O Tannenbaum! O Tannenbaum!

O Christmas Tree!

As a child, and even now, one of the most important Christmas traditions is selecting a Christmas ornament each year. Already with the release of the Hallmark Christmas ornament catalog in August, considering which Christmas ornament we would want to select each year began on the rainy days of family vacation at Keuka Lake. From our first Christmases as babies to this year, my sisters and I have always gotten one or two ornaments each year. When we would decorate our Christmas tree, we would reminiscence, recognizing different stages of our childhood and youth, our development and growth represented in our Christmas ornaments, which we always hung on our family Christmas tree ourselves.

O Christmas Tree!(?)

Not being home for Christmas for the first time ever, the question arose: To buy a Christmas tree or not to buy a Christmas tree? Although I cannot imagine Christmas without a Christmas tree, I knew that I would also likely being spending neither Christmas Eve nor Christmas Day at home. And then came the logical factors of the decision: is it worthwhile to spend so much money on a Christmas tree, which would only stand in my room for close to two weeks? And what of the environmental impact of buying such a tree? So as a result of this deliberation and indecision, I left the dilemma unresolved (since I do not enjoy making decisions on such matters) and in doing so, by default had until the beginning of this week decided, in effect, not to buy a Christmas tree.

Thy leaves are so unchanging;
Not only green when summer's here,
But also when 'tis cold and drear.

On Friday last week at our Christmas party for the children and youth at the Kindertreff, the reality hit me. I would not be home for Christmas. I would not experience the traditions that have become so self-explanatory and which I have taken for granted year after year. I would not be able to see my family. As this realization hit, I accepted that it was okay to be homesick, especially at Christmas. As my friend Miriam Wood shared with me, “being homesick isn't bad - because it just means that you came from somewhere you were loved. So it's ok to be homesick, I think - because you are certainly loved here.”

And yet the tradition, the consistency of a normal Christmas celebration still remained absent. While reading my daily devotional from Dietrich Bonhoeffer this week, one day’s devotional was an excerpt from a letter from Bonhoeffer to his parents during his time in prison:

“The awareness of a spiritual tradition that reaches through the certainties gives one a certain feeling of security in the face of all transitory difficulties. I believe that those who know they possess such reserves of strength do not need to be ashamed even of softer feelings – which in my opinion are still among the better and nobler feelings of humankind – when remembrance of a good and rich past calls them forth. Such feelings will not overwhelm those who hold fast to the values that no one can take from them.”

So. In these reflections on my own homesickness, the need for “remembrance of a good and rich past” and the practical offering of my supervisor to borrow her extra Christmas ornaments, I decided that the unchanging leaves of the Christmas tree that marked each Christmas were needed, especially “when ‘tis cold and drear.”

Much pleasure thou can'st give me;
How often has the Christmas tree
Afforded me the greatest glee!

And so it came to be that I purchased my very first Christmas tree. I went to the small tree market set up close to my district town hall, and not knowing the appropriate etiquette in a German Christmas tree market, simply selected the Christmas tree I wanted and took it to be bound. I carried the Christmas tree home – just like they always do in the Christmas movies when the main characters live in the city. Other than the lack of snow, it was perfect. I had acquired my Christmas tree.

According to German tradition, Christmas trees are put up and decorated on December 24^th. Since I had only purchased mine on the 22^nd and was still working most of the week, I decided that I could wait and observe this tradition. I invited one of my roommates, who flew home this afternoon to celebrate Christmas with her family, to decorate my Christmas tree with me this morning. Of all the Christmas preparations that the previous week had brought, my roommate declared decorating my Christmas tree with me as the highlight of the week; her family’s Christmas tree would already be decorated by the time she arrived home this evening.

Thy candles shine so brightly!
From base to summit, gay and bright,
There's only splendor for the sight.

Clearly, none of the Christmas ornaments hung upon my tree are mine. My new ornament for this year is not hung upon this tree, but the one at home, with my family. The decorations here are neither the ornaments of my childhood nor the ornaments passed down within my family. And yet the Christmas tree is mine. It is decorated with electric candles, and wooden ornaments, like the German Christmas trees that I had only seen in photos. But never in real life. And yet, it fits. It is perfect. And although it is different, it still holds the tradition, the intention, the love, peace, joy and hope that Christmas is and should be.

And so I will close with another tradition. Every year, before going to church on Christmas Eve, we take a family photo in front of our Christmas tree. And this year I won’t be in it. But, here is, at least, a picture in front of my Christmas tree.

How richly God has decked thee!
Thou bidst us true and faithful be,
And trust in God unchangingly.

O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Wie treu sind deine Blätter.
Du grünst nicht nur zur Sommerzeit,
Nein auch im Winter wenn es schneit.

O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Wie grün sind deine Blätter!

O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Du kannst mir sehr gefallen!
Wie oft hat schon zur Winterszeit
Ein Baum von dir mich hoch erfreut!

O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Du kannst mir sehr gefallen!

O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Dein Kleid will mich was lehren:
Die Hoffnung und Beständigkeit
Gibt Mut und Kraft zu jeder Zeit!
O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Dein Kleid will mich was lehren.

A Reflection on German Advent- and Christmastide

An excerpt from my December Newsletter....

Advent in Germany can simply not be equated with the Advent Season in the States. At least not from my own personal experience. In the U.S., Advent sneaks up on us amidst the preparations and celebrations of Thanksgiving and for many, the first Sunday in Advent is lost in recovering from said celebrations, shopping and the beginning of Christmas consume, and the stress of an obligation to bake, decorate, shop, write, and wrap, which, for many people, drives the Advent season. As a university student in the states, the entire first three weeks of Advent were lost amidst the stress and anxiety of writing papers, cramming for exams, and hoping, really, just to make it through to the end of the semester.

In such, Advent became less a season of waiting, and more a season of survival, with the destination of Christmas. Perhaps it is with this ‘End of the semester’-stress fresh in my recent past that I find Advent here this year different. Unique. More intentional and centered.

Without the celebration of Thanksgiving at the end of November, the Germans already anticipate the coming of Advent, rather than having it be masked and consumed by the ‘holiday rush.’ Here in Berlin, one week before the First Sunday of Advent, Advent wreaths, candles, and pine branches surfaced at the flower shops around the city. Beautiful three-dimensional stars were quietly unpacked, constructed and hung above the altars of churches. St. Nicholas chocolates, Stollen, and gingerbread appeared in the aisles of supermarkets. The wooden stands of Christmas markets, Christmas lights, and pine emerged in various forms (some with more kitsch than others) on the streets of the city. Friends, partners, and families worked diligently to handcraft and package a unique and meaningful Advents calendar for loved ones.

And then, exactly four weeks before Christmas, it begins – Advent! With the opening of the first door or package of the Advent calendar, the Christmas markets throughout the city were opened, people were greeted with “Happy First Sunday of Advent!” and the season of ‘coming’ began.

The ‘coming’ is, however, marked less by the stress of all that must be crossed off on the ‘to-do list.’ Instead, the Advent season is an opportunity, a privileged and sacred time to spend together with family and friends. Invitations to bake Christmas cookies or sing carols abound, and frequent are the trips to the infamous German Christmas markets with the intent, yes, to potentially buy a gift for family and friends, but moreso to be warmed by the comfort of friends and a glass of mulled wine, and simply to bask in the Advent joy, the Christmas spirit.

It is this Advent that brings me back to my childhood days in which Advent was really the season of waiting, the season of making homemade hardtack candy after Thanksgiving, the season of baking Christmas cookies with my mother and decorating them with my sisters, the season of unpacking and hanging Christmas ornaments, the season in search of the perfect Christmas tree, and preparing for our annual neighborhood caroling party. It is an Advent season that I partially overlooked and on which I missed out during my years in high school and at the university, and perhaps therefore, one that I now see here through a different perspective. One which I can now embrace in a conscientious way and with a joyful heart. I say that Advent in Germany is different, because it IS. At least for me.

The Joy of Advent and Christmas

Today is December 18th. For some in the United States, apparently a day marked with the celebration of “National Pig Suckling Day.” But for the more average person in both Germany and the U.S., it is the fourth Sunday of Advent. Seven days before Christmas. For many, the last free day off from work to buy Christmas gifts, to decorate, and to bake cookies before Christmas Eve quickly approaches, people prepare to travel to see their family, or prepare for their family members to come and visit them for the holidays.

For this reason, in the midst of the Advent and Christmas bustle, the fact that December 18th is also International Migrants Day is easily overlooked, much as are the migrants themselves who live and work in countries other than their native lands.

This year, in lighting the fourth and final Advent candle – the candle of Joy – might we think of those who have no cause for joy in their lives. As the 11th International Migrants Day leads us into the final week of Advent, might we think of the other, of the person who will be working this Christmas. Of the person who has been collecting their pennies to give her son a piece of chocolate, to give his daughter a small doll. Of the person who lacks proper documentation to travel home to their children or to be reunited with family members who they have not seen in years. Might we remember their legal, political, social and economic rights and their humanity – and their right to celebrate with us this holiday. Might we collectively seek to embrace the Joy of Advent and Christmas.

Michelle, 'our migrant'

One of the reemerging conversations at the People’s Global Action (PGA) was the discussion – who is a migrant?

On Tuesday, last week the United Methodist delegation to the PGA visited the World Council of Churches at the Ecumenical Church Center in Geneva. There, we met with two women working on the issue of migration. Much of their work focuses on attaining a better understanding of migrant churches and the role that migrant churches play in the discussion on Christian Unity. And yet the term ‘migrant church’ would never be self-ascribed by a church community. In German United Methodist church-speak they are ‘international congregations.’ In the United States, ‘multicultural congregations.’ They are, essentially all ‘migrant congregations,’ but a German congregation in Zimbabwe, for example, would never be labeled as such.

But why?

Noone wants to self-ascribe as a ‘migrant.’ The ‘migrant’? They are always the ones without employment, the ones who are un- or undereducated, the ones who speak with an accent, and the ones who look different from ‘us.’ The ‘migrant’ is always the other. But not me.

In all my time in Germany, in Turkey and elsewhere abroad, I have never been labeled nor labeled myself as a ‘migrant.’ Although I am in fact ‘a person that migrates,’ I am not viewed as a migrant, because I have high school and university degrees and hold American citizenship. I belong to the upper social class. And most evident in everyday life, I am white. In Germany, particularly, where I resemble a stereotypical German, I would never be labeled, from my appearance, as a ‘foreigner’ or ‘migrant.’ Even in Turkey, where I was clearly a foreigner, my race, my ethnicity and my nationality posed me neither as the ‘other’ nor as a migrant.

Until yesterday. In the singing of Advent and Christmas songs in any choir, there is an assumption that after singing the same songs year after year, one eventually learns them all by heart. It was in this context, at a church choir rehearsal yesterday evening, when, after listening to the choir sing the first verse of a traditional German Advent song from memory, I interrupted and asked if I might be able to have a book to read the text. The choir director light-heartedly decided that yes, an exception would in fact be made for me. My friend quickly brought me a book, and in handing it to me agreed, yes, “we will make an exception for ‘our migrant.’”

The juxtaposition of these words – the possessive belonging of ‘our’ with the othering of ‘migrant’ – strangely warmed my heart. They could have been offensive, had they not been spoken in a safe space with a joking manner of love. They might have been offensive if I were poor, or unemployed, or a person of color. Instead, after spending the past week discussing migration, I see these words as a sign of hope. A sign of hope that people’s understandings of what it means to be the ‘other,’ the ‘foreigner,’ and the ‘migrant’ might begin to change. Even if initially only jokingly, the usage of such words opens doors for dialogue and discussion. And such dialogues and discussions have the possibility to change hearts and minds. And for that, I am hopeful, particularly as a migrant myself.

Reflections from Geneva

Sitting in a crowded room filled with activists from all over the world in the basement of a building off a side street of the city I was brought back to the days of sitting in the basement of the Kay Spiritual Life Center at the American University for a variety of grassroots planning and United Methodist and CASJ meetings focused on the call to justice and action.

Although this room was filled with United Methodists, much like the days at the university, the colored faces of those around me told of much longer, much harder and much more diverse stories than the faces of my university colleagues. Already in my participation in the United Methodist delegation to the People’s Global Action during the past three days, I have been inspired by the stories that have been shared and anticipate that many more such stories will be shared over the course of the coming days during my time here in Geneva.

This week I am here in Geneva taking part in the United Methodist delegation to the People’s Global Action on Migration, Development and Human Rights. The People’s Global Action (PGA) is a low-level, self-organized collective of activists, NGOs, and religious organizations working on issues of migrants’ rights and recognition. The meeting of the PGA is being held concurrently with the Civil Society Days, a gathering for NGOs and academics working on issues of migration, as well as the private sector. Both of these more grassroots level meetings have taken place on an annual basis since 2006 in response to the meeting of the Global Forum on Migration and Development (GFMD), which will once again meet later on this week here in Geneva. The GFMD is the only inter-governmental forum on migration and serves as a private process, which is completely independent from the United Nations (UN). Unlike the security focus of the GFMD, the Civil Society Days and the PGA seek to bring a focus on human rights and human dignity into the center of the discussion and dialogue on migration.

During my first day here at the forum, I remained uncertain of my role here as one member of the United Methodist delegation thrown into the meeting of an organization and a movement to which I previously had neither ties nor active experience. I couldn’t seem to shake the doubt in my mind and the lingering request for honesty and reality – will the conversations we have, the emotions that are exposed, the things we learn, the people who we meet, and the stories we share actually make a difference?

By flying people from around the world to Geneva and putting us up in hotels and feeding us overpriced Swiss food change the lives of a single child with migrant parents? Or prevent the deportment of an undocumented person?

During the past two days I have, however, grasped a thread of hope that the networks which are being built, the discussions being held, and the presence of each individual and delegation here does in fact present the possibility to change the reality of migration in today’s global world. Since 2006 the People’s Global Action and Civil Society Days has, in fact, already helped to bring human rights more into the focus of the Global Forum on Migration and Development; this grassroots level meeting has worked to influence policy, including the Domestic Worker’s Convention passed in June of this year. Inshallah, our presence here might also have such outcomes – not only at the international level, but also for the average migrant, the mother working to earn a living for her family, the father awaiting deportment in a detention center, and the child seeking justice, recognition, and simply love as a child in a strange land.

Leaving the Garden to God

I like children, I really do. If I didn't, I wouldn't have spent two summers in high school as a lifeguard at a family apartment complex, or three summers in college as a babysitter. And it doesn't even have to be a paid-gig for me to enjoy spending time with these miniature people; whether volunteering with our church youth group, playing with my nephew, or simply befriending children whom I meet in random everyday situations, I find that the time I spend with children and youth is some of the most fulfilling and blessed time that I have.

So in many ways, I have a pretty good deal working here in Berlin on a daily basis with children and youth. After volunteering here with many of the same children and youth last winter, I returned with the privileged ability to build on the trust, mutual respect, and honesty that I had already fostered in forming many of these relationships. And I love the work that I do, the people with whom I work, and the kids with whom I come into daily contact. But (and many of you likely foreshadowed this 'but'), while the work that my coworkers and I do in simply accompanying children and youth through the daily struggles of schoolwork, disputes and misunderstandings amongst friends, and struggles amidst families is fulfilling work, it can also be stressful and exhausting. Although our entire days are not spent in the company of these children, the four to six hours of the day when we are together are often chaotic and almost always involve struggling to be an attentive listener for one child, while also simultaneously imparting wisdom on multiplication to another child, reading a dictation aloud for a third, untwisting yarn from another child's crocheting project, and entertaining questions as to what 'always' means in German for another.

My work is fulfilling, yes, but also exhausting.

This past week the stress and daily grind of work, the complexities of living in a 'foreign' country, and the simple frustrations over time differences and the inability to pick up a phone and call a friend threatened to overwhelm me. In seeking guidance and a positive method with which to decompress, I turned to my coworkers, my family, and one of my favorite books, The Impossible Will Take a Little While: A Citizen's Guide to Hope in a Time of Fear (edited by Paul Rogat Loab), a collection of hopeful, justice-seeking, and reflective writings by political and religious activists and leaders.

I sought out the chapter entitled, "Standing Up for Children," by Marian Wright Edelman, President and Founder of the Children's Defense Fund, and consumed Edelman's suggestions of how to reorder American priorities for our children's and nation's sake. Although written within an American contextual framework, these reflections have nevertheless been a balm for me as I work to stand up against the injustices faced by children and those working to provide them hope for the future right here in Berlin, while also working to care for myself in the face of this work's accompanying emotional baggage.

In the words of Edelman, we must remember to:

"Believe we can save all of our children and then do it."

"Have faith and act without ceasing."

"Don't be intimidated or silenced by budget experts or political spin masters."

"Be strong and courageous and leave the results to God."

"Trust and serve God and recognize that every single one of us can make a difference."

"Assign ourselves right now to be a voice for justice for children in these scary and turbulent times of war and terrorism and greed and economic uncertainty."

"Never give up."

"Recognize and honor the sacredness of each and every child."

"Organize, mobilize, and hold our leaders accountable."

These words have helped me to recontextualize the important call to action behind the work that we do. While I am called to stand and hold the hands of the children with whom I work and to also hold societal leaders accountable for their actions and value of our children, I must above all have faith that the results of the situation, the results from the grind of any regular day's works, and the results for the future of each of the children and youth with whom we come into contact remain in God's hands.

As Edelman's inclusion of the following quote by Henry David Thoreau instructs:

"Plant the seed of hope and caring and leave the garden to God."

One year later. The wall still stands. The fear still prevails.

Exactly one year ago, I returned from an amazing, life-changing, perspective-broadening trip to the Holy Lands of Israel and Palestine. Together with members from Dumbarton United Methodist Church, this trip allowed me to trace the steps of the individuals most revered in shaping the Jewish and Muslim faiths, as well as my own Christian faith. Walking and praying in the churches and places commemorating where Jesus was born, where he performed miracles, and where he was crucified and buried provided me with a renewed spiritual and scriptural grounding of my faith. Equally formative were the discussions I was able to have with Palestinian Christians, who, despite the injustice and oppression they currently face in an Apartheid life under Israeli control, spoke not of their anger with God or those who oppressed them, but instead of their hope and faith in a loving God who will guide them in achieving peace in the region and also calls them to work towards justice between Israel and Palestine as well as within their own communities.

Many of the experiences I had, many of the confrontations I experienced and many of the sights I had seen I have been able to share with my family and my friends through anecdotal stories, through sharing pictures, and through simply joining conversations on the Israel-Palestine conflict within the past year.

In skimming through my journal recently, I came across one more story that I would now like to share. The following is my final journal entry from my time in Israel. This was written one year ago today as I sat alone at the gate of the Tel Aviv Airport reflecting on my last hours in Israel and in the Tel Aviv airport before boarding my plane to return to Germany:

"At first they didn’t ask where I had gone and I got a five – a pretty regular screening number at the airport (for a young female traveling alone. Out of a six-point numbering system, with six being the highest possible security level, I could possibly pose a threat.) Then, they found my Palestinian flag bracelet that I had purchased, and I was questioned by the shift supervisor – where had I been? How long had I stayed? Do I know anyone here in Israel? Where did I buy the bracelet? And Why?

I lied. I told them that I had purchased the bracelet in Bethlehem even though I had bought it in Hebron. (Hebron is a Palestinian city strongly divided and is seldom a tourist destination; if I had told them that the bracelet was purchased in Hebron, the security screening would have been even more intense than it already was.) When the supervisor asked why I had purchased this, the only response that I could think of was “I don’t know.” What was I supposed to say? That I support Palestinian independence? That I wanted to stand in solidarity with Palestinian Christians? That I recognize the 1948 agreements on the green zone? And the independence of Palestine?

Then I was a security level six with special gunpowder tests and a thorough and complete search of everything that I had with me, as well as a body scan. Once they stopped asking me all these questions, I was less angry. It was actually somewhat entertaining to watch them ponder what Elephant and Junior could be filled with and test their trunks before sending them through the scanner on a special ride.

When I was taken to my body scan and pat-down, the girl (she couldn’t have been any older than me) who took me was much nicer. And clearly the questions she asked me were to make conversation rather than to pose me as a threat to Israel. The woman being searched next to me talked on her phone about how she was being humiliated.

I did not feel humiliated. I felt their fear. But the more the female security guard talked to me, I could tell that she did not see me as a threat. I was cooperative and didn’t ask questions. I talked to her as I would anyone else – even when they made me pull my pants down to my knees because my jeans button kept beeping.

I did not feel humiliated. But I felt their fear and was glad to be screened for the Palestinians who go through such scrutiny and for the many Muslims and dark-skinned women and men who were also waiting for extra security screening, likely simply because of their religion, the color of their skin, or their nationality.

The security officers phrased this scrutiny, full search and private pat-down as a courtesy: “Now that we have already completed your body scan and baggage search, you don’t have to wait in line for check-in or security.” Wonderful. The security officer left me with my boarding pass and carry-on baggage and let me walk through passport control myself (Generally, with a security level 6, you are escorted to the passport control booth until you are stamped out of Israel).

Now I see the extent to which Israelis live in a constant state of fear – a state of fear that I would argue is unjustified nonetheless.

How can I turn my frustration and understanding of Israelis fear of Arabs and their fear of being oppressed into effective action to work towards justice and peace? How can I help Israelis and others in the United States become better educated about the reality of the system (in place in Israel and Palestine) and work to decrease the fear that these individuals and groups face everyday whether because of history, faith, race, or politics?

What can I do to fulfill my call to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God and with my fellow sisters and brothers in faith and love?”

One year after returning from this trip of renewing my connection with my global brothers and sisters in Christ, I continue to believe that God is at work peacefully molding Palestinians towards hope and faith amidst conflict and pain as well as moving Israelis from fear to faith and trust in God. This experience and these lingering questions renewed and continue to renew my call as a Christian, in the words of one tour guide, “to act and respond in the footsteps of Jesus – in the footsteps of justice.”

“Well, do they want to be integrated?”

Integration. In Germany, these four syllables comprise a loaded term regarding immigration, citizenship, language, ‘foreigners’ and ‘Muslims’ – ‘Them’ over ‘there.’

I was introducing myself to someone recently and they asked about my experiences in Germany. I began explaining my previous research on Islamic Religious Instruction in German public schools and my additional research on the role of religious organizations in the integration process of immigrant children and youth. I then shared that I was now working with an after-school program for underprivileged and immigrant children and youth.

And then came the dreaded question. “Well, do they want to be integrated?”

Perhaps it wasn’t even the question itself, but the tone and emphasis with which the question was asked. Perhaps, I over-think and over-analyze the language that people use in asking such questions. Perhaps I was caught off guard because the conversation was being held in English at a doctor’s office with someone who is herself a ‘foreigner’ here in Germany. Perhaps it was instead because I had simply not slept enough the night before.

Regardless, as the dreaded question was posed, I felt a wall of emotions welling up inside of me: defense, frustration, and even anger.

I wanted to lash out: “Do you want to be integrated? Have you become fully German? Or is it different for you because you are white and hold a passport from a ‘developed’ country?”

The problem with the question itself was mainly two-fold:
From a grammatical perspective, it was the ‘to be integrated’ part that tripped me up. Such framing of the question implies not only passivity (‘to be educated,’ ‘to be taught,’ ‘to be fed,’ etc.) but also one-sidedness…that ‘they’ need to be made like ‘us’ and that ‘we’ need to impose this process upon ‘them’ in a top-down approach. Such an approach speaks to assimilation and acculturation, but certainly NOT to integration!

From a sociological perspective, it was the ‘they,’ the othering, which made me shudder. Who was she, and who am I to define ‘them’ – to define the ‘other’ – ‘those people’ who need ‘to be integrated’?

Clearly, I kept my mouth shut. I repressed my instinctive response and rather than answering her question, I did not answer the question. Instead I simply explained the work that I am doing at the Kindertreff, the programs that we offer and the fact that we work to build a better reality, a better neighborhood, and a sense of hope with ALL children who wish to come.

If I hadn’t been caught so off guard and had been in a different setting, I might have launched into a discussion on the true definition and meaning of integration; that in the scholarly field of immigration and migration, integration is widely understood as a two-sided process, in which not only the migrant, but also the state and population of the migrant’s “country of residence”, must work to understand the culture, tradition, language and, even religion, of the ‘others.’ According to Christian Pfeiffer, author of the Pfeiffer Studie, integration can be explained as a four step process: 1) Cultural/cognitive integration (speaking German), 2) structural integration (School completion diploma), 3) Social integration (being friends with Germans), and 4) Integrative Integration (an identity as a German). As a two-sided process, such a model of integration requires the migrant to actively work towards such integration, while the state and its native residents must supply the systematic institutions and support of the migrant’s cultural, linguistic, religious, and traditional integration.

Regrettably, I hadn’t gone to the doctor’s office prepared for such a conversation.

Still, even days later, I don’t have a good, anger-free response to this one simple question: “Well, do they want to be integrated?". But perhaps such questions simply can’t be answered. Instead, perhaps it is more helpful to answer the question’s underlying biases and framework. This question begets the questions:
How is the language we use defined by the society in which we live and grow-up and the situations that we encounter?

How can we continue to use this language even when it is loaded with historical and contextual baggage and current derogation, with which we might not actually associate the words that we wish to use?

And how can we stop ourselves from classifying and outing ‘the other’, ‘the foreigner’ or ‘those other people’ and instead join them, stand in solidarity with them, and become one with them?

The Giving of Thanks, a Month Too Early

On this past Sunday, we celebrated Erntedankfest in our worship service at church. Erntedankfest is the German equivalent of American Thanksgiving (literally translated as the Festival of Thanks for the Harvest) and, to the best of my knowledge, is always celebrated on the first Sunday of October. In contrast to our American Thanksgiving, Erntedankfest is neither a national holiday nor an overtly family holiday; instead, Erntedankfest is a religious holiday, which is by-and-large only celebrated, or known, to Christians in Germany. At my congregation, we collected perishable food items for another after-school project in the city.

Much less pompous than our American tradition of giving thanks by preparing and consuming a feast with our families before passing out on the couch to watch football, this means of giving thanks is much less pompous, much more reflective, and much less for ourselves. I like that Erntedankfest begins standing before the altar rather than sitting at the table: rather than thanking God for what we have by feeding ourselves, we are feeding others; rather than only celebrating with our family and relatives, we are celebrating with our broader Christian family; rather than sitting in comfort at our own table in our own homes, we are standing, ready to act, before a common table in a house of worship…and in my opinion, if the giving of thanks should begin anywhere, it should begin in a house of worship.

In reflecting on this different (and likely more Christian) means of giving thanks for the harvest, I would like to share with you a reflection of many of the things, for which I am thankful, particularly reflecting on this past week and on my first month as a Mission Intern here in Berlin. In the words of Barbara Kingsolver, I am thankful that “God is in the details, the completely unnecessary miracles sometimes tossed up as stars to guide us.”

I am thankful for:

• Having enough food to eat and having the privilege to choose what I want to eat.
• Hearing a first grade student from Romania speak her first complete German sentence this week during our fall holiday language program („Das Bonbon ist da!“);
• And later seeing this same girl laugh and smile for the first time (after knowing her for one month).
• The arrival of beautiful fall weather.
• Receiving a package from my parents and savoring the first peanut butter cups and pieces of candy corn.
• Admiring the children's creations following an afternoon of boondoogling and crocheting!
• Living in a country that values reducing our environmental impact...particularly when that means spotting a postman on a scooter rather than on his standard bicycle (it was a full-grown man in postal uniform on an authentic scooter, like the ones 10-year-olds ride!).
• Introducing a friend from Russia to Döner Kebap (a Turkish-Berlin specialty) and ayran (a Turkish salty yogurt drink) for the first time.
• Having a place to live:

• Going for a run and getting soaked in a downpour the last five minutes.
• Having health insurance and access to medical care and chiropractic care in Germany (still a new medical concept here, I learned).
• Sunflower-seed German bread, fresh from the bakery.
• Having the internet in our office repaired!
• Baking pizza together with my friend Brandon and having a reunion with our Fulbright comrade Sam via skype.

• Reminiscing on my childhood while skimming through a new box of wonderful English children books!
• My wonderful co-workers, both here at the Kindertreff and the General Board of Global Ministries missionaries and young adult missionaries serving around the world.
• The crunch of leaves when I ride my bike.
• The religious freedom to take a group of teenage boys, both Muslims and Christians, on a field trip to the Şehitlik Mosque in celebration of the ‘Day of German Unity’ on October 3.
• Skyping with my whole family over the course of the week (albeit at separate times!).
• Utilizing all of my language skills in the course of one day: from teaching immigrant children German to continuing to learn Arabic, and even conversing with a Bulgarian mother on the phone in Turkish...it doesn’t get much better than that!
• Seeing joy, love, and adoration in children’s faces on a daily basis.

May these little miracles, these stars guide us in our giving of thanks, even if we are a month too early.

Just A Regular Ol’ Week in Berlin: Meeting the Bishop, a Visit from India, a Conference on Healthcare, and Dancing the Night Away at an Arab Wedding

This past week has been anything but quiet and ‘regular!’

On Monday we were honored to host the German United Methodist Bishop, Rosemarie Wenner, at the Kindertreff. She stopped by the church for a few hours in the afternoon so that we could meet one another and to take pictures and shoot a video of me, my supervisor, and the kids. The photos and the film will be used as part of the General Board of Global Ministries’ upcoming Ten-Fold Campaign, an interactive global gathering that features United Methodist projects around the world supported by Global Ministries and the United Methodist Committee On Relief. Ten-Fold will last 10 days, with each day having a specific focus. On October 14th, the focus will be on Youth and Young Adults, and the Kindertreff, as well as other youth and young adult programs, will be highlighted. Visit http://www.10-fold.org/index.html for the day’s overview, and mark on your calendars: at 12:30pm EST on October 14th, the Kindertreff will be highlighted through a LIVE webcast direct from Berlin! It would be great to know that you will be there along with me!

The visits, picture taking, and excitement at the Kindertreff continued on Wednesday, when we received visitors from India! Four individuals who are part of the Gossener Mission ministry in India came to visit us as part of a three week stay in Germany where they have been learning about religious life here and simply exploring the city. After a brief presentation, we gave them a tour of the building and the playground and let them observe some of the homework help going on in the afternoon. The highlight of their time here was, however, participating in the music group. Not only were the children thrilled to perform a canon that they have been learning, but we also played a rhythmic cup game together and learned a traditional folk dance and song from India. Our visitors seemed to love it, and I think that the kids will be talking about it for weeks to come!

Thursday and Friday this week I had the opportunity to attend a conference on Undocumented Persons and Healthcare in Europe. Although the conference will not be directly applicable to the work that I am doing with the children and youth here, it was helpful to receive a foundational understanding of the rights of individuals with different residency and visa qualifications here in Europe. It is particularly complicated within the European Union countries since citizens from Bulgaria and Romania, for example, have a right to live and work here in Germany, but are not eligible for German healthcare and often do not have healthcare in their home countries. Additionally, undocumented persons often lack access and information about healthcare and moreover are afraid to seek out the treatment they need as receiving such help may reveal that they are in the country without documents, which often leads to deportation. Although we at the Kindertreff never ask the kids about their residence and visa status here in Germany, the information was great for me to have and may be helpful if at some point any of the families need to access free and safe healthcare here in Berlin. Moreover, it was great to see that the American campaign to drop the ‘I’-word is not only isolated to the United States! No person is illegal!

The highlight of the week was, by far, the wedding that my supervisor and I attended on Thursday evening. The older brother of one of the girls who comes to the Kindertreff was getting married and my supervisor, myself and a few other coworkers were invited to attend! Neither my supervisor nor I had previously attended an Arab wedding, so we were both excited to be invited! The wedding ‘officially’ began at 6pm and we arrived at 8pm when the dancing and festivities were beginning. The dancing reminded me of the dancing group that I had seen in Bethlehem last fall, and the wedding as a whole reminded me a lot of the weddings that I had attended in Turkey. My supervisor and I knew about three or four families at the wedding since their children come to the Kindertreff and they explained some of what was going on to us, since everything was announced in Arabic (and despite my three-weeks of Arabic lessons, I wasn’t able to understand most of what was going on!). After about two hours of organized dancing, dinner was served, after which all of the men lined up to give their gifts and their family’s gifts of money to the married couple. After some more dancing, a five-tiered cake was brought out to the center of the dance floor and the married couple was given a sword with Arabic inscription to hold together and cut each layer of the cake! It was impressive! Afterwards, the bride and groom transferred one another’s wedding rings from the right-hand to the left-hand, and then the dancing continued! We left at 11:30pm in order to catch the train home, even though the dancing was still going strong! It was a great new cultural experience for me and I look forward to possibly attending a few more weddings during my stay here!

It isn't always black and white

OnFire: the young united methodist justice movement: It isn't always black and white: As the events of the past week remind us, discrimination based upon race, ethnicity and religion remains present and alive in the United States and in our world. From the heartbreaking execution of Troy Davis to the continued occupation in the Middle East, the headlines are full of stories that threaten to overwhelm our hope and our faith in a grace-filled and loving God...

Nails, English, and Boondoggle

In reflecting on the past two weeks here, these three words seem to cover the essence of my newly established life here in Berlin – or at least the first two weeks of it!

Nails: Many evenings last week were spent carrying furniture up and down the steps of my apartment building, pondering how to put things together, and, yes, eventually nailing and screwing everything together. I had been able to buy a lofted bed from the girl who previously lived in my room, so there was no need to worry about a bed. When I arrived, I already had a bed to sleep in (which was most important to me!) as well as bookcase – an overall good start on a completed room. Now, after three evenings of bringing furniture in and out and an additional trip to Ikea with my pastor, a trip to the basement with my roommate, and an additional weekend of assembling furniture, my room is now complete with bed, bed-lamp, bookcase, chair, dresser, armoire, desk, desk chair, floor lamp, mirror and even two little plants that were kindly given to me by my pastor’s daughter. In the words of my Arabic tutor, “If you continue to acquire furniture at this rate, in two weeks your room will be overflowing.” Luckily, the plan is not to continue acquiring furniture – instead, I now have a complete room!

English: In the past two weeks I have become the clear favorite among the kids for all homework directly or indirectly related with English. Beyond homework, certain kids will now greet me in English or ask me to again help them remember the names of the different colors, the days of the week, and other foundational English vocabulary. What fun it is!

Many of the kids who come to the Kindertreff attend the same school, and many are in the same class. There is a large group of children in the same 5^th grade class who regularly come to the Kindertreff, which means that they also all have the same homework. So, from Monday, September 5th until Tuesday of this past week, I spent a good portion of my time at work helping these eight or so children memorize a paragraph about London which they had to recite this week. By the second day, I had also successfully memorized the paragraph, and am certain that I could have said it backwards, forwards, and in my sleep:

“London is the capital of G.B. and the United Kingdom. About 8 million

people live there. London is on the river Thames. There are many sights:

The London Eye, London Zoo, The Tower. The Tower is over 800 years

old. Most Londoners go by tube. There are 33 London boroughs.

Greenwich is a part of London. Northern Ireland, Scotland, Wales,

and England belong to the United Kingdom.”

By the middle of last week, not only the repetition of ‘London….London….London,’ but also the poor structure of the given paragraph and the disjointed facts, which the children were required to memorize had started to get to me. I off-handedly mentioned it to my supervisor on Thursday and when the first child came in on Friday and she overheard him begin to say ‘London is…’ she gave me a sympathetic look and burst out laughing. The poor boy thought that he had made a mistake or mispronounced something and we had to assure him that everything was just fine. Luckily, all that practice and insanity paid off – the kids proudly reported their grades to me after they completed their recitations – most were As and Bs, grades which many of these children seldom receive.

Overall, the kids are really excited to learn and improve their English. Thanks to those who have sent English children’s books to me, the kids now have the opportunity to begin reading actual books in English. And next week, I will begin a weekly English club with some of the older kids. It is hard to say if they are more excited or if I am for the start of the English club, but we can’t wait. The club is something that I very much wanted to begin, and as of Wednesday we will have an hour once a week when we can gather together, speak together in English, role play, clarify grammatical questions, build vocabulary, and work on having fun in the meantime. I am anxious to see how the club turns out!

And boondoggle: Yes, it seems that the classic art of tying plastic bands into various braids and knots is not only a favorite past time of American children, but also that of the kids here in Berlin. For those of you unfamiliar with boondoggle, think of the long plastic bands that you may have seen functioning as key chains, attached to zippers of bookbags, etc. The translation of ‘boondoggle’ into German is an equally meaningless word, and here they are called ‘Scoobidoo bands.’ My supervisor had mentioned the kid’s new adoration for ‘Scoobidoo bands’ to me in July and I was completely mind-boggled by what these ‘bands’ could be. At first I thought they must have something to do with Scooby Doo, the cartoon character, but I was completely lost on what exactly the kids could be doing with Scooby Doo, a character who is known, but not especially popular here.

So. It came as a relief to me to discover that ‘Scoobidoo bands’ were something that I did in fact know, learned at the YMCA after school program as a kid, and am still able to do. What a relief! And so, the last two weeks have been spent either teaching kids how to boondoggle, being in charge of distributing and allocating the bands themselves, or working to make my own. In two weeks, with little effort, I have accomplished a key chain, a bookbag zipper boondoggle, and have started at least two others – today, I even learned how to make a chain with six strands, rather than the classic four. At this rate, perhaps my room will just fill up with boondoggle projects even if I stop collecting furniture!

Reflections on Labor Day

For most Americans, Labor Day is the popular day off of classes and of work, the marker of the ‘end’ of the summer. For many, it is a vital day to remember our workers in the U.S., to protect and celebrate labor, and to promote better conditions in our workplaces and living wages for our workers.

For me this year, Labor Day took on a whole new meaning as I celebrated the holiday with my first official day of work at the Kindertreff Delbrücke here in Berlin. As some of you already know, the Kindertreff is an afterschool program for underprivileged children in one of Berlin’s most impoverished districts. The children, many of whom are themselves or have parents who immigrated to Germany, often fall behind in school, since many enter school without a secure basic understanding of the German language, are often cast aside as children who will never amount to anything and their schools have many of the city’s most disengaged teachers.

Although my first ‘official’ day of work was yesterday on Labor Day, I had the opportunity to see some of the kids on Sunday at Berlin’s United Methodist district gathering. I attended worship in the morning and was able to reconnect with many of my friends from the church that I had been attending here last winter. After a lovely picnic lunch together, the gathering reconvened for an additional hour, during which time different groups sang, performed skits, etc. I was ‘interviewed’ in front of everyone, and afterwards six of the children from the Kindertreff performed a Turkish song by Tarkan for the gathered audience. Then, we played in the park where the event had been held for another hour or so. After a kid’s wading pool was discovered, only three of us returned home dry!

So after an eventful Sunday, Monday’s ‘labor’ was of a more traditional sense. Together with my supervisor, I went to one of the nearby schools and helped teach a German class for seven children who have recently immigrated here and/or have no to limited German comprehension and speaking skills. Afterwards, we had regular homework help and free play time at the church where the Kindertreff is housed from 2 p.m. to 6 p.m..

Both days, I have been overwhelmed by the greetings from all of the children and youth whom I have been able to see. Most are thrilled that I have returned and I have been plagued with hugs and questions; they are so excited that I will be able to stay here for such a long period of time – seventeen months! It is wonderful to have returned to a place where I am so appreciated and feel so welcome, not only from the children and my supervisor, but also from my flat mates, friends and church communities throughout Berlin.

I am so thankful! Even if, yes, it does mean that I have to work U.S. holidays and ‘labor’ on Labor Day!

Eid Mubarak!!!

I remember waking to the bang of drums resonating the walls and windowpanes of my bedroom. It was still the middle of the night, but the excitement on the small ally outside of the apartment and the waft of spices drifting from the downstairs apartment indicated the contrary. It was the first night of Ramadan, the Muslim holy month of fasting.

As an American Christian living in Turkey last summer, this was my first night to hear the drums on the street waking me to indicate the beginnings of Ramadan. I was excited to partake in the suhur, the meal before dawn, before the beginning of the daily fast. Together, my host brother and sister and I wearily got up and sleepily stumbled down the stairs to break bread together with my host brother’s parents. The night before I had shared with my host family my intent to also fast for the few days of Ramadan I was still in Turkey. The expressions and comments of disbelief, awe and respect with which they had responded would become common to me during the three days I spent in Turkey during Ramadan.

Teachers and staff at our language institute and vendors on the street were shocked and confused when my friends would share with them that I, an American Christian, would be tolerant and open to fasting in solidarity with my Muslim host family and my Muslim brothers and sisters around the world.

Applying my own Christian tradition of fasting to also fast during the Muslim holy month required me to learn more about my own Christian traditions, my Muslim brothers and sisters’ traditions, and how all of these traditions, beliefs, and practices interweave and diverge from one another.

During Ramadan this year, I was not in Turkey, but was in the United States. During a month marked with Young Adult Missionary Training, Commissioning as a Mission Intern of the United Methodist Church, vacation with my family in New York City, reunions with friends in Washington, DC, and the celebration of Singing a New Song at a United Methodist gathering in Huron, Ohio (see photos in the previous post), the craziness of the month made it difficult to hold a constant fast in solidarity with my Muslim friends. As a result I instead only fasted on Fridays, the Muslim holy day, when I was not traveling. Although this resulted in only fasting three days during the month of Ramadan, the dialogue into which I delved with others as a result of my fasting made the effort nonetheless worthwhile.

Now that the month of fasting has concluded, today marks the third and final day of celebrations, or of the Ramadan holiday (Şeker Bayramı in Turkish and Eid al-Fitr in Arabic), for Muslims across the world. As they conclude their celebrations and as I begin a new journey with my departure to Berlin tomorrow, I celebrate the time I have had the past few months with my family and friends in Germany, Turkey and the U.S., the opportunity to spend time with my loved ones, and the adventure that this new stage of my voyage will bring!

Ramazan bayramınız kutlu olsun!!! Eid Mubarak!!! Happy Ramadan!!!

American Trails

Since Coming 'Home' to the United States on July 26th, I have been on the road a great deal and have lacked the time to compose a complete blog entry. I apologize and hope that these photos of the past five weeks might provide you with an overview of my U.S. adventures!

From July 28th to August 18th, I attended Young Adult Missionary (affectionately known as YAMs) training in Stony Point, NY. Three of my favorite photos from the three weeks:

The YAMs with our prayer blankets:
An average afternoon at work:

And a photo with the General Secretary of Global Ministries towards the end of our training:
On August 18th, I was commissioned as a Mission Intern of the United Methodist Church in New York City. I was then able to spend a few days hanging out with my parents, Liz, Dan, and William in the city:
After a few more days back in Washington, DC to visit my college and church friends, I celebrated one final reunion at Sing a New Song, a conference of the United Methodist Reconciling Ministries Network and the Methodist Federation for Social Action, in Huron, Ohio. There, in addition to seeing many of my Dumbarton church family and its diaspora, I was able to spend time with my friends Elise, Alissa, and Rachel from American University - it was great to see them!
And now, my bags are packed; tomorrow morning I depart for Berlin!!!

Coming 'Home'

As the saying goes “Home is where the heart is.”

Within the last 48 hours, I have traversed three continents – three countries, three cities – that I call ‘home.’ After a tear-filled parting from my former host family in Bursa, Turkey, I returned to Berlin, Germany – a former and future ‘home’ – for 24 hours and said good-bye to more friends. Now I am ‘home’ – in the U.S., that is.

In many ways I have come home – to the country where I have spent the majority of my twenty-three years, the country where I vote and hold citizenship, to the city of Washington, DC, where I still occasionally have a mailing address on Parkwood Place, where many of my closest friends still linger, and where I have claimed many of the beliefs and values of my parents as my own.

But in many ways, this is not ‘my home.’ It is still ‘my home,’ but not in the exclusive sense of the phrase that defines the ‘home’ of childhood and adolescence, and sometimes even our young adulthood. My friends here, my family, my faith community make this place home for me – but only one of my homes. As a result of the encounters that I have been blessed to have, the people I have met, and the friendships I have formed, my heart lies in many places. Pieces of my heart remain in Rochester, in Berlin, in Washington, in Bursa, and, yes, even in Essen. Other pieces are scattered to the far corners of the world where I have ‘traveled’ through the journeys and stories of my friends – in Kansas, Madagascar, Syria, Chicago, Kenya, and Palestine.

So, I have come ‘home’ to (re)connect with all those faces, friends, and family who have captured my heart and make this place one of my ‘homes.’

And certainly, no one said it better than Dorothy: “There is [indeed] no place like home.”