You're the Eye? More Like You're a Skin Cell

Another opinion column piece!  This week's thoughts on the issues facing Christianity is less controversial but just as important, oh and a lot shorter.  The topic is Church unity. 

Imagine the global church is the body of Christ.  Not metaphorically, but the actual physical body of Christ while he was on earth.  Mathematically, if you divided up his body into little sections so that each piece represented a single church with an average congregation of 75 then the pieces would be about as big as 1/20th of a drop of blood and an individual would be about the proportion of a single nerve cell (compared to the global Church of 2M+ people).  So if we think about the body trying to move without any of its pieces connected or communicating how will that go?  How much of a difference can a fraction of a drop of blood make compared to an entire body?  Or a single cell compared with a whole human?  A human can do things in its environment.  It can make calculated movements of limbs.  A 20th of a drop of blood, well… all it can do is soak into the carpet and hope to be a stain.  Imagine a house where three people and a single nerve cell all live together.  The people can talk and shake hands, they can wake one another up, cook food, build a shed, change a light bulb.  And what about their roommate the nerve cell?  He would have zero influence.  They'd probably never even be aware of his existence let alone be affected in any way by his presence. 

This is sort of a weird analogy but it is more or less mathematically accurate.  The fact is, as individuals or even individual congregations of churches, we are never going to accomplish much on earth.  Think of what we could get done if all two billion of us were working together with Jesus as the head of our body?  We could tackle immense problems like poverty, hunger, justice, and culture.  We could bring entire nations under the authority of Jesus with a single project.  We could put an end to slavery, prostitution, corruption, environmental destruction, and then go on from there.  My imagination isn't nearly robust enough to come up with it all.  If we want to be the generation to fulfil the destiny of the Church, this is what we are going to have to do.  We are going to have to figure out how to assemble as a single unit under the headship of Jesus.  This is the future of the Church. 

What do you think?  Is it possible?  Can the earth will be filled With the knowledge of the glory of the LORD as the waters cover the sea?  How can we do it? 

Thoughts on the Future of Christianity

So on the advice of a friend I have decided to write more about what I see as the important issues we are facing right now as Christians (and just humans in general, though this blog will make more sense if you are Christian).  For my first installment I have decided to revisit a topic I've brought up once before: Eschatology.  Three years ago I wrote a short essay about how and why my view of the future of mankind and the world changed drastically.  It was titled: Why I No Longer Believe in the Apocalypse, the Rapture, or the Anti-christ.  Now I need to refute one of the claims in that blog. 

In that blog I held, "the conviction that eschatology is not as important as a lot of American Christians make it out to be."  I am almost surprised to have found myself having believed that now, because of my current understanding that our eschatological theology is probably one of the beliefs that most shape the way we live our lives.  In reality, it is more important than most Christians make it out to be.  In defense of my former self, my conviction came from my belief that any theological topic is unimportant compared to the unity of Christians.  I had seen theology create sides and differences of opinion that split the body of Christ and so was skeptical of it.  The only fruit I saw coming from theology was division and pride, it didn't seem to have much of an impact on what anybody actually did, only what they thought.  However, after having experienced firsthand how a change in theology (and specifically eschatology) impacted what I actually do these last three years, I have had to revise my rankings. 

The difference between Kingdom eschatology and dispensationalism is the difference between hope and hopelessness.  And it is hope that gives us vision and fuels our efforts.  Hope that the Kingdom of God Jesus proclaimed can indeed be established on earth.  Without that hope, William Carey could have never rediscovered missions¹, Jonathan Edwards could have never started the Great Awakening², and William Wilberforce and John Wesley could have never brought about the abolition of slavery³; all achievements requiring miraculous endurance, commitment, and hope.  The modern Church needs to reconsider its abandonment of Kingdom theology in order to move forward in bringing healing and hope as a way of life and show the world how to "beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks." so that "Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore." 

If we believe anything the Bible says, we have to believe that this is possible and within our grasp!  Do we want to leave behind another world of destruction and confusion to our progeny or do we want to be the generation that finally understands the importance of treating life as the privilege that it is?  Why can't we be the generation that tackles humanity's problems with voracity instead of settling for distraction or numbness until death takes us?  At this point there are over two billion Christians in the world.  If we could just believe in the hope that Jesus gave us and assign it the importance it deserves we could finally be the ones to act as God's body.  We could bring the will of God to humanity and finally see global peace, empty jails, and the end of poverty, abuse, and addiction.  We could see a revival of proportions never before experienced. 

Yes we need unity in order to do that, but not the kind of unity that results from ignoring our theological differences; we need the kind of unity that comes from engaging in discussion until we are all of one mind.  And one of the things we need to have one mind about is the possibility of achieving our goal.  We need to make sure nobody is succumbing to fatalism or hopelessness regarding obedience to the Word of God and the greatness of the purposes of the Church.  We need to confront those among us who have thrown their hands into the air and hunkered down to wait out the hardships, thereby limiting the power of the Gospel to an invisible world that has no relationship with the here and now.

What is your eschatology?  Are you confident in it?  Do you believe "that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God?"  Do you believe that's even possible?  Or important?  If you don't really know what Kingdom eschatology is but are interested to find out I recommend reading "The Sign of the Kingdom" by George Kouri or "Victorious Eschatology" by Harold Eberle and Martin Trench. 

PS.  You might find this blog more opinionated or "rant"-y than my usual writings, which I assure you is intentional.  Please feel free to contradict me.

The Himalayan Mountaineering Institute BMC 319

Six months late, needlessly complicated, and questionably worded; I confidently hesitate to present: A review of my experiences at the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute Basic Mountaineering Course 319 in Darjeeling India.  If you are thinking of spending a month without a shower on the side of a frozen mountain while subsisting on white rice and dahl but needing the reassurance of an inexperienced foreigner then this read is undoubtedly for you. 

Just getting to Darjeeling is enough of an adventure for most people with pigment-deficient skin to give up entirely.  After spending 43 hours on trains literally pressed up against sweaty middle aged men and another 7 hours shoehorned into the back of a jeep, I was more than happy to plop down in a cold concrete dorm shared by seven other stinky roommates.  The sweet smell of legroom. 

It turns out I wasn't the only foreigner who signed up for Basic Mountaineering 319.  There were two Norwegians, one Aussie, and a Tennessee boy; however, we were outnumbered by exactly 80 Indian students and 12 Indian instructors, who by the way, were intimidatingly accomplished.  Summiting the highest mountain in the world isn't even a bragging point for most of them, expeditions to terrible and remote peaks is just part of the job and you should see one of them tie a bowline knot!

After spending a week at the Darjeeling campus alternating our time between the lecture hall and rock faces we were ready for our five day trek to HMI basecamp.  Not ready because of the lectures on avalanche safety or demonstrations of stomach rappels though, we were ready because of the daily dreaded 6AM PT + 5k + yoga hour.  It must have been just as terrible a way to wake up for the people living on that road, stretching with a good yawn on their front porch and suddenly a horde of 85 of the worst smelling humans in existence huffing past the front sidewalk trailed by a fit local man hopelessly filling the air with encouragements and threats.  It seemed to work though, and at the end of the seventh night I found myself nervously yet confidently trying to pack all of the loaned gear into my comparatively tiny 50 Liter pack.  I left the change of underwear and shirt behind.  After all, how much worse could the smell possibly get?

"Rope 5, all in?"  "Sir, yes SIR!"  HMI is a kind of military school; half the instructors are even on duty as instructors and many of the students were sent there by their military branches.  The rope leader next to me at every check-in always gave a perfect salute and stomped one of his feet when asked a question.  I would just awkwardly answer "yep, rope 4 is all here" and sometimes the instructor would say, "okay, now pull your hands out of your pockets."  I learned just as much about Indian culture as I did ice seracs and belay devices and the bowel movements of Ryan and Mark.  And I learned a lot about belay devices.  Including how to rappel without them.  Face down descending a thirty foot drop. 

Just a short sampling of a few of the things I learned:

• The history of rope making
• The names and heights of the 14 highest mountains in the world
• How to tie a double fisherman
• The treatment of High Altitude Cerebral Oedema (nothing - there actually is no treatment)
• Exact weather conditions favorable to avalanches
• How to get giant blisters from plastic mountaineering boots
• How to set a rope anchor on the side of an ice cliff
• Crevasse rescue pulley systems
• How to get seconds of the baked beans dinner side (have a pretty girl ask for you)
• How to self-arrest using an ice axe
• The importance of cardamom tea
• How to put on crampons and then use them to climb vertical glacier ice
• How to blissfully avoid your own BO stench (just don't ever take your parka off)
• Patience

There are truly more items than I can list.  I have a whole mustache themed notebook full of things I learned.  And then some things that didn't make sense to write down in a mustache themed notebook.  Like a deeper sense of how I react to adverse conditions (hint: not exactly like a dignified knight), the friendship bonds that can be formed on mountains, and a clearer understanding of my own physical limitations.  Which is good, because the whole point of attending an institution is to learn.  I feel more confident, not just on mountains, but tackling life as a whole in general after the course. 

The trek to base camp (which sits at 14,500 ft) took five days.  When you hike as a group you are only as fast as your slowest person.  When there are 85 of you chances are that's pretty dang slow.  It poured rain that sometimes turned to snow the third night and soaked everything on my side of the tent.  I got impatient at my own lungs as they acclimatized and lost all feeling in my toes as we got higher up the fourth day.  And.  I looked out over some of the most beautiful, breathtaking sceneries of mountain wilderness I've ever seen.  Sometimes all I could do was stand and stare. 

Base camp was an unassuming little try at existence under the shadow of a whole range of peaks and massifs.  Well above the tree line, it never really got above freezing and so failed to possess the finer comforts of modern civilization.  Like fire and liquid water.  Each day for 10 days we would wake up at 5 AM and leave the thin air at base camp to struggle in the even thinner air that supposedly hung over Rathong Glacier.  It was a three hour hike one way, normally through freezing rain or snow, but it was there that we really experienced the method and art of mountaineering.  And one guy slipped and both of his arms popped out of socket and he had to walk three days back to the nearest road to get them reset.  Actually, quite a few people (about 35) had to drop throughout the course and surprisingly it wasn't due to the lack of safety standards. 

If you've ever tried to cross any street in India then you already know that Indians tend to view risk a little differently.  I've never attended a mountaineering course in the States or Switzerland so I don't know exactly what their safety guidelines are but I have a feeling they don't order you to free-solo climbing routes, or let you rappel down cliffs without a harness, or pick you up and chuck you off the side of a mountain in order to learn self-arrest.  To be perfectly honest it's one of the reasons I would recommend HMI.  Where else can you short-cut up an ice face without any rope and have your instructors beam approvingly? 

At the end of our time at basecamp good fortune and the head of the whole of HMI whom we affectionately called "Papa Sherpa" were with us and for the first time in several years a Basic Mountaineering Course got to try their hand at summiting the intimidating and technical peak of BC Roy.  We woke up an hour early, at 4, slipped across a frozen valley (literally), and started the slow assault on our long-last acclimated lungs and legs.  Eight hours, seven pitches of rope, and zero breakfasts later I straddled the edge of the highest peak I'd ever climbed (18,000 ft) and looked out over an unending maze of glaciers, ice falls, and jagged ridges.  The weather was the best it had been in over a week.  Thinking back, I am blown away that the instructors were able to take an inexperienced, out of shape group like us, most of whom had never even seen an ice axe and some of which had never even seen a mountain, and somehow pour enough training into us within three weeks to get 51 of us on top of a peak like BC Roy.  Unreal. 

So there it is.  That's my account of HMI Basic 319.  Did I enjoy it?  Sometimes.  Did it turn me into the world's finest mountaineer?  No.  Did the smell of our basecamp dormitory make me queasy?  Yep.  Would I recommend it?  Without hesitation.  

Thanks for reading.  May you climb from peak to peak. 

Isle Royale Trip Report - DHMH 2017

If you look through the archives of my blog you will find that every year there is one with "DHMH" in the title.  As you may well be aware, this stands for Dan Hoffman Memorial Hike which is not in memory of Dan Hoffman and not necessarily a hike and some would argue not even annual.  None the less, in the name of bold and logic-defying tradition, here is the annual story of Dan Hoffman's hike. 

Throughout history pioneers have dreamt of the frigid north.  Void of people but full of harsh and unsuitable conditions, it appeals to masochistic individualists confident in their own ability to derive pleasure from intrinsically miserable situations.  What modern Shackleton hasn't sat on a sofa on a sunny summer day and daydreamed of lashing wind, boggy mosquito-infested wetlands, and shivering nights full of howling wolves and questionable emanations?  And so it was with great expectations that six adventurers reunited in a muddy parking lot, hugging and waving ferry tickets in their hands to a remote island off the coast of a state nobody in their right mind should ever venture to - Michigan. 

Three hours later the men found themselves huddled in a little circle with a few other passengers on a dock strewn with backpacks, fishing poles, and stores of Cliff Bars.  The park ranger informed everyone that they would need to apply for back-country camping permits based on their itinerary and saying "believe it or not" some people actually arrived on the island without knowing their own itinerary.  I wondered what kind of morons would do that. 

An hour later with permits in hand we loaded up our packs and headed in the direction of the largest island in the largest lake on the largest island in the largest lake on the largest island in the largest lake in the world.  The conversations already beginning to reduce down to the consumption, digestion, and expulsion of food and deep philosophical discussions about the plural form of the word Moose. 

Isle Royale is situated about 56 miles from the upper peninsula of Michigan and only 16 miles from the Canadian mainland.  Being so isolated despite having 206 square miles of land area, the island is home to all sorts of curious and distinctive inhabitants including it's own species of squirrel, bald eagles, horseshoe hares, wolves, and over 1600 mooseses.  It has no permanent human residents and is the least visited national park in the States (except some years when it is beaten by one in Alaska that is only accessible by plane). 

After 9.7 years of unintended consequences, blind chance taking, and easily avoidable injuries it seemed that the DHMH might actually be getting some things right this year.  I supply the following evidence:

• Though just warm enough for humans, in May the island was still too cold for mosquitos
• A new member by the name of William Eavenson was added (a strong J) 
• The group collectively brought 36 wheels of Babybell cheese
• 4 fish were caught, 1 birthday remembered, 45 miles of trail conquered, and in all probability three peaks summited - the highest of which was Mt Obijway at just over 1200 ft
• Not a single person died or got seriously injured
• The scenery both day and night was shockingly beautiful and rugged

I will wrap us this year's exciting recapitulation with a quote from the famous Himalayan mountaineer Frank Smythe, known for his philosophical musings on human purpose and being the first human above 25,000 feet.  "Estimate for as much sugar as you think you will need, then double that estimate, and you may with luck have enough.  It is safer to treble the original estimate."  The 9.7th annual Dan Hoffman Memorial Hike.  Another epic success. 

A Christmas Vacation to Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and (oddly) Kolkata

"Are you going to write a blog about your trip?" my mom asked me over Facebook messenger the other day.  I hadn't thought about it to be honest but that question reminded me of the reason I started writing blogs in the first place: to share my life with the people who care about me.  Sometimes I forget that people are still interested in that and I put my own silly pressure on myself to write something that competes with all current written material on the internet for a person's time and opportunity cost and hope that they don't end up disappointed with their decision.  That being said, here is a blog about my recent trip to Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and (oddly) Kolkata over Christmas break.  It's going to be a much better read than the previous link on the your news feed that you skipped over. 

First I feel like I have to explain the reason why anyone would choose to spend Christmas break traveling to Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and (oddly) Kolkata.  I had actually been planning to spend Christmas in Kolkata for a few years.  There is something about serving the destitute and homeless alongside nuns while getting sick on cheap Indian street food that just seemed liked the most Christmassy thing a person could do.  I somehow managed to convince some gullible friends that this was a good idea and everything was set.  Then I realized that on the way from Delhi to Kolkata for an extra $170  we could stop for a week in Kazakhstan.  I asked my new flatmate Elaine sitting across the couch from me, "Elaine, want to go to Kazakhstan?"  "Sure" she said; and I bought the tickets. 

And then I realized that it would be winter in Kazakhstan.  That meant all the beautiful pictures I had seen on Google of forested mountains, clear blue lakes, and wild horses might as well have been from Atlantis because I was not going there.  I was going to a very, very cold place.  I went out and bought another used down jacket.  Then a few weeks later we walked out of the airport in Almaty and stood at the bus stop and I realized that this wasn't going to be like winters in Arizona, it was going to be like winters on the North Pole. 

Looking out from a Ferris wheel over the edge of Almaty

Fortunately for us, at the recommendation of a friend, we booked our first couple nights at Dimal Hostel.  It ended up literally being my favorite hostel I've ever stayed in anywhere, was in a perfect location, and only cost $8 a night!  My first impression of the city that evening was not of post-communist blocks of depressing homogeneity or of Borat-style third world chaos but something totally different from either.  Almaty is the largest city in central Asia (which means absolutely nothing - it's only 1.5 million people) and is a place of trendy coffee shops, irresistible sushi bars, beautiful freeways, and unique Kazakh culture - like fermented horse milk.  

Yes that's right, fermented horse milk.  It deserves its own paragraph.  Apparently mare's milk is actually indigestible for humans; unless some of the lactose is broken down through fermentation.  We decided to ease into the idea of trying it by first ordering Chal - another drink essential to Kazakh hospitality made from fermented camel milk.  It wasn't as bad as I had imagined and neither was the horse version.  It kind of tasted like a watery mixture of yogurt, goat cheese, and a nine volt battery.  I actually started to really enjoy it after the initial shock and ended up ordering another bowl of it. 

Sabrina trying Kumys - fermented mare's milk

We were excited to discover that our first full day in Kazakhstan happened to be their national independence day!  Kazakhstan had been occupied by the USSR for seventy one years before declaring its own independence on December 16th, 1991.  As the day wore on though I wondered if we had been misinformed.  Nobody seemed to be celebrating anything and we couldn't find any decorations or displays of national pride.  Later in the day I came across an English speaking man and asked if it was actually independence day.  He said yes it was, but not too many people got excited about it because of all the death and destruction is took to make happen.  "Was it worth all the lives that were sacrificed?" He asked with a shrug.  Too soon I guess. 

"I'm getting cold" (photo credit: Drea)

After spending the next day perusing the State History Museum and skating at the world's highest ice rink, we found ourselves huddled on a snowy curb with a pink sticky note that said in Russian, "Hello.  We are a group of four Americans with backpacks.  We are looking for a car to take us to the Kyrgyzstan border at a distance of approximately 240 km.  Please tell how much???"  Hardly anyone in Kazakhstan seemed to read or speak English so we had enlisted the Russian skills of our hostel host Dimitri to help in our quest to see the city of Bishkek in Kyrgyzstan.  Fortunately we met with very limited success.  In fact, the only driver that agreed to even read the note was a taxi and after recovering from the initial confusion it must have caused him, scribbled "100,000 Tenge" on the back of our note.  "$300!  Yeah right!"  We had read in a blog that someone had had better luck with this over by the main bus station so we had him take us there instead.  Upon arriving we saw a mini-bus leaving with a sign in the windshield that said, "Bishkek".  Or at least we thought if we could translate it into English that's what it would probably have said.  We went inside to inquire and found an incredibly helpful translator in the form of a young soldier who told us we could take the mini-bus all the way to Bishkek for 1500 Tenge.  "$4!  That's more like it!" 

Medeu - the world's highest ice rink 

If I had thought Almaty was the North Pole I was wrong.  That title should definitely have been reserved for Kyrgyzstan.  Well, and the actual north pole I guess.  There was a literal blizzard happening and our bus driver didn't even seem to notice.  He just powered full steam ahead, passing slower cars on the way.  The snow was piled up in beautiful drifts everywhere, stuck to every individual branch and twig of every tree, and completely covered any traces of the boundaries of our road.  The border crossing was easy despite the guard not believing the clean shaven face in my passport photo was actually me.  Neither Kazakhstan nor Kyrgyzstan required any kind of visa or entry fee.  After checking into our hostel, which was even cheaper but not nearly as cozy as Dimal, we set out to explore the center of the capitol of Kyrgyzstan and try the local food.  Surprisingly it felt much more Asian and we feasted on noodles and spicy beef soup. 

The Note

The highlight of our two day excursion into Kyrgyzstan was when we stumbled into a big crowd of what appeared to be a protest of some kind on the main square at night.  The snow was coming down and the wind was whipping it into our ill-prepared butts so we forced our way into the huddle to stay warm.  There were a couple people with microphones out in front reading something and then another man with a big fur hat and military shoulders stopped them and they argued a little bit back and forth.  The crowd shuffled back and forth and a few of them left.  The microphone was shut off and we thought it was over when suddenly it came back on and they started shouting something into it.  The crowd around us started shouting the same words along with them and I realized they must be counting.  They got to the bottom of their countdown with a long loud yell and then suddenly across the street the biggest Christmas tree I have ever seen started lighting up!  As all the lights from the bottom to the star on top illuminated everything around, we joined in with the crowd and cheered it on at the top of our lungs.  I thought about hugging the bearded man next to me.  He looked very warm. 

The giant Christmas tree in the main square of Bishkek (this is before the crowd amassed)

Back in Almaty I spent the last two days skiing.  For just 25 cents you can take a series of busses and gondolas up the mountains to a height of 10,000 feet where there is a breathtakingly beautiful ski resort complete with cheap rentals, black diamond passes, and mugs of hot cocoa.  Surprisingly, after five years, the basics came back to me pretty quickly and I spent two days zipping down powdery pistes with what appeared to be the entire country of Kazakhstan as a backdrop.  To me, there are few ways of passing time I enjoy more than skiing.  It is the perfect combination of heart pumping adrenaline, awe-inspiring beauty of nature, and downright child-like fun.  When I had made the initial decision to go to Kolkata for Christmas I had never guessed I would be taking an idealistic winter ski trip along the way.  I couldn’t stop smiling under my frozen mustache. 

The view from my gondola coming down the mountain at the end of the day

Our train to Kolkata took 32 hours and was 7 hours late and we had to share our tiny, smelly bunks.  This was more like what I had imagined the trip to look like.  We met up with a couple more friends on Sudder street who had thankfully already reserved some rooms for us and we finally crashed in our beds at six in the morning on Christmas Eve.  We stayed in the Golden Apple which wasn't half of a half as nice as Dimal and cost $10 a night!  We searched for something else but all the hotels were all full or didn't have hot water or windows.  Christmas morning I woke up to the sound of my alarm at 6:25 and met with my drowsy friends in the lobby at 6:30 where together we walked the twenty minutes to "Mother's House" (the name for the headquarters and living quarters of Mother Teresa).  I reunited with one of the nuns I had come to know during my six months stay there two and half years ago and went to help her serve the poor.  The MC was throwing a huge feast for all the homeless and street people and I spent most of the day sprinting around the tables filling up their cups and clearing their dishes.  I am not sure I have ever in my life seen so many smiles  in a single day.  It was everything I had hoped it would be.  

Back on Sudder Street after two and a half years!

I spent the rest of the week volunteering and visiting old sites and people that I had known from before.  It was a surreal experience to be back walking the same streets and eating at the same places and nodding to the same people as I passed their stalls on the street.  A lot of people remembered me and asked if I remembered them.  I wished they could review a little movie on the last two and a half years of my life and see how all of them had had such a huge impact on me and the direction of my life but all I could do was smile and say, "Yeah, of course I remember you." 

Mother Teresa

Of course, it wouldn't have been a proper trip to Kolkata if we hadn't all got sick with flu viruses, food poisoning, and seemingly everything else that one can catch in a week.  It just wouldn't have gratified my longing for the experiences of the past if I hadn't found myself lying in a cramped bed, too sick to get up, questioning why I had come, what I was doing, what the proper response of a white privileged American is to the degradation of life in the slums, and the meaning of life.  So I’m glad that happened.  A week later, after flying back and recovering from the various illnesses, I sat on my cozy couch at home with a steaming cup of mint tea and opened my computer for the first time in two weeks.  Had that really all happened in two weeks?  "Are you going to write a blog about your trip?" my Mom asked on Facebook messenger.  Here it is Mom, I hope you enjoyed my stories from my Christmas vacation to Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and (oddly) Kolkata.