september 2008 newsletter...
It would seem I've conquered the first quarter of the school year. Or perhaps it's conquered me. I've definitely settled into routines. Each morning begins with a much-needed cup of coffee and two slices of toast made with the local baker's divine cinnamon bread. I manage to read about two paragraphs of Augustine's Confessions (I've been reading it for over a year now) over breakfast, or I simply gaze glazedly out the dining room doors at what are now beautiful blue sky mornings.
I know my students and my students know me. They come into my classroom ready to learn. Most days. Funny, my AP U.S. History students here don't love learning about tariffs and the Constitution any more than my AP U.S. students in Atlanta. My 19th Century Imperialism class, though? They're on fire! We're studying China and I have to hold them back. Maybe it's the excitement of the Taiping Rebellion and its leader, Hong Xiuquan, who thought himself Jesus's younger brother. By the time the rebellion died, so had 20 million Chinese citizens.
My sister and her two lovely daughters are here for over a month, so each day has ended with a family dinner. It feels so right to be sitting around the table together, sharing concerns, laughter, stories, and food. You wouldn't believe how fascinated my three year-old niece has become with belly buttons. 
Almost every night, she asks for a story about my belly button. I've been recycling one about how my belly button keeps trying to take a walk without me, but I won't let it get away. I'm so grateful for the opportunity to learn to know my nieces, and to spend a decent length of time with my sister.
Despite the routines, I have not yet grown accustomed to the pervasive spiritual apathy among students and colleagues. The most common response to talk of God is a shoulder shrug. This is in a country where religious violence becomes increasingly common. Just last week, a Catholic priest was strangled as he knelt at prayer in a small chapel outside the city at the bottom of the mountain where we live. The nun who assisted him met the same fate downstairs from the chapel, where she was trying to call for help. How can beliefs not matter when people daily die for their beliefs? Of course, it's possible that what I read as apathy more reflects confusion.
I'm ashamed to admit that, while this general mood deeply disturbs me, my response has been one of distaste and a silent self-righteousness. I grow angry and frustrated, but have few words to offer. I've developed congenial work relationships, but how will that help, ultimately? We all feel more comfortable, but the lonely remain lonely and the hopeless full of hopelessness. How can I break through the shields people so carefully construct around themselves? Of course, God must do this, but what's my daily role? I don't have answers yet, though I remain convinced that I need to work harder to be worthy of the trust of those around me, and to steadfastly present Truth whenever I have an opportunity. Honestly, sometimes I feel too weary to try. This is only one reason why I crave your prayer and one way I pray for you. Apathy and confusion seem to be global plagues at present.
Yesterday, Wim, a missionary from Belgium, spoke in church. He's only passing through, but his message brought so much light - like sunshine after the monsoon. He began by saying, "We live in a broken world." He proceeded to walk us simply through a series of passages that speak to the brokenness of the world. One verse immediately stood out to me, from Isaiah 66: "But this is the one to whom I will look: he who is humble and contrite in spirit and trembles at my word." And I've been frustrated at the apathy of others? I need to learn a lot about contrition and trembling myself.
Wim moved right past facing the apathy of others to speak about those facing direct persecution. He reminded us that we are called to literally weep at the condition of the world, as Jesus wept over Jerusalem in Luke 19, saying, "Would that you, even you, had known on this day the things that make for peace!" Jesus wept over those who plotted to kill him, yearning for them to know the peace only He could provide. Wim spoke of how our hearts ought to be broken over those who are persecuting. We ought to be praying for God to give them a heart like Paul's, so that they, too, could experience transformation.
All day, yesterday, I couldn't let go of the sermon and this call to pray for those who commit violence. I kept wondering, "How can my cold heart change? I feel no compassion for those who would strangle a priest at prayer." Finally, as I prepared for bed, a little spiritual window opened. The priest goes home to his Father. For you and me, physical death holds no threat - none at all. We have the concrete hope of redemption. But for those who do not care at all, for those who live in hopelessness, for those who do not know the way of peace, only an eternity of violence awaits. Put in such stark terms, how can I not feel compassion? And urgency. Peter says, "Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy." Pray again that God will teach me how to love well, how to show the mercy I have been shown. Pray, too, for the church in India and for those who seek to destroy it.
Your fellow pilgrim,
Amy