Copernican Revolution (Jeremy)

Under a whirring fan in a near windowless church, thirteen teenagers and I sit in a circle and consider a world with someOne other than self at its axis. I reference the earth's orbit around the sun, attempting to draw some parallel to Jesus as the glorious center and His influence upon the trajectory of our lives. I'm thinking, "this will bring it home for them." But, the analogy lands with a thud.

-"Are you saying that we're moving?"

-"I don't feel like I'm moving."

One guy is shifting his weight from one foot to the other - apparently to make sure the ground beneath is still solid.

-"Well then, where does night come from?"

And so the analogy consumes that which it attempts to explain, and I find myself in the middle of a Physics lesson. We discuss their questions, transition rather ungracefully back to the original point and close in prayer. I'm laughing at myself and thinking, "we could use some more windows in this church."

Urban Farming (Jeremy)

I don’t know why I buy potatoes. Maybe it’s because of the number of people that the potato pile in the grocery store seems to attract - “I’ve got to get in on that.” Maybe it’s barbaric optimism - “If we have potatoes, we will cook them.” Whatever the reason, most potatoes in our home do not find their way to our plates. Instead, they linger and, eventually, blossom. One afternoon, Claudinho, inspired by the sudden vitality of these fruit stand fixtures, decided to plant one in a pot on our veranda – a new spin on “if life gives you a lemon…” He gathered the soil from the pots of other dead plants (sorry, Camilla) in the largest pot available along with the budding potato. Through faithful watering and care, the potato became a plant in its own sort of way. From that day on, black beans, carrots and other vegetables began disappearing from our pantry shelves, cups came up missing, and the veranda sprang to life in a “Rudolf misfit toys” kind of way. But for all its variety, this garden was rather plain. First off, these growths all looked more like vines than plants. They also were very quick to sprout and quick to die if placed in the sunlight. Finally, none of them produced anything. I think Claudinho wanted to stockpile food in case things went Y2k on us. But when he realized that there was nothing much to these plants, he stopped watering them. They were a novelty that had had their day; now, nothing more than wilted nostalgia.

Visit to Rio (Russ and Kara)

Kara and I spent a "week in the life" with Jeremy, Jason, Kristin, and baby Jacob recently. We had an incredible time enjoying the beauty of Brasil- from the views from Corcovado and Sugarloaf to the beaches of Ipanema, Leblon, and Barra. But the greatest beauty in Brasil is without a doubt its people. Whether it be playing soccer with students from the nearby communities, sweeping floors and cleaning out trashcans at a local widows home, or walking the streets of Rio, you can see in these people a zeal for life that you just don't see in the States. Looking through the warped lens of our lives in the US, your initial impression is to see a people who have so little, but after just a short time around them you begin to understand that we are the ones who are deprived. In Brasil you find true community, people connected to each other and committed to each other. You find joy in the most unlikely places and generosity unheard of in our "me first" culture. It occurs to me that it makes sense that our hosts have become so ingrained in this culture. Their daily decision to die to themselves and live their lives in service to the people of this city is challenging to us- and inspiring. It causes us to look outside of ourselves and consider what our community could be like if that attitude were prevalent here. Thank you Jeremy, Jason, Kristin, and Jacob for opening up your homes and opening up our eyes.

Off Road (Jeremy)

It’s 7:30 on a Saturday evening, and I’m driving 12 kids home after a visit to the mall. We’re heading down a narrow dirt road, bordered by trees to the left and a drainage ditch to the right. We drop two kids off at their aunt’s house and are looking to head back. I try a three point turnaround, but only make it to point number two. The VW van is a lot longer than my VW Gol, and I’ve backed us into the drainage ditch. The front two tires are about two feet in the air. Some of the kids scream in panic; others in delight. We get the kids out safely, and the neighbors begin to congregate around the van. I don’t even try to explain. There are certain acts of stupidity where you lose your right to excuses. But instead of just standing around and taking cheap shots at the gringo, the locals got right to work. The men started pushing on the back of the van, while the women put rocks under the rear tires to generate traction. Two guys put on their knee-high rubber boots so that they could get down into the ditch and push more effectively. They refused to let me do the same, concerned that I would get my clothes dirty. Meanwhile, more people are streaming in from the community to help, as some of the older women have got the story in circulation. Six strategies and thirty minutes later, the van surges from the ditch, amidst a shower of rocks, mud and applause. Embraces are exchanged, and I’m invited to visit more often - under different circumstances. The crowd still lingers in my rear view mirror as I consider what it is like to live among people who need each other.

Passion (Jeremy)

Due to the generosity of several of you, we were able to attend the Passion Conference in São Paulo. It left a real impression on Paulo and Claudinho, who had the chance to worship with some of their favorite musicians and hear the gospel recontextualized. The event seemed to give these guys a new concept of God-centered youth. Here are some pictures from the conference. The Crowder one isn't ours. Once again, thanks to all of you who made it possible.

Widows and Orphans (Jeremy)

Every other Saturday morning, Claudinho, Felipe (a potential house candidate) and I volunteer at a home for widows. We spend our time sweeping, washing windows, sanding furniture, etc. But, the intrigue of these mornings lies in the fusion of our world with theirs. With the older women, life is unhurried and calculated. One lady took a swipe at another with her cane the other day, but the blow was so sluggish that we didn't even notice. Someone actually had to explain to us that they were fighting. Life for the guys, on the other hand, is all potential and passion at terminal velocity. In these Saturday mornings of overlap, the two groups appear to thrive off of one another. The women jump into the playfulness of the guys, a few of them even dropping some one liners. The guys, in turn, submit to the silence and weight of significance that seems to pervade the house. The one becomes the lens for the other. But, these ladies need to give up on trying to get these guys to sing hymns.