Book Review: Three Cups of Tea

In 1993 Greg Mortenson, a nurse and avid climber, barely survived a failed attempt to scale Himalayan peak K2, the second highest mountain in the world. Lost and separated from his guide, Mortenson wandered into the small, impoverished Pakistani village of Korphe. As the people nursed him back to health, Mortenson was moved by their kindness—and horrified by the sight of school children attempting to learn while kneeling on frosty ground. Once healed, he left with the promise he’d return and build them a school. Amazingly, over the next decade he managed not only to keep his vow, but build 54 more across the country.

“The first time you share tea with [us] you are a stranger,” Korphe village leader Haji Ali told Mortenson. “The second time you take tea, you are an honored guest. The third time you share a cup of tea, you become family, and for our family, we are prepared to do anything, even die.” Ali’s words not only inspire the book’s title, but foreshadow the often nail-biting adventure Mortenson embarks upon as he faces con artists, the fallout from 9/11 and Islamic extremism, and young girls struggling to gain an education in the face of overwhelming obstacles.

TALK ABOUT IT: Other than describing Mortenson’s early life as the son of missionaries in Tanzania, Three Cups of Tea (Penguin Books, 2007) shares little about his personal faith. However, his willingness to embrace people so different from himself—physically, psychologically, and spiritually—provides a great example for Christians. How do we respond to those we encounter daily whose lifestyles, beliefs, and choices are at odds with our faith? Mortenson shows that, like Jesus, we can still give love and respect—and earn the same in return. Through those literal and metaphorical three cups of tea, he accepts the Pakistani people as they are—and makes a life-changing impact in the process.

Perhaps even more inspiring is Mortenson’s commitment to fulfill his promise to the Korphe villagers. It would have been easy, even understandable, if he’d forgotten the vow once he returned home. With plenty of distractions to command his attention—a broken relationship, finding himself jobless and homeless, and eventually marrying—he could have given up on the school and never looked back. Instead, he held on tenaciously to his promise, and poured all his determination and creativity into making it happen.

As Christians, do we abandon our commitment and promises to God when the going gets tough? Or do we, like Mortenson, employ tenacity and creativity in fulfilling them, no matter the obstacle or cost?

Spirituality at Starbucks

At first I thought it was a women’s Bible study group. They’d pulled up a circle of chairs right next to the little table I’d claimed at Starbucks. They had journals and thick books in hand, were introducing themselves to one another, and looked pumped to have a great conversation.

Then I decided that it must be a book-club group meeting for the first time as they said things like, “I ended up reading six chapters. I just couldn’t stop!”

I tried to ignore them and stick to typing away on my laptop, but their enthusiasm was effusive (and their volume was rather loud). My ears perked up when I heard this comment: “I feel like this is the first time anyone has ever told me the truth about God . . . and about myself.”

Hmmm . . . what kind of book did they read? I wondered. Maybe this is a Bible study.

I heard more comments along these lines: “It is just so refreshing to realize I can experience God without having to go through a religion!”

“I used to go to church, but I haven’t gone much over the past few years. I’ve felt really guilty about it . . . but now I feel free. I’ve realized that I don’t need church anymore.”

“I want spirituality in my life—not a system of rules.”

Ah-ha! I deduced: This is an Oprah book club!

It was a group of women who’d gathered to read and discuss Eckhart Tolle’s book A New Earth and who’d begun watching weekly global cybercasts on spirituality hosted by Oprah.
Spirituality is the religion du jour. According to a recent Newsweek poll, 30 percent of Americans claim to be “spiritual but not religious.” Another survey found that 37 percent of evangelical Christians believed that various religions could provide truth and lead to eternal life.

One of the appeals of popular spirituality is that it can sort of be whatever you want it to be—it can include elements of Christianity with some eastern mysticism thrown in for flavor. It can combine Native American beliefs with Buddhism and some good ‘ole New Age self-actualization. Or it can be completely made up: no dogma needed, no religious text required, just your own ideas about your self, the planet, and the divine.

Oprah’s not the only cultural icon espousing popular spirituality; books like Eat, Pray, Love are growing cultural interest in spiritual leaders like Deepak Chopra and the Dalai Lama. And even the enduring influence of novels like The Da Vinci Code have led many people (including many Christians) to redefine their sense of what it means to be a spiritual person.

I began to feel really sad as I sat there at Starbucks and thought about the comments I’d heard. I could sense the strong feeling of longing—the desire for meaning—expressed in each of the women’s voices. I wondered what they thought Oprah could offer them that Jesus couldn’t. And I felt especially sad when I heard them talk about the idea that we can find true meaning and divinity within ourselves; what a false promise! Eugene Peterson describes the essence of Christian spirituality as just the opposite: “[It’s] getting so tired and fed up with yourself [that] you go on to something better, which is following Jesus.”

How have you seen “pop spirituality” integrating itself into our culture and even into the beliefs and practices of Christians? Why is the message of Oprah and other pop spirituality gurus so appealing to women in our culture? How can we effectively share with others the true spirituality our souls were designed for: intimacy with Jesus—the authentic way, the ultimate truth, and the source of abundant life?

Using Your Gifts

I first heard of spiritual gifts at the church my husband and I joined when our kids were young. We attended an all-day event in which a guest speaker walked us through an assessment to discover what gifts God had built into us for his good purposes.

I was dismayed to learn that my primary spiritual gift was teaching. How could I have the gift of teaching? I was too shy to speak in front of a group. How would I ever be able to teach people if I was always tongue-tied? There must be a mistake, I thought, as I feverishly re-took the assessment. Once again, I scored much higher on teaching than on any other spiritual gift. Okay, God, I bargained, I’ll use this gift, but you’re going to have to grow me. I can’t speak, so I have no idea how you intend for me to use this gift.

About the same time, God led me to my first job as an editor. All my life I wanted to be a writer and an editor. Suddenly I saw the synergy between the dream God planted in me for writing and the prospect of teaching. Perhaps God intended for me to teach through my writing! Suddenly, the gift I wanted to give back to God made sense. Knowing he had “gifted” me to teach gave my writing purpose and significance. I wasn’t writing for just anyone; I was writing for the King!

For 12 years, I wrote articles and edited books, most of which focused on encouraging and equipping women to become all that God intended them to be as individuals, wives, and mothers.

Recently, I retook a spiritual gifts inventory. Can our spiritual gifts change? Does God give us certain gifts for a season and then re-gift us with a new strength for a new season? According to my new score, the spiritual gift of faith is now my strong suit, and teaching ranks far down on the list of possibilities.

As I’ve gotten older and God has allowed me to walk through some difficult life-changing experiences, I feel I have far less to teach others, but a much higher capacity to trust God. Maybe learning to trust God is what he intended for me to teach others all along.

Book Review: Everyday Justice

Sometimes we feel crippled by the pain and oppression in the world. So many causes. So many worthy callings. We think our actions have to be big or even vocational; it’s overwhelming and paralyzing.

But what if even our small actions—like what we eat, drink, drive, and wear—can make a difference to others and the environment? Julie Clawson’s new book, Everyday Justice (IVP Books), helps us answer this question. Her practical guide takes the obscurity out of “social justice,” a buzz phrase we hear all the time in our churches and in the media. What does it mean to live justly (Micah 6:8), and why is it important in our mission to love God, others, and creation?

Clawson fuses a healthy understanding of worship and justice: “Worship doesn’t merely involve enacting the cultural rituals of worship of personal piety, but more importantly, it involves how we treat others. . . . Following God in full obedience is an act of worship, which means acting justly is part of what it means to worship God.” In other words, what we do in the sanctuary should inform what we do in our homes, in our ministries, and in the world.

Everyday Justice addresses relevant commodities: coffee, chocolate, cars, food, and clothes. The last two chapters are about waste and debt. In each chapter, Clawson describes a brief history of the topic, a biblical response, how our ignorance contributes to unfair practices around the globe, and what steps we can take in combating these injustices.

I like knowing how my actions can make a difference, which is why I appreciate the practical approach Clawson takes. Many books on justice are thoughtful but theoretical. While Everyday Justice unpacks the biblical, historical, and sociological realities behind the choices we make and what we buy, Clawson has done the heavy lifting and gives us simple (but not always easy) steps we can take.

For example, the chapters that were most poignant for me were the chapters on coffee, chocolate, and food. We hear terms like “fair trade” and “organic” thrown around, but what do they really mean, and why are they important? Many of the farmers that produce these commodities are exploited for their time, labor, and commodities. They struggle to survive on the wages they receive for their work and are trapped in an unfair system. There is no way out.

When we buy wisely, we support these farmers and the companies with just business practices. We are not helpless consumers. Through our choices, we have the power to advocate for the voiceless and enact small change. While these sacrifices take intentionality and careful budgeting, they do not have to be drastic. Clawson’s philosophy is “tweaking” our behavior, not changing our lives.

Everyday Justice can help us incorporate these small changes into our daily lives. Julie Clawson is clear that we don’t live this way simply because it’s trendy, but because God calls each of us to gospel-centered justice.

The Best Days Are Behind Me?

Every day, on my way home from work, I drive past a college campus. As I wait to turn left onto College Avenue, I often see groups of students walking down the street to go to dinner together. Usually I smile, while fond memories come rushing back. I often look at them wondering if they’re taking it all in—if they’re enjoying this unique experience of community with their peers. I find myself longing to be them; wishing that I was walking with my friends to the cafeteria, instead of driving home to an empty apartment.

I really loved my time in college—homework, exams, and textbooks included. College, in my memories, was like this otherworldly place. A place where you could go to class three hours a day and watch TLC in the afternoon with your roommate. A place where there was always someone who wanted to order pizza at midnight, make chocolate chip cookies at 5 p.m. for dinner, or start a movie late at night. I could sleep until 10 a.m! Heaven! Or at least, that’s how I remember it.

Life after college is often a strange transition, and that was certainly the case for me. After graduation, most of my friends got married, and we all entered the working world. Our 9 to 5 was now spent in a cubicle, instead of with each other. College had been an amazing time when we were all working toward the same goal: graduation. Life after college brought new goals for each individual: careers, marriages, families, mortgages. We were all in different places. Suddenly time together had to be scheduled—it didn’t just happen.

Though I saw my friends often, it was still hard. I would often lament with one of my friends—one year after graduating—about our current situations. Things hadn’t been easy for either of us in our post-college worlds, and we often looked back on college as a “perfect” time. We thought that surely our problems would be rectified if we could only go back to that time of classes and dorm events and little responsibility. And now, five and half years later, I still feel the pang of wanting to escape to those easier times.

Probably most of us have these times in our lives—periods that we look back upon and think, Man, that was a great time. It won’t be like that ever again. Maybe it was a time in your youth, at school, or at church. Maybe it was a friendship, a relationship, a job. Our hearts long for better times—whether those times were truly “better” or not. Sometimes hindsight is not 20/20; sometimes it’s blurred and skewed and softened by our memories of what we’d like it to be.

Psalm 39:7 says, “But now, Lord, what do I look for? My hope is in you.” That is precisely what I struggle with: I put my hope in the past and I long for better times. My hope is not often in the Lord. Today, I’m thankful for a wonderful college memory and for wonderful friendships born out of that time. I’m learning to look at those college students walking down the street and be thankful for that time of life instead of wistfully wishing I was still there. Each day I’m learning to be focused on today’s blessings, instead of longing for those that have already passed.

What about you? Have you ever longed for days passed? How have you learned not to look back with longing, but look forward with anticipation?

Becoming a Godmother

Not long ago, my sister and brother-in-law asked me to serve as their son’s godmother. Over a series of text messages with the attendant abbreviations and emoticons, we discussed the responsibility of caring for my nephew’s physical, spiritual, and intellectual development.

I couldn’t help but smile over the idea of having such a serious conversation through the casual medium of text messages. Still, given the experiences my three siblings and I had with our godparents, it seemed appropriate. Our godmothers and godfathers were members of the church we attended, so their presence in our lives was as ordinary and frequent as a Sunday service at our church in Boulder, Colorado. At the same time, these remarkable Christian adults were deeply intentional about showing us special care.

My godmothers, whom we call Aunt Jewell and Grandma Innis, entered our lives as if they’d always been there. My mother describes the ease and care with which Aunt Jewell held me at Bible study when I was a newborn. “She held you like you were her own,” she always says when recounting the story. That convinced my parents that she was the godparent they’d been looking for. A few years later, during my sister’s dedication, Grandma Innis stepped forward, and, with the gentle authority of a seasoned church mother, said simply, “I am the grandmother.”

For my young parents, who’d moved across the country during their honeymoon, these women provided a deep sense of family and community. And rather than limiting their influence to only one child, they adopted all four of us. Now, as I think about becoming a godmother, I am challenged by their example as Christian women.

Both of these women are known as faithful church members who joyfully served our church with their gifts. For many years, Aunt Jewell was a deaconess and the superintendent of the Sunday school. During church, she and I sat together. Grandma Innis, who died in 2000, presided over the deaconess ministry from the second pew in the sanctuary. The highlight of the annual Christmas concert was always her performance of the calypso-rhythmed Christmas song, “Mary’s Boy Child.”

They modeled a hands-on role for godparenting that went far beyond simply standing up during baby dedications. Aunt Jewell opened her home to us for frequent sleepovers, and took us on countless hikes, fishing trips, rodeos, and other adventures, casually imparting life lessons and giving our parents a break. Grandma Innis went shopping with us for school supplies each year, and made sure my sister and I had the frilly Easter dresses and beautiful jewelry worn by young girls in her native Panama.

Both Aunt Jewell and Grandma Innis are known for their practical generosity. Aunt Jewell is always thinking of ways to serve people—tutoring young readers, thinking of innovative vacation Bible school and retreat ideas, prospecting new sites for the annual women’s gathering, and, in her sixties, starting a band called the “Prime Timers” that ministers to people in nursing homes. And before her death, there was a period where there were fewer than six degrees of separation existing between Grandma Innis and someone in Boulder she’d blessed in some way. They demonstrated how to love everyone—and to still make each person feel special as an individual. As mentors, teachers, and friends, they exemplify the high calling of participating in people’s lives as members of a Christ-centered community.

I’m so grateful for the example they’ve given me. And as I think about my walk of faith, I’m challenged now to think about the gift—and the serious calling—of participating in a child’s life in this way. I’m prayerfully asking God to shore up the weak places in my walk, and to make me like these faithful women, knowing that they asked him to make them more like his Son.