Eid Mubarak!

Today is the third and final day of the Ramadan holiday (Şeker Bayramı in Turkish, and Eid al-Fitr in Arabic), for Muslims across the world. This year I was in Berlin for the entirety of Ramadan and observed as many of our youth devotedly fasted for their holy month.  Together as a community, we also celebrated Iftar (the evening meal that signifies the breaking of the fast each day) on one Friday evening. With children running around attempting to fill out worksheets on fasting traditions in Islam and Christianity, with the reading of a Koran Sura, and with the performance of traditional music as well as fire-juggling by our youth, the evening was a microcosmic reminder of the potential of interreligious dialogue, intercultural understanding and peaceful exchange between and among people of differing faith traditions.

I have long been an advocate of such exchange, but this small event was an important reminder of the peaceful and loving exchange possible, which I find particularly and personally important in a year in which hate, dispute and violent acts have continued to plague my Muslim brothers and sisters around the world – particularly during the holy month of Ramadan.

During Ramadan, more than seven Islamic Centers in the U.S. were targeted and attacked. In the same month, Congressman Joe Walsh stated that “there are people in this country, there is a radical strain of Islam in this country – it’s not just over there – trying to kill Americans every week.” Sadly, such statements, such attacks have not been isolated to the United States.

Strategically planned on the final day of fasting, a group called ‘Pro-Deutschland’ (Pro-Germany), a group comprised largely of neo-Nazis and fascists, arrived in Berlin on Saturday to protest three mosques here in the city. Outnumbered by the counter protests at all three protest sights, the small Pro-Deutschland group waved their German flags, held anti-mosque signs and presented caricatures of Mohammed (which is strictly forbidden among Muslims). The counter-protest group, comprised of an interesting mix of punks, hippies, social liberals and Muslim men, women and children, shouted, whistled and cheered to block out the amplified sound of the Pro-Deutschland group; a group of Muslim men peacefully held their Korans in the air and chanted together. Although the majority were fasting for the final day of Ramadan, they stood in solidarity in protection of their mosque, their religion and their identity. Although it was 80 or 90 degrees Fahrenheit, men from the mosques distributed water to the protestors. Through peaceful protest, this colorful group of counter protesters reinforce the importance of standing together in solidarity and the truth that there is strength in numbers.

Youth attaining to fast like their parents.  Children energetically learning about fasting in two differing faith traditions. A communal and interreligious Iftar. Solidarity in protesting those fighting against Islam.

This – not hateful attacks, words and actions – is what Ramadan is about.

Yesterday, we distributed chocolate, Turkish delight, popsicles and candy to the neighborhood children and youth at the Kindertreff to celebrate the end of Ramadan with them. Today, we will build small gingerbread house-like mosques. In a church.

We are all humans; all people with the freedom of religion and that religious practice. Together, Christians and Muslims believe and trust in one God. Together, we must celebrate. Together, we must stand in solidarity at times of attack. Together, we will work to dispel the hatred, the violence. Together, we must stand strong. In love. And in peace.

Bee Stings

“After you get stung, you can't get unstung, no matter how much you whine about it.”
― Sue Monk Kidd, The Secret Life of Bees

Until the end of June I had never been stung by a bee. I had not been in an acquaintance’s garden more than 5 minutes on that overcast Sunday afternoon before I felt the sting on the side of my foot. I quickly learned the truth about bee stings – that they hurt a lot. As a friend removed the stinger, chives were gathered to put on the sting and I sat a few minutes in the garden, made helpless by a mere bee sting.  However, the herbal remedy worked its magic, and soon, I was back on my feet for an afternoon of picking and gathering fruit in the garden. I forgot about the sting completely until I got out of bed the following morning. The soreness in my foot was, however, bearable and within a few days, the soreness and the swelling were gone.

This story came to mind, after being – once again – stung by a bee yesterday afternoon. This time sitting by a lake on the outskirts of Berlin, I got stung under my arm. Chives were not readily available this time around, but, having just gotten to the lake, I remained there even as my arm began to swell. Today, the sting remains pretty visible – swollen, sore, and red.

I haven’t posted to my blog in months, as I have been working to recover from the symptoms of another kind of ‘sting.’ Know that my silence is not intentional. I have simply not felt inspired to write and would rather post quality than simply post to fulfill writing a post.

My symptoms have not only extended to my blog writing. I have also felt myself distanced from my Berlin church congregation, frustrated with the institutional church. Angry and short-tempered when working within these confines. More emotional and emotionally unpredictable than what I would consider my  ‘normal.’

I have felt largely uninspired as I work through the symptoms of swollenness, soreness, and redness that have followed the emotional and spiritual sting of being at General Conference at the end of April. Never had I expected this ‘sting’ itself to penetrate so deeply into my being, nor had I awaited the aftermath of ‘symptoms’ that I am experiencing.

Whining will not change what has happened, and therefore it is not my aim to use this as a platform to whine. I did, however, want to answer your likely question, “Why the silence? Why has Michelle not posted recently?” And I am working to re-gather the strength, courage, and persistance that I will need to remain spiritually whole and to work towards justice within the United Methodist Church for the coming four years.

Know, however, that my next inspiration will come your way in the form of a blog post.

And until then, I will try to avoid being stung by any bees!

The church as sanctuary

Last week, as the United Methodist Church gathered in Tampa for General Conference, I seldom found our meeting place, our worship or our conduct with one another as a place of sanctuary. Entering into the space where our plenary sessions were held each morning last week, I felt not a sense of calm, but an engulfing tension. In encountering individuals with whom I had differing beliefs, I found no refuge, only vulnerability and pain. The communal ‘church’ that I encountered in Tampa created neither a holy nor sacred place, and failed to be a place of asylum or refuge for those feeling outcast from the denomination. For me, the convention center halls were no sanctuary.

In venting my frustration concerning the ‘church’ and this lack of peace, this lack of inclusion, and the absence of welcome and safety present at the General Conference, a friend reminded me that ‘church’ encompasses, yes, the institutional rulings, agencies and workings, but also extends far beyond the reach of the convention center halls of Tampa, Florida. Oftentimes ‘church’ is found instead in the smallest corners, initiatives, and extensions of love.

Throughout General Conference, the Love Your Neighbor Coalition’s ‘Tabernacle’ tent across the street from the convention center provided such sanctuary and exemplified the possibilities of ‘church.’ There, all were welcome. The homeless, the bishops, the local volunteers, the international delegates. There, one could cry without judgment, receive a hug simply by asking, and always find something to nibble on. If this is not such an example of ‘church’ that my friend encouraged me to seek out, then I am not certain what is.

Since returning to Berlin, I have given much thought to what ‘church’ means for me. Yes, I work in a church building. Yet I do not always personally find sanctuary there. However, as my first day back at work reminded me, ‘church’ can remain a ‘sanctuary’ even if the institutional church fails to provide such security and peace.  

I spent my first afternoon back at work outside on the playground, playing board games for a bit, later passing a soccer ball around with a small group of kids until it became clear that some of the youth were planning to fight one another on the soccer field. After lengthy preparation and plenty of talk about being manly, strong and invincible, two youth began fighting one another. Before I could work to stop the fight, one of the youth was already on the run, attempting to get away from the group of boys following him. Living pretty far away, he wouldn’t have made it home. So, where did he go? Straight into the church where I work. As soon as he headed for the church, I ran after him. He knew, just as I did, that once he was in the church he was safe. We would not only ensure that he was uninjured, but that, regardless of who was at fault, he made it home safely past the groups waiting outside to continue the fight. That we would tattle neither to his parents nor to his friends. There would be few to no questions asked.

He had found sanctuary. In the church.

The ‘church’ has a history of providing sanctuary to those in need. In the modern sanctuary movement, asylum seekers and refugees have often sought the church as a safe haven. The Heilig-Kreuz congregation in Berlin supported three Palestinian families from Lebanon in seeking asylum in Germany in 1983 and from this precedent, churches in Berlin have organized to offer “Asylum in the Church” (Asyl in der Kirche, e.V.) and amongst German Christians, the concept of church as a ‘sanctuary’ is self-explanatory. In the United States, a parallel sanctuary movement providing safe haven for Central American refugees fleeing civil conflict emerged in the 1980s. In 1985, my home church congregation, Dumbarton UMC, sheltered an undocumented Salvadoran immigrant.

The basis for the ‘church’ as sanctuary exists. Not only from our traditions as a ‘church,’ but also through our reason and our scriptural basis. This ‘church,’ this sanctuary, need not only be a physical place, but can be a person, a group, an activity or event, or simply a way of living. Sometimes it is hard to see an institution as sanctuary. But, luckily, ‘church’ encompasses more than the building, than the rules, than the doctrine, than the agencies, than the politics.

‘Church.’  When fulfilling its purpose, ‘church’ reaches beyond these details and remains simply the safe haven, the sanctuary to which or to whom one can always run. Whether running from the politics and doctrine, from the kids on the playground trying to beat you up, or to a place of inclusion and welcome, the ‘church’ must remain a strong foundation. A safe space. A sacred place. A refuge.

A sanctuary.

Complacency in Investment. Complacency in Silence. Complacency in Injustice.

“Not to take sides is to effectively weigh in on the side of the stronger.”

-William Sloane Coffin

Today, we, as a representative body of the global United Methodist Church at the General Conference, voted to not support divestment. United Methodists across the connection have passionately devoted time and energy these past four years to work towards realizing and calling for divestment this General Conference.

As the United Methodist Kairos Response states:

“Divestment is a form of nonviolent moral action to change unjust practices,” and in doing so, it can:

“1. …provide hope to Palestinians who see their freedom denied every day;

2. …raise the level of awareness about how profitable Israel’s occupation has become for companies around the world;

3. …ensure that we as investors are not profiting from this;

4.  …put companies on notice that their support for Israel’s occupation may turn away investors;

5. …stimulate public discussion about the realities of occupation, which have largely been hidden from Americans, and can lay the groundwork for changing US policy;

6. ….send a message to Israeli leaders that we view the occupation as immoral and we will actively oppose it; [and]

7. …show the world that we believe in the equality of all God’s children, and that our faith requires our commitment to justice and peace.”[1]

Well, engaging in divestment could have had these impacts….

In discussing the investments and divestment of the United Methodist Church’s finances and stock-holdings, the UM Kairos Response movement of the church had petitioned to, hoped for, and envisioned a divestment from Caterpillar, Hewlett Packard, and Motorola, the three major companies invested in the Israeli occupation through the implication of the use of their products in home demolitions, the construction of settlements, biometric monitoring of checkpoints, and surveillance systems for settlements, military bases, and the wall. The major issues of divestment, for those represented here and opposed to such action, included the financial implications of such action for the General Board of Pensions and Health Benefits (thinking, first, of ourselves), Israel, and (lastly) Palestinian Christians. Discussion of this and another petition regarding Israeli settlements was charged with negative, hateful language, particularly directed at ‘the Muslims’ and ‘all the Arabs,’ who ‘pose a threat to the security in our backyard.’

Having been in Israel and Palestine in 2010, I have witnessed that the movement to divest and the seeking of peace in the Holy Land moves beyond these concerns.

Having broken bread with, lived with, and worked with Muslims in Palestine, Turkey, and Germany, I am outraged and personally offended by such hateful speech against Muslims on the plenary floor of a Christian organization, to which I am a member.  Three years ago, I joined the United Methodist Church, impassioned through and empowered by the denomination’s commitment to justice, but have never questioned my membership in this institution more than I have in the last ten days.

This afternoon, the United Methodist Church has chosen to do nothing. To remain silent. To remain complacent.

Although Wesley stood on the principles of social holiness and the belief that there is no religion but social religion;

Although the United Methodist Church has a tradition of standing with marginalized peoples; and

Although the Palestinian Christians have asked us to stand in solidarity with them and have submitted a concrete call for us to act to bring peace and justice,

We, as a church, remain silent.

We turned from the UM Kairos Response’s call that ,“The Church should lead with prophetic action by publicly and promptly aligning its investments with longstanding church policies opposing the Israeli occupation.”

We failed to give voice to the voiceless. We failed to align our actions with our words. We quiver in fear, failing to stand brave together as a church.

In doing so, we fail to work towards peace and justice for Israelis and Palestinians suffering under occupation.

We fail to be the change that Christ calls us to be in this world.

Our Palestinian sisters and brothers in Christ empowered us in the Bethlehem Call, Here We Stand – Stand with us, “The pain will pass soon if we act now.”[2]

How long will we now need for this pain to pass? When will our Christian actions align with our doctrine and Jesus’ example of justice? When will peace and justice prevail?

“First they came for the Jews and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for the Communists and I did not speak out because I was not a Communist.

Then they came for the trade unionists and I did not speak out because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for me and there was no one left to speak out for me.“-Martin Niemöller

 

 

 When will we, as a denomination, speak out against and act in the face of injustice?

---

[1] UM Kairos Response, Questions and Answers about Divestment.

[2] Bethlehem Call: Here we stand – Stand with us, 5.

So much privilege. So many ‘first world’ problems.

 

I live and work in a developed country.  I have a private university education, I have a laptop and a cellphone, I am from an upper class economic background, am white and hold an American passport.  Yes, I am privileged. Very privileged. And am also privileged to have the funding and the connections to have traveled to and be present at the General Conference of the United Methodist Church here in Tampa, Florida.

Now, perhaps it is because I spend nearly every-day with children, youth, families, and coworkers who are underprivileged. Many receive governmental social benefits. Many are underpaid for the work they do. Some are forced to work for inadequate wages. Many are fighting for their rights to become German citizens. Some are focused on how they will make ends meet to pay the rent, what they will eat for dinner, or who will care for their child the next day.

Even in a developed country, these are not ‘first world’ problems. And so my perspective is a bit different.

Returning back to the states is always a bit difficult for me. My reverse culture shock of everything being larger, not being able to always sort my trash in public locations, the indirectness (and sometimes superficiality) with which Americans speak with one another, and the insensitivity for the global community is almost always at the core of my resentment of such reentry. While being at General Conference has made for a different sort of ‘reentry’ into the church world and the United Methodist world, rather than the everyday ‘American world,’ it has brought its own struggles.

In the past week, I have seen more iPads, Laptops, iPhones, and Blackberries than I have likely seen in the past 10 months combined. I have seen more people (both young and old) reliant, dependent on cell phones, internet access, and constant interactive social media communication than I have seen since my time as an undergraduate. I have heard delegates comment about being unwilling to forfeit their ‘nap’ or ‘lunch’ time for the sake of expediting and expanding upon the work that they are actually here to complete. I have had more conversations with people that are based on a clear delineation of ‘us’ and ‘them’ language, regardless of where on the political and theological spectrum such individuals fall. I am also guilty of slipping into the use of such language and others of these cultural actions, mannerisms, and prioritizations.

These are all signs of privilege. Signs of our ‘concerns,’ our ‘problems,’ our absorption and our priorities in a developed country. Where  a cell phone battery dying can be a disappointment, having to wait too long in line can be an annoyance, and not knowing what to wear in the morning, a crisis.

But, in the big scheme of things, are these things that actually matter? If we are so busy with these everyday crises, then how can we acknowledge, embrace, and move beyond our privilege, particularly as a national and global church, to recognize the needs of others, to engage in both charity and justice, and to recognize each individual in this world as our neighbor, whom we shall love?

Then Where?

How is it with your soul?

It is not well with my soul.

I feel 

Hurt.

Violated.

Broken.

My heart, my soul is crying out,

Screaming,

Suffocating.

Amidst the parliamentary procedures,

the bureaucracy,

the hierarchy.

Amidst the confrontation,

the hurtful language,

the avoidance,

the brokenness.

Where is the hope?

Where is the love of the Gospel?

Where is the joy of the resurrection?

Where is the justice?

The equity?

Where is the peace, 

the welcome, 

the inclusion?

If such cannot be found within the church, then where?

A poem written in legislative committee Church & Society A of the United Methodist General Conference on April 27, 2012.

A Hope. A Prayer. A Dream.

Methodist Federation on Social Action: My undergraduate degree was in International Relations and International Politics. Yet my campus minister liked to joke that in addition to our ‘official’ degrees, we were also being awarded degrees in United Methodism. In reconciling. In love. In advocacy. 

There is a natural convergence of these ‘degrees.’ A natural convergence of the issues which are addressed within the realm of International Relations and a Global Church: Environmental policy, nuclear energy, the Israel/Palestine conflict, the war in Afghanistan, political relations with China, peace and conflict resolution. These are not only political and diplomatic governmental concerns, but also political, diplomatic, theological, spiritual and religious concerns....

Charged. Rooted. United. Reflections from General Conference

OnFire: the young united methodist justice movement: Charged. Rooted. United.: I work everyday with children and youth. Usually, when they ask me how old I am and learn that I am ‘already 24!’ I am automatically ‘old.’ And yes, from a child’s perspective, I am old. Especially when many of the children with whom I work have parents just years older than myself. 
 

Stepping beyond my daily work environment where I am ‘old,’ it is quite different to be here at General Conference, where one of my main ‘identities’ is linked with being ‘young’ and being a ‘young adult.’ Looking at the faces of the delegates, the volunteers, the agency staff, the marshals, the pages and the press gathered here in Tampa, I am young. We, the young people, are underrepresented as part of the global church gathered here....

Photos from Tampa

Welcome to Tampa! Here is the view along the river nearby the convention center.

 The swag acquired on GC2012 Day 1:

 Young Adults and friends here as part of the Love Your Neighbor Coalition:

 The 'Tabernacle,' headquaters of the Love Your Neighbor Coalition:

 

A reminder about the injustices of immigration and the conditions which refugees and people sans papiers:

Breaking the Radio Silence: A German spring

A recognize that my blog has been neglected in the past few weeks. Such neglect has not been the result of a lack of things about which to write; rather such neglect stems from a lack of time to fully formulate my thoughts in a readable and presentable manner, particularly as so much seems to have filled the past five weeks.

Therefore, in breaking the radio silence, I wish to update you all not with words, but with photos, through a photo gallery glimpse into my German spring and the accomplishments and tasks that have occupied my time these past weeks:

Connecting with Nathan the Wise

during a visit to Wolfenbüttel as part of our staff weekend

away in the country at the end of March.

Following the 21.0975 km tour through Berlin on April 1...

The view from the Siegesäule (Victory Column) during
a Berlin history tour with the Kindertreff Learning Club on Maundy Thursday.

A sample of the masterpiece eggs created during
an afternoon of dying 36 Easter eggs with three friends on April 7.

And the Easter baskets created to share with my friends on Easter.

Easter weekend was also devoted to sewing projects; following
Easter weekend, I am now the owner and wearer of these three skirts.

"And you should also live" - The theme for the North German Annual Conference held in Berlin April 12-15.

The coming weeks will continue to be busy. On Monday I fly to Tampa, Florida for two weeks to take part in the United Methodist General Conference. But from Tampa, I plan to post updates on the happenings at and adventures of General Conference. So, until then, I am signing off. But next time, the radio silence will not perpetuate so long.

March the 8th

“The battle for the individual rights of women is one of long standing

and none of us should countenance anything which undermines it.”

– Eleanor Roosevelt

Last year at this time, I never really would have described myself with the ‘feminist’ label. And two years ago, when I celebrated International Women’s Day with my sister in labor in the hospital (a fitting celebratory activity for women’s day!), it was the first time that I ‘celebrated’ or even recognized the existence of International Women’s Day at all.

Now, in the past, it wasn’t necessarily that women’s rights weren’t important to me, but at the same time, I wouldn’t have called myself a feminist. However, as my stumbling across a 12^th grade research paper on the Wage Pay Gap and a freshman-year paper on the importance of female leadership this past week would seem to indicate, I have been either a mildly subdued or completely closeted feminist for a long time.

During the past few months in Berlin, I have had more conversations about feminism than I had even during my college years living with Miriam Wood and Katie Kraft (Yes, the Rosie the Riveter poster is here for you two!). However, those past conversations helped to feed the seed that has finally broken soil and surfaced as I finally claim my own feminist identity.

It is for this reason that International Women’s Day this year cannot pass without a blog post dedicated to the topic (even if it comes a day late!). And this year, International Women’s Day has another added sense of

importance. On Wednesday, I received an email from my mother that one of my favorite great aunts had passed away. When I was little, I didn’t really know who Aunt Ann was. We saw her when we went to church with Grandma on Easter and otherwise received occasional cards from her – sometimes on our birthdays, but always at Christmas. In writing our Christmas ‘Thank You’ Notes, Aunt Ann always received the longest, most-detailed note – not only because we saw her less frequently, but because she placed such great value in reading about what we were up to in our lives.

When we began frequenting Ellwood City more often during my years in middle and high school as my grandmother got older, as we visited her more often, as we helped her move out of and sell her house, and as we returned for her funeral, I began to gain a more wholistic sense of who, exactly, Aunt Ann was and gained a renewed respect for her, her strength, her manner of speech, her interest in the world and in my sisters and me, and her compassion that drove her to volunteer and to stay active within her community. After my grandmother’s death and during my years at university, I seldom made the trek to Ellwood City, but regularly corresponded with Aunt Ann and shared the details of my studies, my service and my travels. During my time in Turkey and Germany during the past few years, we continued to write letters and I diligently responded to her notecards, knowing that writing back meant so much.

This past summer, I had two week’s time to visit my friends in DC, attend a conference, get my medical clearance and pack my bags for my return to Germany. However, I had this nagging feeling that I needed to somehow stop in Ellwood City and visit my mother’s cousins, my great Aunt Gladys, and Aunt Ann. This time, I listened to that nagging feeling - you know, that gut feeling you get, when you know you need to do something, but you don’t know why?

Now I know why we drove three hours out of our way that Sunday afternoon to visit Aunt Ann. And I am immensely thankful that I had the opportunity to see this woman, strong in her faith, her love of life, and her thirst for examining the world with a lens of justice, one last time.

Might we remember and thank the strong female role models like Anna K. Worrell in our lives, celebrate the work of current female leaders around the world, and continue to work that all women might be treated with justice, equality, and respect and granted the same freedoms and rights that all people deserve. Happy International Women’s Day.

“A woman is like a tea bag - you can't tell how strong she is until you put her in hot water.”

- Eleanor Roosevelt

Operation: Tampa

For those of you involved in United Methodist circles, you likely know that this year at the end of April, United Methodists from around the world will meet together in Tampa, Florida to discuss, debate and determine the legislation of the United Methodist Church.

Thanks to the support of the fantastic Dumbarton United Methodist Church and the initiative of the Methodist Federation for Social Action, I will be lucky enough to be there in Tampa as all of this unfolds! As part of the Common Witness Coalition, I will spend two weeks in Florida assisting in monitoring legislation for Church and Society I, the committee reviewing issues of migration, nuclear weapons, environmental justice, Israel and Palestine, and political relationships with China and Cuba, just to name a few (It is refreshing to have all those years of studying International Relations being utilized!).

Now, I will not be there alone in my work; instead, there will by MANY people there helping to monitor and pass the legislation that will shape the future of the church - which is why being there will be so important.

Volunteers like myself and the delegates alike are busy preparing for the conference. In reflection on all of the preparation that one needs for such a conference, my good friend, Rachel Birkhahn-Rommelfanger, has begun a blog to reflect "the story of people who struggle to prepare for that challenging event [General Conference], one piece of legislation at a time."

Here is my most recent post reflecting on this competitive 'game':

Metho-Decathlon: Conference Calls, Team 'Practice' and Our Friend, ...: The United Methodist Church introduced me to the joy of conference calls. Initially it was my teammate and co-competitor, Rachel „str...

Embarking on our Lenten Journey

OnFire: the young united methodist justice movement: Embarking on our Lenten Journey: Before 2006, I had never connected the term “social justice” with my faith as a Christian. Yet today, Christ's model of exemp lifying minist...

A Fulbright Reflection

At this time last year, I was mourning my retreat from Berlin as a Fulbright scholar and preparing to move to Essen, a city where I had had no connections and knew no familiar faces. However, as fate would seem to have it, I have been lucky to once again return to my home here in Berlin. Unreservedly, I am glad that this February does not require the same retreat that the previous year demanded. Instead, I continue to have months ahead to spend with my friends, colleagues, and the children here in Berlin.

A few weeks back, Fulbright had asked me to share a reflection on my Fulbright experience for their online newsletter and to also reflect on what it is like to be back in Germany again. The reflection is now up and published on the web.

For your reading pleasure, I pass along this link:
Integration, from the Other Side

From Trash to Treasure

I have always liked creating things. Whether it be sewing scrap fabric into a bag during a summer school break, knitting a scarf, or scrapbooking photos, I like the sense of creating something new and then continuing to use it to fulfill an already existing need. In an attempt to live simply, this urge to create has gravitated towards a creativity of turning trash to treasure during my time here in Berlin, a shift that has been accompanied by an adventure into new mediums of creation - from the familiar of sewing, knitting and decoupaging, to the somewhat explored photography and to the newer forms of painting and drawing.

As I gathered furniture together for my apartment here in Berlin, rather than buying crates or containers simply to hold 'stuff,' I have become a connoisseur of utilizing that, which would otherwise be thrown to the curb. To hold my knitting, I converted a box that my parents had sent me into a sewing basket. The sewing, knitting and crocheting needles, thread, scissors, paintbrushes inhabit glass jars from various jams and foods that I have eaten in the past five months.

Paper that I want to recycle gets tossed next to my trashcan into another old packing box covered with envelopes and tea bag wrappers.

My prize ‘trash’ creation, however, is my table. Since moving in in September, I have been regularly visiting flea markets in search of the perfect table for my room. A small end table to sit next to my sitting chair upon which to set my current reading pile and a cup of warm tea was all that I wanted. But, I found no table that met my expectations.

Then, however, one of the chairs in our kitchen broke. After bearing the wear of people leaning back into the wooden chair, the wood had split between the chair seat and back. One morning I returned from running to find the outcast chair alone in the hallway of our apartment next to the trash. After waiting one day, I smuggled the chair into my room and took the cracked chair-back, and made the crack final and official by severing the chair back and chair seat. Since then, I have found my perfect table. At a cost of zero, the chair (now turned table) serves all of the desired purposes. And with a bit of yellow paint, it adds a bright and jolliness to my room during these winter months here in Berlin.

Other than making cushion covers for the old chair I pulled out of our apartment storage, my creation of trash treasures may simply subside as my need for such handy creations ceases. However, my interest in sewing, photography, painting and drawing remains high. Perhaps, cards, things to wear and artwork for my room will be what comes to follow.

"And, who are you?"

This was the question posed at the beginning of a sermon given by the Berlin/Brandenburg District Superintendent, Christian Voller-Morgenstern, at a worship service in Kreuzberg earlier this month. You know when you are at holiday parties and people come up and ask you, “And, who are you?”. I had to laugh, as this question, simply in the disguise of another question – “What do you do?” – had plagued my four years in Washington, DC. The question(s) is not necessarily meant to offend, but there also isn’t really a good answer to such a question, particularly in speaking with someone who you are just meeting for the first time.

Where do I start? We are all accustomed to answer with qualifiers, attributes, associations and relational ordering. I am a sister. I am from Rochester, NY. I am a social worker. I am a Christian. I am an American. I am white.

Yes, these answers – what I do, what I look like, what my relationships are, what I believe, and what citizenship I hold – are all components of who I am, but they fail to answer the root question of ‘who I am.’ The question ‘Who are you’ demands a deeper analysis, a deeper answer. Although my identity is on the one side comprised of how I self-identify and the labels to which I self-ascribe, it is also shaped by how I present myself and how others see and perceive me in response. While one attribute of my identity may vary, such as a change in my citizenship, this change in identity does not, in actuality, change who I am. Yes, with a different citizenship, everything would be different, but everything would also be the same. I would still be who I am.

Although race, ethnicity, career, sexual orientation, education level and marital status are all components of one’s identity, none of them alone describe who a person is. I am neither the passport I carry in my pocket nor the work that I do. Yes, these are formative in making me who I am, but they are not the final deciding variable in who I am.

Identity is a topic that seems to pop-up everywhere in my life recently. Sitting with my work colleagues after our Christmas party with the children and youth at the Kindertreff a few weeks ago, we got to talking about identity. Identity comes up frequently in our discussions with the youth at the Kindertreff, as well, because they often find themselves living between or without identity.

As someone who tends to research, analyze, and contemplate the social, class, and racial conditions of those around me, anyways, I find it really interesting to internally reflect on the same issues. I have taken numerous university courses on issues of identity and have found some pretty interesting stuff in my research on issues of identity for migrants, for Muslims, and for those with 'migration background’ here in Germany.

Being abroad, it is interesting to note how predominant one’s citizenship and nationality come to serve as a dominant factor of identity, particularly in answering the question, ‘Who are you?’. I would never describe myself as a typical American. I fulfill almost none of the awaited stereotypes or clichés, much to the disappointment of those whom I meet. Yes, of course, being an American outside of the U.S. already makes me an exception. But, not only do I not eat American fast food, particularly from McDonald’s, I do not drink Starbuck’s coffee, or constantly have a bottle of Coca-Cola within arm’s reach.

To the disappointment of many of the children and youth with whom I work, I do not even watch television, am not up on my Hollywood movies and actresses and actors, and am not best friends with Justin Bieber (which is good, since he is actually from Canada, anyways). I don’t really care about American sports either, and if that doesn’t make me un-American, then I am not sure what does.

However, there are other ‘American’ things that slowly, I realize, have become more important to me, particularly the longer I am away. For example, the progression of American holidays (even the ones I previously considered irrelevant) and the current stand of the American university semester serve as key markers of time and time progression. And American politics remains an important, albeit frustrating, topic that I follow as closely as possible regardless of where I live.

And food. I don’t necessarily eat McDonald’s or a lot of pizza or hamburgers, anyways, and the staple American consummation of peanut butter has been substituted by the superior Turkish hazelnut butter, but I do stand strong on my love of cookies, muffins, and brownies. And, no, I am not sure that October 31^st can come and go without eating some Resse’s Peanut Butter Cups and candy corn, nor that the last Thursday in November can pass without some pumpkin pie or the acceptable equivalent.

But still, even in a foreign country, I cannot answer the question, ‘Who are you?’ with ‘I am an American.’. Who I am is much more complex than that.

During the sermon where this question was addressed, the District Superintendent posed the possibility of answering with, “I am a child of God.” Although we had to laugh a bit, simply considering the reactions that one would receive if one began answering in such a way in today’s secular society, there is some value in such an answer. While other variables of our identity may fluctuate, we remain the same. We remain children of God.

“And, who are you?” “I am a child of God. And so are you.”