybe blogging is a new spiritual discipline. If so, it is one that thwarts me in different ways. Journaling is about the writing - the words poured onto the page, the pen in hand, motion of creating a personal font as your thoughts materialize in ink. There is a simplicity about it. But I find translating writing to a blog layered with a bit more complexity. Beyond pen and paper... instead of pen and paper... there are websites, blog warehouses like Word Press, Typepade and Blogspot. Other things are necessary like electricity, bandwidth, formating, knowing how to navigate the sites and add media. As formats on various platforms change - you have to keep up and adapt.

So I can write, even habitually. But I get hung up with posting and all the related pitfalls. Once I get a thought out there... that should be it. But posting on a blog from Burundi never seems to be that easy. I trip over changing formats and having to learn them (again). And so my time is tripled because I have to tangle with technicalities, most of which I don't understand. And then there are the contingencies I cannot control - inadequate bandwidth to maneuver the necessary sites or upload posts, or maybe electricity is out altogether and I am shut down. I get easily frustrated by the set backs, the inability to solve technical or formatting problems. I get thrown by bandwidth and electricity... my blogging attempts dashed. So I tend to not post to avoid the irritations, required adjustments and the things I cannot control. Picking up my journal is so much easier... and more private.

But spiritual disciplines are meant to challenge us, to press upon us and produce a person more fully formed, more ready to engage with God in His world. Maybe approaching blogging from Burundi is a way to learn patience, the reality of limits, surrendering to what I don't know, gaining the fortitude to keep trying and learning amid a changing landscape. Maybe instead of avoiding blogs (to avoid frustrations) I should engage the work as a discipline that can teach me something. Maybe this is a new practice that can push me toward fresh personal growth. One thing is certain - blogging from Burundi will be a discipline, something that will require effort and a degree of perseverance.

Dare I try again?

Christmas in Burundi

Christmas in Burundi is much different than Christmas celebrated in the United States. Trees remain firmly planted in the African soil, not cut and carried into homes to be decorated. Few people are decking the halls here – save a few westerners who brought some strands of colored lights to hang in their window. I have not heard Christmas carols on the radio or blasting from the sound systems of the local market. No one here is complaining about too many gifts to wrap, too many presents to still buy before the 24th or fighting the holiday traffic around the mall. People are planning to gather in homes for meals to celebrate together, and even at this late date people have room in their schedule to accept invitations and volunteer to bring their holiday cheer to the party.

It is odd to not have the tinsel, carols and gilded trees around. How odd, days before Christmas, to not be making a list and checking it twice – the grocery list, that is! Strange to not be planning the holiday feasts and setting aside hours to prepare them in the kitchen. This is just a different context for Christmas for the Nikondeha family this year, and it takes some getting used to.

But there is something about being free from the holiday hassles and expectations, from the myriad of distractions that I have become accustomed to amid this yuletide season. Christmas without the usual trimmings allows me to contemplate the coming of Christ, to consider the magnificence and mystery of Incarnation, God with us.

Then it dawned on me…

Christmas in Burundi is just the same as Christmas celebrated in the United States. We all will stop, for a moment, and remember the star that marked the sky and marked the coming of Good News to our broken world. We will listen to the Christmas Story and ponder, again, if there is room in the inn – room enough for God’s Miraculous Gift in our own stable of a heart. Shepherds watching, angels announcing, wise men seeking and a virgin birthing will all remind us of the amazing arrival of Jesus into the world He once created, entering the cosmos He so loves and coming close to those who bear His very image.

God is with us – all of us. He is with us as we celebrate in Burundi, as you celebrate in the United States, as you celebrate in Cape Town, Nairobi, Kampala, British Columbia, London, Oaxaca or where ever you are on the globe this season. Christ approaches all afresh this Christmas, arriving as a vulnerable baby who, like every baby, alters our world every day thereafter.

We join you, wherever you are, in welcoming the Prince of Peace to this world again. We affirm with you that our world continues to need His Good News, and we will work alongside Him in the days to come to bring restoration to what is broken, hope to barren places and joy to the world He so loves!

Christmas Blessings from the Nikondeha Family,
Claude, Kelley, Emma & Justin

Missing the mountains

Since June I have not seen the large and looming mountains of Congo that sit on the other side of Lake Tanganyika.  They are majestic mountains, lush green and they set an amazing backdrop for the coastline.  There are so many mountains clustered together, it looks like layers upon layers of verdant monuments to stability and awe-inspiring beauty.   I miss seeing the mountains.

When I arrived in Burundi in early May I was greeted by the mountain-scape.  I could enjoy the view from my bedroom window each morning.   I love having them so close at hand - as if I can reach out and touch them after a morning stretch.  Somehow, seeing them off in the distance was comforting.  It was as if, in some mystical way, the mountains became like guardians.  But I have not seen the mountains since June, when the weather patterns changed.  Haze clouds my view - a combination of dirt and dust, pollution suspended mid-air, and other dynamics that remain a mystery to me.  I must say it again, I miss seeing the mountains.

This longing to see the mountains of Congo again has become a metaphor, of sorts.  I think of our work with the poor of Burundi, our friends.  I have seen, large as any mountain range, the goodness of the work.  I have seen with clarity the homes built since June, the land cleared and cultivated - now embracing potato, cabbage and carrot seeds, I have seen children transformed into students in gleaming new uniforms.  I have seen evidence that good things are at work - and at close range.  But there has been a haze settling in recently.  The last few weeks have brought in dust and debris that has obscured my view.  It is, I suppose, inevitable.  Weather patterns change.  External elements shift and I cannot control them, I must wait them out until the rains or winds come.  Until then, I have to remember that the mountains are there.  Despite what I see (or feel), the goodness is there hidden behind the haze of hurt feelings, distrust and sadness.  

I could get to the mountains if I wanted - I could hire a taxi and endure the jostling journey from Bujumbura to the Congolese border.  I could drive into the heart of those mountains, because they are there beyond view.  The mountains have not moved, they are steady and ever-present.  They are not ontologically changed because I cannot see them, they remain.  I know this to be true about mountains, about goodness and about God Himself.

Beyond the haze that can cloud our vision, God is present like the mountains of Congo.  He is steady, vibrant and with a loving largesse that grounds my world.  Haze will come, it is as sure as the shifting weather patterns and turning seasons.  But He is present.  He is at hand.  The clouds do not cause me to doubt Him, only to long to see Him more clearly in the coming days.  

I crave the sight of my beloved mountains.  I long to see those green guardians again, to stand in awe of their majestic magnitude.  I wait for the winds of change (and rains) to come and reveal them once again.  I miss seeing the mountains...

"I will look to the mountains..."

Summer Camp!

We are in the final moments of summer...  We have hosted many friends since June.  Some from Arizona, California & Texas, others from the Dominican Republic and Canada.  It has been a great ride sharing our life with each friend, learning new things together and conspiring some Kingdom goodness along the way.  Our summer has been full of blessing!

Our kids enjoyed a traditional summer activity - camp!  Justin and Emma piled into the van with their aunties and uncles (and one cousin) and journeyed to Mwaro.  This was their first visit up country, their first taste of rural life.  This is where Claude and his family grew up, this is where our extended family still resides to this day.  So the kids enjoyed a 'rural camp' experience while staying with all there other cousins and family members.  

The kids mingled easily with their cousins, and I think their uncle was proud to have them visit. They stayed in a little house with their aunties.  Justin was assigned a job... feeding the cows. He took his job very seriously, feeding the cows with diligence and tenderness.  He commented that is was dirtier up there, but otherwise he loved the visit and wants to go again!  Emma's favorite part was the family wedding... she was mesmerized by the women dancing the traditional dances.  She couldn't wait to show me her new dance moves, as she imitated the elegant ladies and their animated movements!  The kids loved the family, loved the country and loved their summer adventure!

Now that all the guests have gone and camp is a memory... we are looking toward school and a new season of work.  Even in Burundi, the seasons turn!

Rhythms

professional Burundian drum corps*

We live in a school neighborhood, and so the sounds of children are ever around us.  But in the past set of weeks, there is the sound of the drums every morning.  The summer session must be when all Burundian boys learn the rhythms of their culture that have vibrated throughout their land for generations.

We drove by the school the other morning, and saw what we'd been hearing so many mornings in a row.  There were Burundian drums, each large as an oak wine barrel, in a circle formation.  The teacher stood in the middle of the drums demonstrating the traditional rhythms.  The boys are positioned, one per drum, around the outside of the circle.  With the thick drumsticks in hand, they beat out the rhythms with as much velocity as a 7 or 8 year old can muster!  And this goes on for a few hours every school day during the summer.  

They are not merely learning an instrument (like I was consigned to learn the recorder in elementary school) or fulfilling a music requirement (like the lackluster music classes I had to endure in grade school), they are learning the heartbeat of their culture.  Burundian drum corps are know throughout Africa as being the most accomplished drummers.  This is part of their heritage they are ingesting with every beat.  It is beautiful to see them delight in their tradition, to learn their rhythms unmediated by western culture or other diluting forces.  When they are in the circle of drums, it is Burundian culture they are celebrating.  It is wonderful to witness these lessons in motion!

So this morning I am in my home office ready to work, and I am again serenaded by the young drummers.  The beat is steady, forceful and unrelenting.  There is no break for laughter or horse play, these boys are serious about perfecting their hallmark rhythm.  This sets them apart - not as a generic African, but as a masterful and renowned Burundian drummer.  And as I listen, I find myself swaying to the unique combination of beats.  I can't help it!  It is like my heart is learning a new rhythm, day after day, soaking in this primal Burundian sound.  The drums bring a smile to my face every day.  This is what it is to live in Burundi, to sway to the indigenous sounds and share in this national delight... to celebrate the culture.  

When I get frustrated (electricity demand exceeds the grids capacity resulting in regular black outs, water is delivered at odd times of the day, making the idea of a regular shower more a riddle than routine)... the drums revive me.  The drums, as meted out with determined focus and athletic energy (and stamina!) of primary school boys, showcases what is good about my life in Bujumbura.  Somehow the rhythm of their drums moves me to a better place each morning.  

I am a Burundian citizen, though I came to my citizenship later in life.  I guess even I need to be schooled in these rhythms, right?  I want to carry my passport with pride - and these drums teach me to walk with Burundian rhythms resounding and reverberating throughout my body.   

On other days I hear the children, boys and girls, singing in Kirundi with such sweetness that it melts my heart.  I enjoy those songs, too.  But the drums... they do get to me on a deeper level. I love my summer mornings, complete with the Summer Drumming Sessions.

*photograph by Jaimi Kercher Photography 2009

Unfolding

Our guests are gone.  The house is returning to normal.  I am now turning my attention to a new season, one with less action but still active.  There will be fewer events, but still a lot happening. It is returning to the routines of life, even when I cannot always discern the regularity, the rhythms and roles that make it routine.  Maybe my daily routine is like life on a boat - constantly responding to the incessant movement of the waters, developing 'sea legs' so that I can walk to and fro without being thrown (or getting sick).

A friend gave me a word when I first arrived in Burundi - unfolding.  I have held onto the word, letting my imagination play with the image.  Receiving this word at the onset of my Burundian chapter was a great gift.  The connotations have been perpetually gentle, like water lapping against the side of a boat as it rocks, ever so slightly.  I have tried to lean into the word, to fall into it without seizing or fearing.  

Unfolding is something that happens slowly, gradually and gently.  I think of a crumpled paper... the corners all pressed into the center and turning on themselves.  As the paper unfolds, it spreads out - not stretching, just spreading.  And the corners come out... out from the compact center, moving toward the periphery, where corners belong.  They are not meant to be central or compressed at the core... they are corners meant to be at the boundary.  So I am allowing my misplaced corners to find their natural place.  And what happens in the process of this unfolding - I begin to see what is really at the center of the paper, what it is that holds the center.

Unfolding also leads me to think of gentleness, effortlessness, an easiness with the process. There is no striving or contending when you unfold.  You cannot force or hurry your unfolding. You just submit to it - like a good massage.  You are passive, yet present.  You are aware but not in control.  

Unfolding is like unclenching your fist.  Open your hand, relax your fingers, expose your palm. Let the stress or anger go.  Allow the hot, knotted emotions to ease and cool.  Maybe they will even dissipate as you simple let them go.  

But the word that seems constantly coupled with unfolding is gentleness.  This is a kind process, an easy place where the yoke is light and easy.  Could Jesus' yoke really be this gentle? The Dali Lama also speaks of being gentle to ourselves, extending a kindness and grace to our self as we experience harsh emotions, display bad behavior or struggle.  Gentleness as we view ourselves, gentleness as we follow, gentleness as we unfold and discover what God is developing in us.

As I said, this word has been a good housewarming gift.  It has allowed me freedom to gently unfold and allow God to reveal His reasons for me to be here at this time and in this place.  I think that now as I return to my gently rocking routine, there will be more unfolding and more revealing.  I think that next there will be deepening as I learn how to engage in Burundi in ways that are in step with the way of Jesus and for the sake of His world.