Everyday earth shaker: Richard Carlson

Lately, I’ve been tired of reading the stories in the news. All I see in the media is violence, political vitriol, and a whole slew of ways humanity can treat each other terribly.

I’m feeling a bit more weary than a 26-year old should feel.

And so I finally sat down to finish the reflection on the first “everyday earth shaker” I chose to profile - the late, great Richard Carlson.

It has been three months now since Richard passed away. A few weeks after his funeral, I realized that Richard was a beautiful example of what I was hoping to explore for this blog series on everyday earth shakers - people who are “the ones who see the world for what it is, yet work to shape a world they know is better, higher, and far greater than what we can imagine.”

I contacted three people who were incredibly close with Richard to see if they would be willing to be interviewed for this post: Phil Anderson, a good friend and colleague of his for the past 35 years; Paul DeNeui, who was a student, colleague, and friend of Richard over the years; and lastly, Jolene, his wife, partner, and best friend for well over four decades. The three of them graciously agreed to share their stories and memories of Richard with me. I was blessed beyond words to spend this time with them, collecting their words and their thoughts on a man loved and missed by many, a man who changed every corner of the world he touched.

*****

Jolene first met Richard in the late 60s in Chicago. She was teaching English, Speech, and Drama  at a high school in Douglas Park, and Richard was pastoring the Douglas Park Covenant Church at the time. She had heard of Richard before, as he had attended North Park College with her sisters. At North Park, Richard had majored in history. Richard was highly intelligent, part of a small group of students who formed a “brain trust” of sorts that was into debating the big topics of the day. Jolene shared that this interest in beating people with his sharp mind and arguments would fade later on as he grew into his positions as pastor and professor. His desire to take people's arguments apart changed into a desire to listen to them and discover things with them - perhaps this is the difference between a person who is merely intelligent and one who is wise.

Jolene and Richard met in January and were married by the following November. A few short years later, they moved to the west side of Chicago so Richard could pursue his doctorate at McCormick while teaching there. Not long after that, Richard and Jolene started their family.

Transitioning to being a father was hard for Richard, Jolene explained. As for any parent, it involved big changes in his schedule, his priorities, and it made him put certain dreams and ambitions on hold as he got used to parenting. It became easier as the children got older and as he had more time adjusting to being a dad. She shared how he loved playing games with his kids, and he always loved them unconditionally, which helped him navigate the parts of parenting that did not come so easily to him.

Jolene paused, then looked me straight in the eye: "He tried his hardest."

Listening to Jolene share about Richard as a father and husband was an amazing part of this experience. After Richard's death, so many shared stories of him as a teacher, pastor, mentor, and friend, but the longest and most impactful relationships he had were as husband and father to Jolene and their kids. Both Phil and Paul talked about how important Richard's family was to him, even though he always struggled to balance work and his life at home. Phil explained this struggle to maintain balance revealed Richard's heart and deep calling as a teacher, which always remained a priority to him. Richard gave 100% to everything he did, which is both an inspirational and a cautionary tale to us.

Hearing that Richard struggled to balance work and his personal life resounded with me...and I don't even have a husband and children yet. I'm barely into adulthood, and I already find myself often torn between trying to be an excellent student, intern, employee, friend, girlfriend, daughter, and sister. There's no way to do all those things perfectly all the time, and I find myself letting work supersede my relationships a bit too much (fittingly, I even typed "student, intern, and employee" first). I would love to sit down with Richard and talk with him about this.

Back to Richard's story.

In 1978, Richard joined the faculty at North Park Theological Seminary (NPTS), just one more community that could not resist being changed by Richard's spirit and presence. Phil Anderson joined the faculty soon after. He first met Richard in October of that year while interviewing for the church history position. Phil knew they'd be fast friends. They both were in the practice of keeping their office doors open so students and faculty could drop in to chat, often stopping by to talk with one another. Phil shared, “I miss those lengthy conversations about literally everything.” Paul DeNeui talked about how when Victoria's (a restaurant on Foster Ave.) was still in business, Phil and Richard would often go there together. They were quintessential regulars with their own booth and everything. NPTS misses those two and all their beautiful friendship brought to the Seminary.

When I asked Phil and Paul what Richard's main passion or calling was in life, their differing answers - when taken together - are perfect in describing Richard. Paul said that teaching was his ultimate call, though being a pastor and an activist were vocations he needed to go through before being ready to teach. Phil said that Richard was a pastor even as a teacher.

Pastor and teacher. Those gifts don't always go together...trust me...but when they do, that person is bound to shape whatever community they are in for the better. Richard was a teacher who never stopped learning, whose curiosity and sharp mind made him - in Phil's opinion - the NPTS faculty member with the most well-rounded education and field of expertise. At the same time, Richard was a pastor whose office was the informal counseling center for the seminary. Faculty, staff, and students were all welcome to come and sit in Richard's office (assuming his cluttered office could hold them at the time!), where they always encountered a kind listener whose compassion, grace, and wisdom held their stories and their pain gently.

Richard wasn't afraid of people's pain and the mess that often follows in its wake. He witnessed plenty of pain during his career. Back in his days as a pastor at Douglas Park Covenant, he was deeply involved in the civil rights movement. He not only marched with MLK, but he also used his voice to exhort the church to live into its role as one who actively upheld God's justice, righteousness, and compassion in broken communities. Chicago has its share of brokenness and injustice, but Richard didn't avoid it or shy away from it. Instead, he was a prophet to the Evangelical Covenant Church (and the church as a whole), reminding everyone that caring about social justice isn't about "issues" - it's about uplifting people who are hurting and oppressed, people who need to be cared for. Jolene aptly described Richard as a “man of all languages,” one who could connect with people of any race, social class, or walk of life. This gift may be rooted in (as Paul shared) Richard's passion for pouring life into people.

We could use more people like Richard, those who pour life into others instead of withholding or rationing love and understanding to them. Richard didn't see love as a finite or scarce resource that we should only dole out to those who "deserve it" or who have it all together. He saw love as something that is both infinite and universally needed in this world. Everyone who was blessed to know him got to experience the love and grace that Richard passed on to them from God, and I'm so grateful for how his loving witness changed North Park, the ECC, and every other community he was part of.

In the words of my roommate and good friend Kelly Perez, "You are a game changer, Richard Carlson. May we continue to carry on your legacy."

God bless you, Richard, and a heart-felt thank you for the way you lived your life. Your life reminds me to not give up on hope.

everyday earth-shakers

Last week, my nine-year old cousin convinced me to start reading the first Percy Jackson book series. She said the books were great and impossible to put down (which I took with a grain of salt, as she is only nine, after all). 

Considering I read them at the pace of a book per day over the first four days, I'd say her assessment was spot-on.

For those of you who are woefully unfamiliar with the series, it centers around Percy, a teenage boy who discovers he's a demigod (half human, half god). Life had always been hard for him - he was raised by a single mother, since Poseidon doesn't stick around with his baby mommas, apparently - and Percy struggled with ADHD, dyslexia, and being a general misfit in every school he attended (and was inevitably expelled from). Learning of his identity as Poseidon's son only makes life harder, as he is compelled to become a hero and take on quests to save both the mortal world and Mt. Olympus.

Cue the remarkable feats and unbelievable exploits Percy and his friends must perform to survive and succeed. The story line around our hero really does draw you in, as its plot is patterned on the same (yet perennially compelling) structure nearly every other adventure story you've read follows.

After reading an excessive amount of Percy Jackson one evening, I forced myself to drop the book and get outside for a walk before the sun sank below the horizon. It's not the dark I fear in San Antonio, as I'm living smack dab in suburbia, but the bugs here in Texas are quite fierce. (My unofficial job, outside of nannying, has been to provide nourishment for all the mosquitoes within a 2-mile radius of my aunt and uncle's ranch. Consider this accomplished.)

Anyways, on this lovely evening's walk, I was musing to myself about how much our culture loves the hero, the celebrity, the exceptional one who rises to the top. As much as we in the US trumpet our allegiance to democracy and equality, we think the person who is the most successful, most powerful, or most influential is inherently better than the rest of us mere mortals. This especially resounds when they overcome challenges and adversity. 

In the heroes we love from books and stories, they are often forced to step up on doomsday and rescue everyone from the brink of disaster, from an evil tide that is perilously close to taking down everything good, noble, and just.

As these thoughts tumble through my brain, I see a small visual aid confirming my train of thought: A tiny boy of no more than four years old, with jet black hair and a disarmingly sweet, shy smile, waves at me from his driveway wearing...a Batman t-shirt.

We love heroes. We don't require their character to be flawless or their conduct perfect - in fact, perhaps we prefer when they have weaknesses akin to ours - but we love them for their courage and abilities. Among the sharp contrasts in the comic-book world of good vs. evil, light vs. dark, just vs. unjust, we revel in their daring exploits that save the day.

Our world's a bit muddled in comparison, isn't it? Sharp contrasts between "good" and "evil" are not so simple, even to the discerning eye. With such polarized politics, a media that can spin a story multiple ways, a constant stream of leaders - political, entrepreneurial, and faith leaders, to mention a few - who let us down with their soft spines, opportunistic posturing, and pointed, exaggerated rhetoric that demonizes their opponents, it's not easy to sift through the muck to determine who is on the side of good, truth, or justice.

Our systems of government, economy, and society are so complex that it's incredibly difficult to sort out just policies from the unjust, right from wrong, truth from lies. Consider this moment in time: 
   -Our "open and democratic" government is aggressively attempting to hunt down a man for revealing a national security program whose monitoring of U.S. citizens appears to be highly unconstitutional. 
   -One of the core elements of our economy - the military-industrial complex - ensures that the U.S. rakes in huge profits from the sale of weapons and military technology to other nations (including some rather sketchy regimes), yet we claim to be a nation that values peace and abhors violence. 
   -Our country's prison-industrial complex is becoming increasingly privatized, meaning that corporations and individuals directly profit from the incarceration of an ever-growing percentage of the U.S. population (which is already vastly higher than any other first world country, and this includes a disproportionately high percentage of minorities in our prisons).

And this is only a few of the twisted realities that exist in our nation today. Pardon my cynicism. The more I learn about how the world operates, the more possibility I find for frustration and cynicism. 

Yet.

Cynicism solves nothing. It's a bitter, pessimistic reaction to a heavy flood of bad news that batters us down daily. If this reaction becomes permanent instead of merely temporary, it poisons and immobilizes us.

There must be something better I can do with my time. If I'm tired of the influx of bad news, injustice, and the apathy that chokes most people from acting to change things, then I need a different remedy.

Starting this fall, I'm going to make an effort to interview people in my life who are doing small but faithful, disciplined acts to make the world a more loving, hopeful, just, and compassionate place. I'm not talking about the generic and overused "make the world a better place" kind of act - "better" is too relative, isn't it? - but those who make it their life's practice and purpose to follow God's vision for the world he had, and has, in mind.

From these interviews, I will write a post that shares what they're doing in their communities, just to remind us all that there's still a reason to hope, to act, and to reject the apathy that's more contagious than we care to admit.

These people won't be much like the superheroes our culture adores. They'll be so much more than that. They are the everyday earth-shakers, the ones who see the world for what it is, yet work to shape a world they know is better, higher, and far greater than what we can imagine.

I'm sure I'll still post on other topics and things that come up in the fall, but every few weeks, you can come here to be introduced to another everyday earth-shaker who's refused to give up on God and the world he created to be good.

Take that, cynicism. Try not to let the door hit you on your way out.

pruning trees and building bridges

The door slides open, and hot air sweeps into the cafe.

It's early summer in San Antonio, TX, and God forbid it cool down below 90 this afternoon.

The last time I posted, it was only halfway through a stubbornly long, frigid winter in Chicago. A lot has changed beyond just the season and setting. I'll spare you five months of details, decisions, curveballs, and day-to-day living, instead relying on an illustration to sum up the time since then:

Imagine my life's journey represented by a tree that's ever-reaching, stretching, sweeping toward the sky. Though it looks healthy and strong as it is, every once in a while, it's necessary for the branches that are dying or crowding out the others to be pruned away. The tree will always resist its limbs being cut away at first, but in the end, it can only thrive after it lets go of those parts.

In theory, that illustration is quickly understood. In practice, there's a bit more to it.

Ultimately, this tree stands taller and stronger (and perhaps wiser?), and for that, I'm grateful.

{Enough of me as a tree; I'll resume my human form for the rest of the post.}

I've mentioned I traded in Chicago for San Antonio - only for the first half of the summer - but I need to mention a little side trip I've taken since heading down South. I spent last week at Duke's Center for Reconciliation's Summer Institute in Durham, NC, learning from some incredible people about the Church's call to be an agent for reconciliation in the world. My seminar focused on reconciliation within institutions, since I'm presently enrolled in one (at North Park Theo. Seminary) and will likely be involved in various institutions for the rest of my life. We talked of the potential divides that form in institutions (racial, ethnic, ideological, generational, to name a few) and how to theologically, strategically, and institutionally address them.

I can sense your excitement from here, so PLEASE, try and keep calm. Now, I know institutional reconciliation may not sound super sexy or exciting, but I can promise you that it should matter to all of us. Particularly those of us in the Church.

As Shane Claiborne and Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove point out in the introduction to Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals, the Christian Church is foremost among those who desperately need unity and reconciliation. There are over 38,000 denominations worldwide(!!!), yet Jesus prayed his disciples would be "one as God is one". Ouch.

It's funny how easy and quick it is to separate once differences seem overwhelming, yet how heart-wrenchingly difficult it is to truly reconcile those who've fallen apart. It would be simpler and infinitely more convenient to just ignore the breach and move in two different directions.

But unfortunately, reconciliation isn't optional when it comes to the Lord. His vision and plan for us includes the courage, endurance, truth-telling, grace, and above all, love, required to become right with all of creation - even with the ones who've hated us in word or deed.

Last week's conference reminded me of all this, and brought me one step further toward the role of reconciler in whatever community I'm in. Being one who builds bridges in a world that tries to isolate and individualize everything is daunting and intimidating, but I happen to serve a God with reckless courage and a vision far broader than my own.

Oh, and there happens to be many other people out there who've been struck by the beauty and power of reconciliation, and I was gifted with meeting over a hundred more of them last week.

Hope continues springing forth, despite it all. When it starts to fade and disunity or despair seems to have the last word, I'll remember Ellen Davis' blunt reminder - "Hope is a job" - and I'll get on my feet again, grateful I'll never be alone in this work.

the art of holding on loosely

It's a rainy night in Chicago, a city where the temperamental, ever-changing weather never ceases to surprise me. (The weather forecast is predicting a high of 61 in two days, followed a few days later by a high of 16. Seriously?!)

This weekend has moved slowly and uneventfully, thanks to unexpectedly falling ill on Friday. I cleared my schedule for the weekend and suddenly found that I had time to sit and process life for a while. Tonight's wildly divergent weather is fitting for where my mind has traveled over the last few days.

I find myself starting my second year of grad school, plowing ahead with my degrees in God school and business school. I find myself in a city that is far from where I grew up (far in many ways - geographically, culturally, etc.). I find myself in a community that is both life-giving and constraining, supportive yet transitory. I find myself in a different time zone than the rest of my immediate family, who are scattered through the other three zones. I find myself in a long-distance relationship with a good friend of mine, a relationship that both gives and takes, strengthens me yet exposes my weaknesses. I find myself in an internship that challenges me to put lots of effort into living out and working out values, ideas, and passions I have held for so long in my head and my heart; the experience has been both exciting and exhausting.

Life and all the things/people/experiences I have been gifted with at this moment in time is filled with its contradictions and its struggles, its great joys and its tests of endurance and patience.

The excitement, novelty, and variety of my first year of life here at North Park and in the city of Chicago have largely - though not fully - worn off as I settle into my second year here. I'm moving more decisively into the rooted, grounded stage in this community. This phase is always tricky for me. Feeling inspired in the mundane, routine parts of life can be incredibly difficult for me. I tend to become anxious, restless, dissatisfied, and escapist. Cultivating growth and depth in my life here can even seem futile when I'm most likely leaving in a year.. but what's the alternative? Surface-level, shallow living repels me for many reasons, mostly because I know God has called me so much more than that.

I think what I've been struggling to grasp as I move into this rooted, grounded stage of my life here is the art of holding all these gifts loosely in my hands. God has given me a lot of good things, good opportunities, and new challenges to work through. The hardest part is trying to negotiate how much I invest in and hold onto these things, these gifts, these chances, while still remembering that all things in life are ultimately temporary. That's especially relevant here and now, when I'm only in this community and place for another year.

I also need to remind myself that when life gets difficult, painful, and complicated, I can't just automatically look for the escape hatch and bail on the circumstances God has led me to. There are times when it's best to leave, quit, or give up because things have become too unhealthy, too unbalanced, too demanding to go on. But in a lot of cases, the 'easiest' path isn't the one God wants us to gravitate towards. There's a lot to be said for the endurance, perseverance, and refinement we can gain through pressing on when things get tough or even when life seems too predictable and routine.

The main challenge for me is cultivating the kind of wisdom and discernment to know when I push forward, when I let go, or when I just go with the flow and let life take me where it's heading. It helps when I remember who I'm striving to be like. God is faithful, wise, and knows how to weigh hearts, motives, and perspectives. He looks beneath the surface of the present into the depths of the past and the possibilities of the future. He puts his whole heart into everything he creates and loves, yet still maintains the ability to go on when He's rejected or faces obstacles in the world. He knows himself so thoroughly and completely that He cannot be deceived or misled by how things appear.

In contrast to that, I feel like I sway in the breeze, flitting back and forth between seeking stability and freedom (depending on what's more convenient at the moment). I get caught up in how things appear to be and want short-term solutions and answers to long-term problems or challenges.

Thankfully, I've chosen not to have to sort life out on my own. It's hard learning how to hold on to all these gifts and circumstances loosely - giving God the space to move into them and teach me, while still taking responsibility for what I do in all these situations. Yet I serve a God who's seeking me out, who promises to help me navigate through these challenges and provide everything I need along the way.

I'll end this with a promise God makes to his people, one that leaves me with hope for whatever life brings me in this stage of the adventure and the next: "For you shall go out in joy, and be led back in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands" (Isaiah 55). When we live faithfully - even though it gets messy, ugly, dull, or complicated at times - God can reap such amazing things from our lives if we hold onto things loosely and leave room for his Spirit to work through them.