this semester

Tomorrow I will be going to school to watch a movie in my last exam session. I recently found sidewalk chalk too, so I'm trying to think of a challenging quote to draw on the sidewalk on campus before I leave for the summer.

Debbie just returned from Uganda the other day, and we spent 6 hours just talking. We walked around the city, drank tea, and just sat and talked for 6 hours. Through talking, I realized why I have felt so out of place this semester.

Earlier, I called myself an idealist, and even though this is true, I must also call myself a realist. It is not a dualist, dichotomized, or polarized issue. I simply believe that the reality is that God has called us to advance His Kingdom on Earth as it is in Heaven. This is both ideal and possible. It has been promised to us (though bad theology has led to a popular skewed eschatological view that the earth is supposed to become a horrible place and then violent Jesus will boom in the clouds and wipe out the human race). I believe God has called us to the impossible. He'd be irrelevant if there was not that calling.

We live in an age where the Sermon on the Mount is considered to be this thing Jesus spoke only to prove that we can't can't achieve it. Not so. We can achieve it, but the more we refuse to try, the more we separate our belief from our practice/ethics. The more we lock ourselves out of the house of the Lord of Hosts.

Morgan Lee and I skyped today and talked about pragmatism vs. idealism. We talked in terms of economics. She is a very intelligent girl, and I can't wait to hear more about her experiences this semester in China, because she is tossing around ideas of whether we're called to be "practical" or called to do things impossible.

All of this is a rabbit-trail rambling to say that I have felt really separated from people at Messiah College, because I think idealism and realism can be wedded as one. Communism nor free enterprise can exist alone. Rather, individual gifts and talents (free enterprise) should be utilized for the good of the whole (commun(al)ism). Maybe I'm just on an eastern nondualism kick but I don't think we need to choose "one or the other" as much as we do.

Some people call me a flaming liberal and others call me a conservative. On a polarized campus, this leaves you with less friends than you've remembered. Radicalism has no room for a giant family, only others that have seen the Kingdom. And as I've often said, we are few (and must appeal to our brothers and sisters).

Seriously. I actually think that conservatism and liberalism can be united. Liberation is an idea that has been conserved through minority (and often afflicted) believers since the Early Church.

My circle of friends has shifted, partly due to physical space/geography and partly due to convictions. Life gets tougher when you keep seeking Jesus. When you keep seeking your individual gifts and, to use Morgan's word, when your "motive" is selfless (despite your realization that you can exploit your own gifts to benefit just yourself).

So this is what it is, huh God? You start revealing yourself to me, and I become isolated? I know, I asked for it. About 6 months ago. I said I was ready. Ha....

This semester I've completely missed communication with people I would've previously hung out with nonstop. It's just hard to reconnect. The people that "get it" seem to be the ones that are most blown off as either sinners or pricks or something. Consequently, I've often been left stranded in this apartment writing papers until the wee hours of the morning, completely lonely. Wanting some kind of community besides half-naked girls on my computer screen. Wanting something real and actually fulfilling. In this place, it is just hard to find. Community is "intentional" when it does exist, and institutional when it pretends to exist.

It's kind of a shame that my circle of friends is leaning more toward Messiah staff than Messiah students. I have some great mentors, but where are my peers? Is this bikini girl doing better than they are? I'm feeling more community in the company of books about historical anarchists and impoverished peacebuilders than I am in these halls, these streets. And they all have said it's a lonely road, one of torture, but of no regrets (because Truth is more compelling than entertainment).

I speak with strong language on purpose. I really don't mean to criticize everyone. I have fellow subversives. Students my age dissatisfied with appealing through the state and fed up with the apathy surrounding them. We all have yet to be the Kingdom; we have only seen it and watered its seeds.

This post is meant to be a mourning. A cry of despair that I am too tired from being passed off as a freak. I'm going to get attacked for being self-righteous here (nothing new). Or having some egotistical revelation or something. It's cool, have at me. As long as you too speak your mind. As long as you too aren't trying to achieve groupthink. And when you do speak out and people say you're ridiculous, remember the Hebrew prophets. You have become one with them.

Hopefully there will be some goodies in the campus dumpsters tomorrow as people move out of dorms!

upon turning 18, american males must register for selective service

front side of index card-

I will no longer be a part of the selective service system. Not only do I believe all violence to be inherently wrong, but I especially believe that any self-proclaimed "Christian nation" cannot be at war. Violence is a perversion of Christ's teachings to love enemies. If you are a professing follower of Jesus, I urge you to resign your position which has perpetuated injustice across the globe, particularly in the Middle East, as well as in our own nation. Let peace reign.


back side-

From:
PHIL WILMOT
(Hanover/Harrisburg, PA)
signature
contact: pw1170@messiah.edu









Feel free to copy/paste to a letter and mail to the US Selective Service at:

Selective Service System
Data Management Center
P.O. Box 94638
Palatine, IL 60094-4638

upward mobility through the generations

I am convinced that if the world loved God more, there would be more farmers.

People all over the world started out as agriculturalists at the primal level. Even in the Americas, natives had crops and harvested and directly interacted with their food sources. Before they ate the food, they tilled the ground, planted, and harvested. There was so much labor behind a single grain of corn, a single berry.

Today I go to the grocery store and I pick out what I like. I unwrap it from the wrapper and eat it. There is no preparation. I am commended for my ability to purchase this food, because I "worked long hours to be able to obtain the food."

In reality, I work from my computer. Most of my work is responding to emails from my apartment. It can be a headache, but really, it's pretty low-stress and labor-limited.

When Europeans arrived in Jamestown, they spent too much time playing bowling in the streets and suffered from lack of food. They could've just farmed. Instead they wasted time going out on adventures and all that.

This attitude of "less work, more pay" has been passed down through the generations. Unions originally formed to do righteous, awesome things. Now they sometimes exploit their power. Minimum wage keeps increasing.

Yet, few of us do sustainable jobs. The amount of farmers in our country has gone from 99% to about 2%. These farmers are even subsidized by the government, which really harms foreign competitors and systematically keeps people around the globe, the real hard workers, in poverty.

Well this summer, I really want to dig. Actually, I don't really want to, because I'm told that it is a demeaning job. It's been indirectly pounded into me. My culture says that a reputable person is not a farmer. It's for hillbillies. Yet it is probably one of the most revolutionary and helpful acts a human being can do. We complain about immigrants coming in to do migrant agriculture in America, yet we sit behind desks and get paid for browsing the web. Getting paid for that sounds more irrational than giving physical labor to people that will actually do it.

I want not just to taste my food, but to know it. I want to truly believe that work is freedom, as radicals of the past have claimed. But I cannot believe this until I become it. Just because I'm living in a society that has become so upwardly mobile through the generations does not mean that I should conform to the pattern of that society. Perhaps less pay and more work is the path to freedom.

why i am an idealist

"Be realistic, Phil"

The moment we are realistic is the moment that we announce God is nothing.

The moment we fail to admit we are called to the impossible is the moment we refuse to live for the Kingdom of God.

I am an idealist because I am unwilling to settle for less.

Because "on earth as it is in heaven" implies risk, suffering, and persecution for the Kingdom to come.

By not being idealist, we, in fact, renounce our faith entirely.

Do you believe?

Do you believe God can do great things (or small things with great love) through you? He did so with a poor refugee outcast who was trampled by the pious and seemingly good citizens of the world. Then he said we would do even greater things than Him.

The age of apathy. My generation is the most apathetic. Yet bright hope shines from the extremely small minority who actually believe. We are few. Most Christians do not qualify.

i thought i made a post recently....

....but apparently it never went through. It was about how Protestants replace Jesus with the Bible, and while doing so, accuse their Catholic counterparts of worshiping Mary and the Saints, when in fact those who do worship Mary/saints are not staying true to the Catholic faith. I'm upset with my Protestant upbringing because it taught me that the Bible was holy (only God can be holy). And I didn't hear much about Jesus: more from St. Paul than anything (yet we continue to accuse those Catholics of being the ones worshiping the saints). My long, drawn-out complaint about the ambiguity and inconsistency of the Protestant schism has been, thankfully for you, reduced to this mere paragraph.

So I'll leave it at that and continue on just to apologize for not posting in a long time. Suzan's passport still has not been processed (and hence, neither has she completed the visa process). So I'm going to go to Uganda for the summer instead of her coming here. It's going to be great - sleeping and waking with the sun, visiting neighbors and strangers and old friends. All of those fantastic things. It will help my body and emotions cover from a semester of straining unrest. Oh, not to mention, I'm going to see Suzan. That's not just the icing on the cake. It is the cake. I will stay with her family and finally get to see her village of Oyam.

i looked back in time

Yesterday was so beautiful outside, and I wanted to take my camera on a walk with my friend Bianca to celebrate the temperature.

I wanted to explore the seemingly abandoned train station areas. First we had to pass through a fence that had been taken down at one spot to allow us to trespass into the fake suburban community downtown.

After we walked through the storybook neighborhood, we were back into the real world and crossed a few roads to get to an area of one color: grey. The endless stones on the ground were grey. The old trains and industrial machines were grey. Even the banner of capitalism (American flag) seemed grey to me. The black bird bathing in the toxic rain puddle, however, seemed to Bianca to appear as bright as day itself.

We walked onward, snapping shots of the ancient concrete jungle. Eventually we got to a place under the highway overpass. Without noticing, I almost stepped on a sleeping man who had garbage scattered all around him. Also scattered were bright jelly beans which sprinkled color all over the stone ground.

I needed to pee, and I saw a path, so I told Bianca to wait while I did my business. I went ahead up the path and peed in the bushes. When I finished, I looked up and saw (while not wearing my glasses) old tattered clothes and other colors amidst the trees ahead. I scurried back to Bianca and told her to follow me. I wanted to see what was ahead. As we walked closer it became apparent that these colors were tents that had been erected beneath the brush of the highway. A dog began to bark, which I perceived to be a threat (though later Bianca would tell me the dog was actually excitedly wagging its tail). Someone who I thought was a long-haired man (Bianca told me later it was a female) stepped outside the bushes and stared at us from afar. I stared back, in shock, not knowing how to act.

I was staring back into another world of long ago. I had been here, or dreamt this before. It seemed like minutes before I finally waved. The figure waved back. I paused and awkwardly shouted, "Hello," but the absent response left me pacing back and forth, deciding whether it would be more offensive to welcome myself to the tents or to turn around and leave: a lose-lose situation.

Bianca also looked uncomfortable and we turned around to leave, though something in my conscience didn't like that. Later Bianca said, "That's where Jesus would've gone, you know. The margins of society."

Bianca also remember the childhood dream of living adventurously in a tent, or perhaps a treehouse. I recalled my own similar, early fantasies. I do not know why we turned around, nor do I know why my inner being wants me to return and dwell with those people.

There was recently a shooting in another part of town: Allison Hill - the "pocket of poverty" as local clergy describe it. Katie and I walked to St. Francis of Assisi Cathedral at noon today for their Good Friday prayer walk, where we were to pass by the murder site (though I don't remember that part). We walked around south Allison Hill, stopping at various points to pray, do liturgy, kneel before the cross we carried, etc. As we walked onward, we sang, alternating between English and Spanish, as locals gathered on porches to perplex at our passing.

I had never done a non-Protestant Holy Week, but Katie helped me realize why I enjoyed the Catholic way. Catholics emphasize Christ's suffering so heavily. It's true, there is a much longer story of suffering than there is victory, in terms of scripture. Yes, suffering is temporary and joy eternal, but the word passion comes from the Passion of Christ - his suffering, his murdering, his slaughter. These Franciscans do something great by not cheapening Christ's affliction - they make His resurrection actually worth something.

Walking around the city, hearing about pain the whole time (until the final station) was difficult, but the truth is, it was still a nice day outside. My only question is: how long must the tent city suffer before it reaches its rightful atonement? Will the Church see its call, or will we merely wait for the apocalypse?

palm sunday

"April 2, 1944, was Palm Sunday. It was a hazy, still day in San Salvador, which had been abandoned by many families seeking fresh breezes on the coast or at summer places outside the capital....Military planes were flying low, barely above their houses."

The struggle of the rural poor Salvadorans, and others of the non-elite class, to overthrow General Martinez, the oppressive president of the country, was advancing violently. Radio stations and telegraph offices had been seized. Rebels were already drinking to a victory they had not yet won.

But the powerful and oppressive government used their shear strength to prevail. The violent uprising was only a tiny obstacle for the regime. Martinez was capable of defeating anyone militarily.

So Salvadoran university students had to come up with a better plan of action, a force more powerful than violent rebellion. They stopped going to class and ceased reporting to work. They convinced shop owners to close down and gathered funds to support those on strike. There were no guns, and this movement is the one which removed Martinez from power.

Just as Jesus rode in on a humble donkey, prepared to suffer, the oppressed of El Salvador also refused to take up arms, repeating the legacy of the King who ruled by his affliction. By using weapons not of this world, they conquered evil. Fully equipped with palm branches and the most humble of war horses.

a reiki healing

On the way back to town from class today, I summarized the Israeli Occupation for my friend Kristen. My theory: if we all stop paying taxes, the oppression will end and the government won't have the money to put us into jail, so we will go unpunished.

On the way back to campus (I decided I wanted to go back to sit-in on Kristen's Spritual Healing Powers class), I met an individual on the shuttle run between Harrisburg and campus who works with an NGO as one who helps engaged/married people bring their spouses to the US. She was telling me that in order for me to bring my spouse to the US without a sponsor, I must have to have made over $18000 annually for three years. Kind of impossible as a student. It's a shame that a human in today's world must support an unjust government to have a clean tax record to be with the one he loves. I think romantic love must be the number one hindrance to carrying out one's convictions, yet the number one support factor at the same time.

I became very stressed over the situation, rambling to Kristen how unjust my scenario was. I could not consciously pay my taxes with blood on my hands, but I could also not bare to be apart from Suzan.

So we made it to class, and there was a Reiki healing specialist named Whitebear who was there to teach (and heal) us. He was a Christian, mind you.

So an added bonus was that Whitebear could see auras, a colored ring of light which emulates from us. He noted that I was a contemplative purple, which I had heard from others who could see auras also. Of course, with the charisma scare in our culture, you are always skeptical to begin with, and I still have my doubts. Nevertheless, I do believe Whitebear has the spiritual gift of healing (also, he's a pro masseuse).

Whitebear first took time to explain Reiki, an alternative form of medicine, to us. Then he started working with us all individually. He came to me last, for whatever reason, having already acknowledged me as purple at the beginning of the class. Upon coming to me he said, "Ah, skeptic number 2" (a previous kid had also been skeptical of him). Strangely, I was the only one that he said seemed to have no physical disturbance or pain on my body. This was true, as I was feeling good and rested today.

Finally, he asked if I had a decision to make. I was hoping he would come to this conclusion. He sat next to me and wanted to assist me in making this solution. I started secretly doing a meditation I had learned before, breathing in "Yah" and exhaling "Weh." Though he didn't know I was doing this, he immediately noted, "You're turning back and forth between blue and green now." Blue indicates an opening in spirituality, and green indicates the awakening of spirituality, at the body's most vulnerable center of compassion and love.

He touched my back, and I began to feel a warmth on my back. I noticed my something restless in my throat (the center of communication/expression and the opening to spirituality). I kept doing my meditation as he proceeded. He asked if I felt something in my legs. I did, and the twitch I felt moved down to my ankles. I was thinking about the decision: a decision to take a stand against government or the decision to sacrifice justice for the sake of being with my love (he had also mentioned love had something to do with this earlier). I told him I was not ready to make the decision (I wanted him to hold on longer so I could meditate more on it), and he said, "Let's see what happens when I take the indecision away."

Immediately, the leg/ankle twitching left me. The warmth on my back was gone. I was released from the healing process without reaching a verdict. During the whole thing, I was trying to come to a realization that the Kingdom of God is within me and that I can BOTH fight injustice and be with my love, despite the laws and systems in place. I wanted to realize I had the power. I think he didn't want to hold on to me for that long because he never wanted me to actually reach this decisive climax.

He said I was allowed to tear up. I felt myself beginning to do that, though there was seemingly no reason for it.

Anyway, although I reached no conclusions, I feel as if I am in the process of not only believing, but embodying the fact that the Kingdom of God is within me. The fact that this Kingdom is more powerful than any system, anything I can see, touch, or otherwise sense in this world (if you've ever seen The Matrix). With the Kingdom alive in me, I can use the Holy Spirit to see this world though a completely different light. I have the legitimate power to overcome facts, science, and logic and even do miracles. If we weren't called to do the impossible, God would be nothing but irrelevant. I can resist taxes and be with Suzan, simultaneously if I truly believe this Kingdom to be real. The question is whether I will remain a skeptic or embrace the madness of Jesus.

peace fellowship

I'm really pumped. Some students in my History of Peace class and some that came to the Intercollegiate Peace Fellowship Conference and I got together with a professor today to begin drafting our ideas for a Peace Fellowship at Messiah College. We are still debating whether we want to go through campus organizations to get funding and be established or if we want to remain underground to retain freedom of radicalism. So far we have a diverse crew: different majors, different obsessions, different ages, different genders. A common bond of a passion for restoring Shalom in our world.

Beginnings are always exciting.

there are always gems.

So today I got free Rita's italian ice five times because it's the first day of spring.

Actually, that's not the point of this post. I just wanted to note that last night I went to a house show. There were some really creative touring bands who used unique instruments (and things that weren't standard musical instruments). There were kind people and it was a good show.

Today Bianca came back and took me to the Midtown Scholar, which is a cool used-book store which I didn't know existed. Upon entry, I was observing the food drive at the front of the store where I was welcomed by my friend Liz who apparently works there. I love browsing books, and I came across a section where I found Leo Tolstoy (my new favorite), Henry David Thoreau (my old favorite), and a book by my own academic advisor at Messiah College. It was awesome to see all of these authors in the same section. It made me realize what a cool town I live in.

There are always gems. In (almost) every place in this world. You just gotta dig to find them sometimes. Often you have to become one of the local people to realize that they exist.

Also my friend Kristen who lives here is doing her senior paper on silence and words and I think it's just as exciting for me as it is for her. I got to pass on my Bhagavad Gita to someone actually interested in it for once. Although, I have to say that I am disappointed that I could not find a copy of the Upanishads at the Midtown Scholar. Either way, I still hold that the place is a gem, though maybe not yet pure gold.

the grassroots

Okay so here's my theory on the Church and politics:

If you want something to change, do it yourself, as a religious movement.

The second week of the semester I presented a paper to a class of politics majors. In the paper, we were supposed to decide whether the US should give legal status to illegal immigrants. Assuming the US to be the Christian nation it so claims to be, I argued that if we are loving our neighbors as ourselves, the debate over the policy would be irrelevant, as hospitality is one of the highest virtues of the Church.

I was criticized by my professor that boundaries had a moral value (even though, in their essence, they separate). I was criticized by my peers for just throwing politics out of the window.

Yes, I am largely throwing politics out the window, and as I stated in my presentation, the reason for doing that is because God does not operate through the schemes of acquiring power in this world.

When Nathaniel inquired about Jesus, he said, "Nazarith?! What good thing could come from that place," perhaps a valid critique for a man born to a refugee family. He was the scum of society.

The first ones to be dubbed "Christians" were said to be from Antioch. Antioch wasn't a huge checkpoint on the early apostles' map. It was a marginal town that they might just so happen to walk through. The movement didn't begin in giant, urban empires, nor is that where it thrives today.

Ethiopia has, throughout history, maintained one of the earliest and holiest forms of Christianity as we know it. These ascetic monastics are poor; they are the bottom class. However, they have managed to maintain doctrines stated from the mouth of Christ Himself: love thy enemy. Do not worry. Blessed are the poor. Africa's more recent missionary movements haven't proved to be as pure, full of slavery, exploitation, murder, and ethnocentrism. Yet among all of the westernization, Ethiopia still has their thing going strong. Few in number perhaps, but maybe a lot of people can't fit on the Narrow Path.

The Old Testament even casts light upon the spiritual power of the scum of the earth to come. Gideon, the lowest of his family, was raised up as a mighty warrior despite a lack of confidence. He was the one God chose, not exactly a Goliath of his day.

Point being, if our allegiance is to the Kingdom, rather than a physically expanding empire, we must chose to use weapons not of this world (Paul's language, not mine), to make change.

A good friend suggested to me that systematic problems require systematic solutions. She went to a meeting in which a group of passionate individuals collaborated to write petitions, hopefully changing government policy.

My take is both the same and different. Yes, we need to use systematic solutions and address the downward spirals of our world, but we do not need an artificial mediator to do this. With personal priesthood (the ability to be in union with God without a human facilitating), we believe we have everything we need. We do not need a government because we are governed by God Himself. We do not need the authoritative approval of another fallen individual. And we certainly cannot blindly assume that government positions are occupied by those purer than ourselves, especially with the increasing gap between rich and poor and the dozens of wars we declare, physically and economically, on outside countries.

Jesus told us to pray for the Kingdom to come on earth as it is in heaven. Can we then accept the total authority of our government?

"State was made for man, not man for the state." When policemen come arresting us for prophesying in the streets or refusing to pay taxes to an evil empire, claiming we did not adequately petition our authorities, we must respond with this statement. Why were the authorities not noticing our plight? Their job is to serve us, to come to us, not vice versa.

I am encouraging you to stand up, to directly implement the action which you believe will achieve the solution. Sometimes (most times?) this is not pretty. When the government of Harrisburg reduces aid to organizations serving the homeless, those organizations cannot come crying to the government - they must prophecy to the Church. It is not the governments business to care for those it considered the scum of the earth. It is the Church's business, rather, to serve those it believes to be the salt of the earth. Instead of crying for the financial resources, let us provide such things from our own pockets, our own pantries, our own homes, our own hearts.

If the government is not using our tax dollars for the community-benefiting things we are asking for, waste no time drafting petitions and documents. Simply do not pay the money. Instead, give the same sum to a local organization working to address the issue under which you suffer. The worst that can happen is imprisonment, and if we all stop paying taxes for unjust causes, prisons will all become closed down anyway!

I'm not out to condemn petition writers or those working toward political justice. I am not siding with one team or another. I am presenting a non-dualistic notion that suggests the overly quoted Ghandi saying, "We must be the change we wish to see in the world."

There is grace, as much as I am the oppressor, I am also the oppressed. When I look into the eyes of a corrupt politician, I see no one but myself. We are one, and our interconnectedness allows us no escape from each other. Therefore, if one suffers, so should the whole. In order to eliminate the unneeded government (to bring the Kingdom to earth as it is in heaven), we must, at the very least, begin to believe in the Church. I find (and I mean this in the humblest manner possible) that what separates me from many of my peers is the fact that I actually believe the Church is helpful to this world and can offer a huge change. I'm moving past cynicism. I'm not complaining about my local officials because I have no time to do that anyway. It will just blacken my soul. I'm simply trying to empower my fellow believers that confess Jesus not only as God but as Lord to realize the Kingdom that lives within them. This Kingdom, should we dare believe, holds a higher might and strength and grace than all the artificial systems of the world. This is why I have been politically converted, as some may call it, to anarchism. We can not use the means of the world to achieve an end not of this world.

Beloved, realize the power of love in you, the power that conquers and makes change through miracles rather than playing on the turf of the world's game of guns and slandering campaigns and abuse. Realization will not come without pain and sacrifice.

The truth is that I have not yet realized. I do not believe what I am saying: only in theory do I believe it. But I know it's true, and that before my death, I hope to reach it. But that does not mean I can act outside of the Kingdom. Just because I have not yet been crowned prince does not mean that I can act like an oblivious peasant.

I am convinced that creativity is part of reaching this divinity within ourselves. To illustrate this point, take the current debate in world issues over the proposed legislation in Uganda to outlaw homosexuality (among other things like bisexuality, transsexualism, etc) and give its practitioners the death penalty. Before we go thinking about whether or not a Christian nation should pass such a law, let us think outside the box: how could we love those persecuted under such a law? We could hide homosexuals in our homes and provide hospitality; we could help them escape. In the end, we cannot let the government control our actions. Professing followers of Jesus can only allow God to control their actions. Through doing so, we can convert government officials to realize their inner Kingdom, but if that doesn't happen, we should endure sufferings alongside of our needy family of homosexuals and liars and sinners all the same.

When the Holy Spirit, or as New Testament language calls it, the "helper," becomes a part of us, nothing can stop us unless we conform to the patterns of the world. If we refuse to play the same ballgame as those who use a power other than Kingdom power, we will inevitably overcome. It is only a matter of endurance and patience. Again, I am not suggesting a dualism between anarchy and democracy, but I am suggesting a dualism between Church and state. Pure and faultless religion is keeping oneself from being polluted by the world. All things which are not inherently God cannot be relied upon, but His promise that the meek shall inherit the earth will last until the end of ages.

life on spring break.

Wake up in the early afternoon.
Play Kingdom Hearts for several hours.
Make food or bike to the market.
Play more Kingdom Hearts.
Try to read, but then realize an internal yearning for human interaction.
Go out for a walk to find someone to talk to, or maybe some food handouts.
Come back and mourn over broken computer.
Play Kingdom Hearts.
Realize how little has been accomplished.
Sleep.
Repeat.



A much-needed lifestyle. But it will thankfully last no longer than this week.

end the occupation.

Last night Tom came over and we drove to the Dauphin County Prison. I wanted to see for myself if snow really blew into jail cells and if the conditions were indeed the worst of all prisons in PA. Of course, we had to go through metal detectors and nobody gave us any information about anything. We were waved out pretty quickly since we did not have a meeting personally set up with an inmate.

This morning I woke up and went downstairs to borrow a bike, because I told Tom I'd meet him at Harrisburg Brethren in Christ in the morning for service. As I was grabbing a bike, I found Bianca also going for a ride, so we went to the church together. It was a decent service, nothing highly notable in my opinion. We then visited my old friend Bekah who lives at the Sycamore House in Allison Hill, a communal living house attached to and affiliated with the Episcopalian church. Bianca and I then went to City Island, which apparently has prettier biking paths than I thought. The weather has been improving, but I'm skeptical. It's Pennsylvania.

So after returning to SALT, I decided to watch Occupation 101, a documentary made in recent years about the Israeli Occupation. Here is what I learned and what I'd like to share with you:

The US media makes it seem as if the Jews are surrounded by angry and threatening Arabs, when in fact the Arabs and Palestinians are being heavily oppressed.

If the US would cease its aid to Israel, the occupation would not last.

Israel gets more foreign aid than all foreign nations combined ($108 from US up to 2006).

Fundamentalist Christians believe Zionists Jews are involved in a holy pursuit of the land. They perpetuate conservative Christian support, in complete disregard to the inhumane crimes being committed by Israelis to Palestinians.

Under Obama's new proposals, my hometown York County will contribute $42,862,485.50 to the occupation between 2009 and 2018. The money Harrisburg will contribute could provide 4,600 people per year with primary health care. Billions of dollars will be given to injustice, an economic force which in theory could obliterate world hunger.

By International Standards, the occupation is completely and utterly illegal, but the US has used their veto power in the UN over 40 times to pardon human rights crimes.



But the US has deemed our interests holy and helpful. So we must obey. We are US citizens so we are to blindly obey authorities. We are a Christian nation which means we can allow mass slaughter and allow others to endure lifetimes of oppression, not knowing what life without fear and poverty is like.

We don't understand what Just War is, but why bother learning when we have a nation that can declare war for us. We're being protected right? So we'd rather not know what is really going on in this world. We holy people can get our hands involved with that mess.

There is hope. We must stop paying taxes. We must instead give that money to nonviolent peacemaking in the Middle East. This is my incompetent plea.

Sleeping and Washing as Spiritual Disciplines

So I'm back into my American college-student routine: Go to class, go to work, go to meetings, go to my room and do work, go to sleep at 1 AM. Get up early and repeat.

From my childhood, I remember Sunday school teachers telling me that in such a busy world, we have to make time for God. "Just give him an hour," they said. "If you spend one hour watching TV, you should be able to read the Bible for one hour too."

I'll save my thoughts on guilt-driven Bible-reading for another day. The point is that we are told to "make time" for God. First of all, humans can't make time. We can make calendars and watches and clocks and sundials and be slaves to them, but who holds the sun in the sky? Who suspends the twisting globe? God made time. I think.

The notion of "making time for God" is hidden behind the underlying assumption that there is a clear line to be drawn between solidarity with God and necessary daily tasks.

Here at the SALT House, we have free laundry facilities. It's awesome, yes, but it is also damaging. A few months ago I was washing my clothes by hand. It's a lot of work, for sure, but I developed a relationship with my clothes. I knew each shirt and trouser inside and out, and I appreciated being able to use them more and more each day. As I watched each outfit go from dirty to clean, I had the opportunity to take in everything around me and truly enjoy the benefits of God's provision of soap and sunshine.

Sometimes I am not able to successfully get the recommended eight hours of sleep. I'm sure some of you are in the same boat. For those of us who take 18 credits in a semester, we know going to bed before midnight is not an option.

So in the morning I wake up and I'm exhausted. Someone then tells me I have this obligation to spend time praying with God, and that I'm probably not a quality dude if I can't manage to do that. Then I get grumpy and folks therefore say, "You gotta go relax and read your Bible or pray," when in reality that will just grind my gears more, because I know I have stuff to do which other people require of me.

And that is why if I am ever a professor I will not have my students read or write often, unless they want to. I'm not complaining about schoolwork. I'm complaining about people expecting too much out of human beings, then expecting them to be able to sacrifice sleep and washing of clothes by "spending time with God" to regain their energy.

I just recommend that we eat together, wash clothes together, sleep in, and enjoy God's presence and provision through all of these things.

Just some incoherent thoughts to keep you reading until I have something more interesting to write about.

Africa Follows Me Around....Or Do I Follow Africa?

In my first class this morning, Director of Uganda Studies Program (where I was last semester), Mark Bartels, came into my classroom. He made a short presentation on the study abroad program.

After class, I went to work. Ten minutes into work, Mark Bartels shows up, receiving a tour from Chad Frey, the director of the Agape Center.

After work I went to Boyer where Mark was conducting an info session for potential USP students.

I decided to get away from Mark for awhile, so I went to the Union to do some reading. I set down on a couch next to a group of students that did a different study abroad program in Uganda, as they were talking about their experiences. Then they invited me to an Invisible Children event going on. I refused, needing to get away from Uganda.

I moved to another couch and read about one page before Mark walked into the Union and invited me to eat with him. I accepted. Then USP alums in the central PA area met for two hours to have a reunion.

On the shuttle ride back home, Kristina and I talked about our study abroad in Uganda.

Uganda is a beautiful place with beautiful people and all, but I'm ready to start my schoolwork instead (it being 10:30 at night now).

Oh, and apparently a local church dropped the ball on scheduling volunteers for the Safe Harbor Shelter for the homeless this month, so now Messiah students have the opportunity to step it up this month and bless our local poor by spending our time at the new shelter facility.

first full weekend in harrisburg.

I went to see a film called the Last Station, which is about one of my new favorite authors and thinkers, Leo Tolstoy. Leo Tolstoy wrote about love, passive resistance, etc in Russia in the early 1900's, an historical era for his country. The film is about, among other things, how his relationship with his wife got in the way of his wanting to give away his riches and literature copyrights to the common people of Russia. The film is great, though I do not think it gives the viewer a good idea of Tolstoy's ideals.

I also went to my first Quaker meeting on Sunday morning with the two girls from the SALT House who frequently attend. I enjoyed the meeting. when I introduced myself as a visitor, I explained that I was from Messiah College and lived with Ali and Katie. My introduction was replied with a unanimous, "Welcome." Only later did I realize that my introduction may have sounded scandalous - me "living" with two girls and all. "That's okay," Katie said. "They are very open people."

The people at the meeting seemed very interested in justice and their community, which you don't find every day in Christian circles. I explained to Ali and Katie that I wouldn't mind attending again but I feel as if being a part of a 95% white congregation is against my conscience. That got us on a good discussion for the rest of the walk back home.

Also, I made mashed potatoes from scratch for the first time for our potluck. everyone seemed to enjoy them, and I enjoyed everyone else's dish too. It is a spiritual discipline to eat with others.

A new week begins.

"what a world we live in where people use God's name to expand their empires"

Lately I've been listening exclusively to Take It Back. They are a hardcore band. LIke older hardcore with the punk edge, but sometimes melodious. Anyway, there's tons of passion in their music, but even more in their lyrics.

It's really refreshing to hear the Sermon on the Mount embodied in the hardcore genre. In a world of hate, someone is stepping up to overcome the world with love. The new album is called Atrocities and that is exactly what it is about: homelessness, shunning pregnant single women, war in the name of God, complacency, looking from suburban windows and seeing men with cardboard beneath their feet, hypocrisy.

Tonight they were scheduled to play at our local hardcore venue called The Championship. This venue is located just across the Susquehanna River from my new home, just over a mile walk (most of which is river). I bundled up and walked to the show.

Upon arriving at the show, I discovered that the venue had been bought out by CI Records, a local label which signed bands like Texas in July and August Burns Red. The Champ began as a local venue to host hardworking bands, mostly profiting the bands for the sake of keeping the music scene alive. They were fortunate enough to move into better facilities to put on better shows. Eventually, like many endeavors, it became all business to some of the people involved. Don't get me wrong, there were some great guys at the place who were a lot of fun and welcoming to everyone. But there was at least one person who stuck out like a sore thumb looking for his green.

From what I understand through word of mouth, Mr. Sore Thumb sold the venue to CI Records and pocketed everyone else's share. Years of hard work and nothing tangible to show for it.

Anyway, so we're all upset about that, but we continue enjoying the show. During Take It Back's set a hardcore moshing kid yelled out between songs saying that the place was dead, criticizing other audience members for not taking part of the moshing. The singer was calm and asked him what the problem was, saying they could be angry at different things and still do their own things in peace. Hate combated with love. Such an old school concept that must be better embodied in the hardcore scene. It takes a lot of appreciation and personal connection for me to actually buy a band's CD, but I bought one.

Jeremy and Brandon drove some some of my old music equipment and me back to the SALT House. I showed them around. What's cool about the hardcore scene is that among all of the hate, there is a lot of love. My oldest friends are friends from other bands and kids I've met at hardcore shows. Yet for some reason parents don't like their kids attending such events. Maybe it's thanks to those push-moshing kids that come to shows to get out their frustration.

The thing about crossing the river for a show is this: West Coast and East Coast dislike each other. A city of an increasing homeless population wanders the streets on one side and middle-class "Sundown Town" residents park their cars in driveways on the other. It really brings out a Take It Back lyric that I will leave you with:

"From the window of my middle class home
I watch a man as he sits alone
On the dirty streets
The cardboard under his feet
Screams about all his cold nights spent alone
People pass but no one seems to notice
His empty hands hollow eyes broken soul
And his need need need for just one person to care

So which of these words will brings him comfort
Cause it's sympathy not empathy I feel
But is it real
As I sit and watch from my suburban castle"

Just Curious

This semester I work for Local Community Outreach at our campus' Agape Center for Service and Learning. I am the only male Outreach Coordinator. Both of my supervisors are females.

I live at the Serving and Living Together building in downtown Harrisburg with 20 girls and 3 guys (including me).

There are more girls that study Christian Ministry at Messiah than dudes, and by far more females studying Social Work.

Are guys becoming self-centered, heartless jerks? The philanthropic feminist movement must have only started because it had to start.

cultural diversity or ethnocide?

Today a group of us who live at the Harrisburg Institute/SALT House got together for a class we are all in. It was very productive.

Halfway through our group meeting, there were a few negative vibes, so when I had a turn to speak, I did what I typically do when I am uncomfortable: I tried to reroute the conversation with small-talk.

Based on my positive experiences of learning first-hand the cultural backgrounds of international Messiah students, I decided I would ask one of the girls in the group, a Kenyan, if she was a Luo (because that is the only tribe in Kenya that I could name offhand). The response I got was rather aggressive and really caught me off-guard, as if she were upset that I wanted to know about her background and traditions.

What I failed to understand, as she continued to explain, was the recent violent history of tribal clash. It's not that I didn't know tribalism didn't exist in Kenya, but I sure didn't know that asking about tribal background was an offensive gesture.

After a brief period where we were all kind of frustrated with the vibe of the room (opposite effect of what I was intending), I told my friend that I found her response different than my previous experiences, that inquiring in such a manner wouldn't typically be a personally offensive motion. In my mind, the clubs at Uganda Christian University and the traditional dance/culture festival which was held on campus were indicators that tribe was to be celebrated (not flaunted, but celebrated). I guess I was insensitively grouping all East Africans into one group.

Of course all of these events and insights took place in a group meeting for an Intercultural Communication class.

At the Peace Conference last weekend, I had made a suggestion that we move away from racial diversity and embrace celebration of common humanity. Based on my experience tonight, I guess we (humans) have to celebrate both our diverse gifts as well as our mutual shortcomings. I'm glad to hear, in some senses, that Kenyans are trying to move away from acknowledging their ethnicity. On the other hand, we see the tragic impact of erasing history and truth in the African-American narrative today.

I think you get the point, so I'm going to stop talking before I turn more Buddhist than I currently am and start talking about the Middle Way.

the day i sinned by going to church

I was excited all week to go back to Providence for the first time in awhile. Danen Kane, an acoustic artist with a beautiful falsetto voice was to lead worship at the service.

I had been up late talking to Suzan the previous night, however, and when I woke I was exhausted. I knew I had to get up and force myself to go to church though. This was such a labor, and I was kind of grumpy due to my lack of sleep, refusing to treat the "temple of God" in its natural course.

The rest of the day was paining. Talking to friends was a labor. Social life became a nuisance to be conquered as quickly as possible so I could get to bed and catch up on schoolwork. This very blog is being typed as quickly as possible in hopes that I will soon reach my bunk for a few hours sleep. Chronos vs. Kairos has been a war fought like a devil and angel on either of my shoulders as I mourn for the lack of time orientation which I had loved in Uganda.

If I had just stayed in bed and skipped the service, I could've gotten enough rest and rejuvenation to enjoy the presence of friends, strangers, and coursework.

This week is going to be stressful. Very stressful.

"Now Lay Aside All Earthly Cares"

Katy got the Psalters' chant stuck in my head, but it's not a bad thing as it encourages spiritual asceticism. At least it's not top 40 or dirty twangy country.

Thursday: 3-hour drive to Harrisonburg, VA. Six other Messiah students hopped in the family van to go to an Intercollegiate Peace Fellowship conference at Eastern Mennonite University. We were the only non-Mennonite school represented. We were provided with housing in an on-campus co-ed satellite house/"intentional community" called the Martin House.

Friday was intense intellectually. The first session helped us students both broaden and narrow the vision of peace. We broadened it by acknowledging Shalom as four-fold: peace and wholeness between man and God, man and man, man and earth, and man and himself. We narrowed it by suggesting specific acts of peace and sharing our peace histories with one another.

Following the first session were three workshop sessions (for each section we selected which workshop out of 4 we desired most to attend). I attended a workshop on growing peace and gardening, one on the American dollar's influence in Israel/Palestine, and one on racial reconciliation. There were workshops covering every topic between bicycling for social justice to starting on-campus peace initiatives.

In the gardening session, we got to hear from a local Harrisonburg resident who uses grant money to employ the chronically homeless to farm the yard. They also have an adjacent house which provides hospitality to those who need it. One employee figured out a way to implement used cigarette butts to preserve moisture. Drug dealers were now given reliable income to work for something beneficial to the community. There were intense examples given of how peace could be cultivated through ruling and caring for the earth.

Prior to the conference, I had not been well-informed about the Israeli Occupation. This is probably good though, because apparently the media paints a pretty awful picture. By paying taxes, we have given billions and billions of aid to the oppressive Israelis over the years. Ten and hundreds of millions will be contributed by each county in America by 2018 as the government budget has recently increased dramatically. A wall which can only be penetrated by the boycotting of several western companies, nonviolent protests, and the Palestinian endurance to continue with their needy lives separates the rich from the poor, the oppressors from the oppressed, the east from the west. The session was very helpful to me as I was provided with many facts and resources to write a 25 page paper on the subject this semester. Definitely a first step from knowing nothing at all. Not to mention, my conviction toward tax resistance and boycotting of damaging companies has stepped up another level.

The final session contained a discussion on a news report of a teacher calling a student a nigger, or as he tried to justify, a "nigga." We talked about the history of racism and how it's impact continues through generations. We talked about Martin Luther King Jr's longing that one day former slave owners and former slaves would sit together at the table of brotherhood. I long to see a move away from cultural diversity, and a shift toward unity in our common humanity.

We had another large-group session and went into town for dinner. There I got to speak with students from Canadian and American colleges and universities. It was great to have a common bond of peace and discover how different we were from each other. What a beautiful Church. I must also mention that I won a T-shirt as a door prize, which features six nonviolent activists.

This morning we had our final group session. Us Messiah students got together and decided that after what we learned this weekend, we should present a petition to dining services asking them for the following:

1. Reduced quantity of purchased food

2. Reduced waste of leftovers

3. Composting methods to be collected by Grantham Community Garden and other local gardens

4. Closer maintenance of the gluten-free refrigerator (my personal wish)

Of course, those who sign the petition will also be expected to use less dishes to preserve water, as well as take what they eat and eat what they take. If the dining hall does not move upon receiving this petition, which is virtually a unanimous campus complaint, we will attempt a sit-down strike in which students will not leave the dining hall until terms are agreed. $1800/semester per person should be enough power to influence faculty, and we will openly encourage staff workers at Lottie Nelson Dining Hall. I will draft the petition sometime this week (I have not been this behind of schoolwork for well over a year).

Upon returning to my new residence in Harrisburg, I found a bunch of girls preparing to go to Firm Foundation, a type of halfway house. There we heard testimonies of ex-prisoners who had endured freezing temperatures in the Dauphin County Prisons, snow blowing through their bars, and addiction recovery tales from the streets of Georgia. The event reminded me of our third workshop session in Virginia. As we broke bread at the table together, Puerto Ricans, Whites, Blacks, ex-Jehovah's Witness, etc - we recognized our common humanity, our need for Christ's flesh - his life and death, his resurrection as we are born again into a life of freedom - from drugs, from prostitution, from idolizing education.

So far I have yet to experience a night with those at the SALT House where I had to make, purchase, or otherwise obtain, my own food. This is the Eucharist. We all go our separate ways into the community tomorrow morning, for Quaker, Spanish, and non-denominational services, but we share our humanity outside the institution.

Following the meal and story-sharing, Bianca and I conversed on the topic of our cross-cultural relationships, the Post-Enlightenment dichotomy of life and death, and voluntary poverty through renouncing property. I like how guys and gals just floats around the building and set aside books for relationships.

Now back to the endless onslaught of academia.

Final Night Without a Home

The title to this post is either fantastically blown up or incredibly self-righteous.

With that being said, I am spending my last night inside Bittner. Since the breaking down of my family's vehicles (a common occurrence), Dave has provided a temporary refuge for me to leave my things (which I am thrilled to say at last consists mostly of books). Sometimes "my things" includes me, as he is living on the top bunk with an empty mattress beneath him.

I car-pooled with Mr. Hoffman, a member of my family's church, back to Hanover today to pick up the family van which I will drive Thursday to Virginia for the Peacemaking Conference at Eastern Mennonite University. I also wanted to grab more books and instruments and fresh clothes for tomorrow's move-in to the SALT House in Harrisburg (see first post).

While I am excited to have a place to call "home," at least for the next few months, I simultaneously mourn the escape from the transient life. No bed has been mine, and often food comes as if I have transformed into a bird provided with morning worms surfacing from the damp earth. I will miss dependency: the privilege of being blessed and seeing the joy on the faces of those priding themselves in their ability to bless. I hope this unintentionally reciprocal love does not become absent as I move into the new world.

Tomorrow I begin reaping and storing away in barns. I pray I do not grow complacent, having more than most. I pray my barns are soon emptied and I am in need of divine intervention even more than I have in this phase of impermanent settlement and migration.

I came into this endeavor with the thought that I could somehow be united more with the homeless people I fleetingly attempt to serve by intentionally displacing myself. It worked, in some ways. For example, I know what it means to be lonely. I know what it feels like to not have a personal gathering space to which I can invite my friends. All planned interactions occur on public grounds and are therefore merely skin-deep. When a baby escapes his cradle, it is no longer a baby; likewise, when I escape my own sanctuary, I can only retain my long-standing identity in part.

Second (and the last which I will mention), this attempt at living in solidarity with the homeless has taught me that socialization is perhaps the most valuable necessity. So many times I have craved a meal, but so more often I longed for the next time I would run into someone I knew. Not having a meal plan, the dining hall is not always a viable option. The good thing is I have conjured the courage to make new (but often shallow) acquaintances and learned a few names and faces, but the tragic realization is that even your loved ones can forget your plight, and so long as you remain smiling, they may not even see it. So either the street-roamers must mourn with megaphones or pursue the stranger to get any attention. The stranger and passersby will not be troubled much to give a penny or his bread, but his time cannot be lost, and the human need for comradeship, echoing from Eden, is often driven away through personal advancement.

However, I am not one of them yet. I am not a typical homeless man of our age. I have not fully wrapped my arms around voluntary poverty, and even if I shall, I must banish self-righteousness and remember that their poverty is not an act of their will. They are no less "other" to me now. I hold my stereotypes firmly in the back of my mind, and I still think of serving in the sense that I am big and powerful and am going to save the world by helping because I am the hero and only hope. I am only slightly, if at all, humbler after my past month's experience.

So I sit on this mattress, no sheets, just a comforter, knowing tomorrow I will have a bed to call "mine." But still, it's not mine. It's God's, right? So if a naked child approaches me tomorrow, I am to offer it to him and take my spot on the floor for the evening, correct? Of course not, that would be compromising the rules and interests of the institution! That would be endangering and bothersome to those who may not want to leave their comfort zone, say my peers and authorities.

But we all pass away and return to dust. Nothing we hold in our hands today can come with us tomorrow. Therefore, let us live exclusively for all neighbors. Like Dorothy Day, Peter Maurine, Ammon Hennacy, our hospitality must be dangerous and we must be willing to breathe the Kingdom of God from our insides so that it is distributed among the world, a power able and willing to crush all forms of human government, economic principalities, and cultural powers to unite us in works of mercy.

midro.

Saturday I woke up and walked to lunch (a collegiately late start) with Blake, who swiped me into the dining hall. There I met with a coworker and a migrant 8th-grade Haitian named Midro.

Midro's family moved to the states two years ago. His mother lost jobs for being inadequate in the American English language. They moved from Florida to Pennsylvania where she was eventually able to acquire work. Midro and I walked around the student Union asking people to be background actors in a short film I would help shoot, re-enacting his first day of school in the states. In the film we are still editing, Midro cannot speak English, yet his peers and teachers stare at him and persist in asking questions. The short video will be submitted to a contest where Midro could win a laptop or scholarship or something of the sort.

That night I got online and discovered that Suzan had been successful in installing Skype. We were able to video-chat for free, though I could not see her. I gave her a tour of Bittner and she got to meet some of my friends. When she saw the length of the Bittner 2nd-floor hallway, she said, "Oh my God!"

Today I visited the Bethesda Women's Shelter with some other Messiah students. They house about a dozen recovering female addicts. For the first few hours, they instructed us to be free in the kitchen and make a dessert, since they already ate dinner. For awhile we kind of kept to ourselves and they kept to themselves as well. We were going to leave early, but on our way out, we found an opportunity to sit down with the ladies of the home and talk to them. They asked us about our education and future aspirations. We also got to hear their stories and future goals. They all seem to have gone back to school to get education, not just employment, through Bethesda Mission. Some were young, some were old. Some had kids and some were employees who called themselves "evangelists." My favorite part was how the young girl who would turn 2 in the spring would grow up with a dozen moms who supported each other. So whenever I think of my future commune, I can be reminded of Roxy, who had not one family, but many, under the same roof as her as she would grow into womanhood. The old adage: "It takes a whole village to raise a child."

beginning.

Every beginning has a background context, at least in the realm of time. Here is mine:



Emerged from mother's womb in the suburbs of Pittsburgh, PA.

Family moved at a young age to Hanover, PA - highest percentage of millionaires anywhere in the US.

Became an athlete for my dad. A student for my mom. A patriot for my pastor. A musician for my friends. A lover for my girlfriends. A slave for my employers. Depressed and drained, I satisfied everyone but myself.

Skipped senior year of high school, because I disliked the expectancies of others, the social necessity to be a tool, the aspirations my loved ones had for me.

Moved to Messiah College, became a man, "discovered myself," making my own decisions free from the oppressions of human authority. Fled across the country. Joined and formed touring bands. Moved into apartments and homes with girls and guys alike, acting on a whim. Slept beneath churches beside the poor. Experienced the freedom of earth beneath bare feet and water around open skin. Liberated myself through Ghandi, Vinoba, Thoreau, Mother Theresa, the Dalai Lama, Jesus. Opened my eyes to the complacent heresies of contemporary Christianity, of education, of money, of government, of injustice, of bondage. Discovered the Truth. Fell in love with it.

Embraced a life full of celibacy, voluntary poverty, self-renunciation, prophecy, community - sought this through four months in Uganda under the wing of a family.

Watched the sun set over the majestic Lake Victoria. Fell in love....this time with a girl....a beautiful Ugandan female. Suzan.

Returned to the states, less cynical and full of hope. Traveled in winter to sleep on both cement floors and upper-class sofas. Renewed my joy in the vision of hospitality. The vision of the Church.

Returned to campus penniless, with no meal plan or permanent housing, just wreckless in pursuing the Kingdom. Received daily physical needs from friends, students, and strangers. Became grateful.



These briefly explained events comprising "my past," and hence, in part, "my identity," lead me to the present point. I cannot stop writing. I've had at least a dozen blogs. This one is the beginning to another, and that's okay with me. I need an outlet to help me collect myself and process each occurrence in this lifetime.

Presently, I rest on the lower bunk in a friend's room. His name is Dave, who I have not known so well in the past. Dave is a passionately intellectual conservative (few and far between nowadays) with a kindness which shines from the moment he wakes (thus, he is a mentor to me). Dave hails from Philadelphia Biblical University, now a Messiah College transfer student due to his desire to pursue an education in nursing, though he often references a future aspiration in the career of parenthood and hospitality. We have watched about ten films, in part or in whole, together - and we've discussed and criticized at least double that amount. Verbally, we share our dreams of another world which we believe human beings will serve as vessels to perpetuate.

Initially, I entered campus not having too much of a plan, not knowing, save the first few days, where I would sleep. As I was crashing with two long-time friends, I ran into several mere acquaintances who were not hesitant to invite me to stay with them at any point, even offering meals at the campus dining hall.

When Messiah College's Housing Department gave me the option of commuting to campus this semester, I jumped at the thought. It would save me $2000, plus nearly another $2000 for not having a meal plan. I would be able to cover my entire semester on my scholarships, grants, and aid then. This was excellent cuz my bank account had nothing to show for itself (literally). Since I don't have a car of my own and our family vehicles are always in and out of the shop, I figured God would provide for me, as he always does, granted I don't worry myself about it. I decided to stay on campus and utilize the love of the Church as found in my fellow students. Through this experience of accepting hospitality (I am becoming a professional), I have been reunited with old friends, and have gotten to know strangers.

I have recently been employed in the labor of serving the needy. No....I mean seriously....Messiah College pays me money to coordinate groups of students to volunteer with urban organizations and communes fighting hunger and homelessness. With this income, I hope to by the end of the semester have purchased a plane ticket for my beautiful queen Suzan to come join me in the US, at least for some time on a visitor's visa.

Additionally, I've recently discovered over $1000 in my Messiah account and an available opening in the Harrisburg Institute / SALT (Serving and Living Together) Housing in the downtown neighborhood of Harrisburg. I intend to move there in the coming week, using these mysterious leftover funds which had been sitting in my account. I can fight greedy capitalists by refusing to pay for housing, or I can fight these hoards by not leaving them extra cash to dispose of so unintelligibly.

Classes this semester are coming along fine. I am adding Peace and Conflict Studies as a major in addition to my currently pursued degree of Cross-Cultural Ministries. It seems like a theme this year is ancestral identity. Several of my classes have required me to question my genealogy and help me make some sense out of European Post-Enlightenment madness.

Besides hefty reading and strenuous work, I cannot tell anyone of things to come. Perhaps by July I will be climbing a mountain with my beloved. Perhaps by next week I will be visiting the state's worst prison facility, just minutes from a new home (an act of Matthew 25 mercy which I have neglected to this very day). Perhaps I will die tomorrow. But one thing is certain: my plan as made ideal in my mind has never succeeded. Fantasies of future have always blown away like wind which sprints wherever it may please, yet venturing into the unknown with an open heart has always rewarded me with new material to write, if nothing else.