Caves. Stories.

We’ve also done a lot of talking about what mission is. I think really, though, it’s almost easier to define what mission is NOT.

It’s not taking Jesus anywhere—Jesus is everywhere.
It’s not leading someone to new truth—it’s exposing all the truth inherent to their life.
It’s not preaching or teaching or cultivating—it’s experiencing and listening.

It’s everything that resonates with what I hear out of the gospel story. And the gospel story is my story. It’s the story of everything. It’s a myth retold with flesh on: Life, Death, and Rebirth. It’s cyclical. It’s beautiful.

It’s people.
It’s people being as divinely human as humans are capable of—caring for each other, being courageous for one another. It’s not speaking up for the voiceless, it’s giving people space to make their voices. In some cases, it’s reminding people that they have voices when their voices have been beaten out of them by dark stares from some and passive silence from the majority.

And it feels like deep, rich, bass notes with high-flung overtones ringing through your chest.

Like I said, my feet are beginning to feel ground. I’ve got a heart full of memories and a personhood full to bursting of the love and support of others. Really, I think that’s all anybody needs. It’s like the example of making a human chair circle: if you’re supported, you can be supportive and if everybody’s doing that, nobody falls through the cracks.

The only thing is, we have caves; personal caves of insecurity, doubt, and fear and societal caves of injustice, misunderstanding, and lack of accountability. So I guess mission is an exercise in caving, exploring those crevices and bringing people together to fill the gaps and light up the dark spaces. (The last part sounds really overused, but I think it still has truth even if it seems stale in my head.)

So, the great feelings of tension I’ve been wrapped in for the past several weeks are finally beginning to release. I’m being slowly unraveled from the spider web of anticipation and nervousness and apprehension and my feet are touching on something solid.

I like this ground where I am.

I like these people I’m with.

I’m even beginning to like not knowing what’s next.

A great deal of stress has been placed on the importance of becoming a story-gatherer this summer. I breathe a sigh of relief at that because, if I do one thing well, it’s stories. My entire thought process is wrought of stories. Every taste, every texture, every color, every musical thing is linked to a story for me. Nothing is mine, but everything is mine. My thoughts are the thoughts of everyone I encounter. So, I guess, encountering more people and places, I can just add to my stock and hope that I get privileged enough to share those stories with other people, and then maybe we can get stuff done.

I guess what it boils down to is my profound belief in the transforming power of Story and Gospel. Deep down inside, I truly believe that if enough people are made aware of the true nature of the issues and suffering present in the world, they too will want to act and then something will really get done. In the mean time, though, we have to get there. I think maybe this summer is my attempt at getting there.

Already so much of what has been setting my intellect on fire at school is being covered and applied actively here. In these past couple of days my heart has leapt up out of its seat to join my mind in the wonder. I’m really beginning to feel whole again now that I’m matching learning with action instead of just learning.

I also think it will be really difficult for me to go back to school again when this concludes. I know myself; I’m impatient, and I can see myself wanting to just jump in and do this without going back to school. Somewhere, though, there’s a place for me, and I get the feeling it’s in the middle of both of these. Somewhere between Acadamia and Mission Miscellania. That’s where I’ll sink a mailbox post.