They're Going to Kill My Friend

Today I am without words as I mourn the loss of a life. The death penalty is never acceptable ("Thou Shalt not Kill") - but in cases of such doubt, the ring of travesty echos on. Troy Davis, you will be remembered: and may your story live on into a new chapter of change and progress.

I leave you with the words of a friend who was intricately involved with Troy's case for years, and whose words are more eloquent than my own.

They're Going to Kill My Friend
by Rev. Karl Kroger
(Written for the Pierre, SD Newspaper (www.capjournal.com) for September 23, 2011)

As I write this, a man I deeply care about is about to be executed. Unless a miracle occurs, when you read this, Troy Davis will be dead. Despite overwhelming evidence that casts doubt on his conviction, the powers that be in the state of Georgia are not concerned. Though Troy Davis and I have never met, I consider Troy Davis my friend. What do you do when someone is about to kill your friend?

Three years ago, while helping with a colleague’s youth retreat, I felt the call of God to help save a man’s life. In between the boat rides and the campfires, I could not stop thinking about the very real possibility that Georgia might execute someone who was innocent.

It seemed as if very few people even cared that the criminal justice system might have gotten it wrong. It seemed as if a flawed conviction only mattered, if it personally affected you. For most of the people and most of the churches in Georgia, permanently punishing the wrong man was not important.

But it was important to me. How as a society could such an ugly distortion of justice be tolerated? Furthermore, what if it was you or me, who was wrongly accused of a crime, and no one cared? Wouldn’t we want people to wake up and demand that all the facts be taken into account?

Praying for God to lead and guide me, trusting in the Holy Spirit to convict my heart, and compelled by Jesus’ command to love my neighbor, I surrendered myself to God to be used for the Kingdom. And so began my intense battle to save Troy Davis’ life.

Soon I began calling upon people to pray, to fight, and to offer advice. Within days, I recruited a few seminary friends to join me in the fight. We then rallied our seminary and our entire university, joining in with the people all across Atlanta, the state of Georgia, and around the world.

Momentum began to build and we started working with other organizations already fighting for Troy, including the NAACP, Amnesty International, and Georgian’s for Alternatives to the Death Penalty. The state was committed to killing Troy Davis, but we were determined to do everything we could to stop them.

And because of our actions, the intervention of the courts, and miracles, we did; three execution dates were put on hold. The instantaneous shouts of joy and songs of praise on those days were glorious! Millions of people worked to save Troy Davis’ life. We marched and we protested, we held vigils and we prayed, and we wrote letters and hung banners on the freeway.

All of the details of the case, the trials and appeals, the four execution dates are too lengthy to expound upon here. You should know however, that Troy Davis was found guilty of killing a cop, Officer Mark MacPhail. His death was wrong and is extremely tragic.

This week I watched as MacPhail’s daughter Madison, just a toddler at the time of her father’s death, spoke about the pain of growing up without a dad. She said there was something not right about living beyond your father’s final age. He died when he was only 27 years old.

As a Christian, I take seriously Jesus’ commands to love God and love my neighbor. Love, peace, kindness, and goodness are fruit of the Spirit and they are values of the Kingdom. They are part of the ways of God and they stand in contrast to murdering and executing people. Christians don’t all agree on that unfortunately, but surely we can agree that executing someone who is innocent or who has a strong case of innocence is stupid, unjust, and evil.

I grieve for Troy Davis, for his mother Virginia who died last year. What privilege to have known, embraced, and prayed with a woman of such grace and love. I grieve too for Officer MacPhail’s death, and for the pain his family still bears. May God bring healing and comfort to them.

Tonight my friend is scheduled to die. My heart breaks, but my hope is in Jesus Christ. And I know Troy’s is as well.

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Editor's Note: Despite the cry of thousands across the world for justice on behalf of Troy, the Supreme Court denied requests for a stay of execution. The state of Georgia executed Troy Anthony Davis, pronouncing him dead at 11:08pm on Thursday, September 21. May Troy's Spirit rest in the hands of God, and may God have mercy on us all...
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Rev. Karl Kroger's extensive work on behalf of Troy Davis began as a Candler School of Theology student in 2008. This advocacy inspired thousands to get involved with Troy's case and eventually led to Karl being awarded with Emory University's prestigious Humanitarian Award in 2009. Karl now resides in Pierre, South Dakota, where he is the pastor of Southeast Pierre United Methodist Church.

A Decade Later

A lot has changed in the last 10 years.

Like any other American I’ve ever talked to, I still remember vividly every detail of this day ten years ago. I remember where I was at 9:47am EST. I remember what I was wearing. I remember who I was with. I remember how I felt, and the overwhelming confusion and disbelief I experienced as the day seemed to move in slow motion.

It amazes me how much I remember about that day, and how the days, weeks and even months that immediately followed seemed to do so in slow motion. I was, after all, still a child. A youth of 17 years that thought I was all grown up and ready to take on the world. I had just begun my senior year of high school, and I was excited about venturing out into the world I (thought I) knew as I prepared for graduation the following May.

Yes, I remember it all with amazing detail. And yet it isn’t the details alone that I keep thinking about today: its how those details shaped, molded, changed me from the inside out. And in a strange way that I haven’t quite figured out how to articulate, I can’t help but be honest and say that I am grateful for the ways I have changed as a result of this terrible tragedy.

My eyes were immediately opened up to a world beyond my local community: I’ll confess I’d never gone out of my way to engage with national or global news, and it wasn’t readily available in the small, contently isolated town I lived in. For the first time, I realized there was a world of people out there who hated my country I’d been raised to love, and even more difficult was the realization that those people also hated me, purely because of where I was born. They didn’t know that really, I was a good person and didn’t want to do anyone harm. And they didn’t care about the individual stories of the people in those planes, the World Trade Center, or the Pentagon, either. Following from this realization, I also had another first: for the first time, I began to question our administrators, Republican politicians (I’d been raised to always question Democrat ones), and “defense” techniques.

I had a lot of questions.

The most powerful questions I immediately and unexpectedly faced came from my adversity to the hatred I was surrounded by. In the following days, weeks, and now years, I heard many racial slurs and ethnocentric statements referring to all people from the Middle East - especially “those Muslims.” I admittedly didn’t know the first thing about the Middle East or the politics around it. But Muslims? I kept hearing how terrible and hate-filled and anti-America they all were… and yet I couldn’t forget the details of my morning of September 11.

I couldn’t forget that since it was my first day back to school post-knee surgery, I got there early so I didn’t have to fight the hallway traffic on my crutches. I was just getting settled when my friend Basim came running in going on about details about some big accident at The World Trade Center in New York City. He turned the television on and we watched in horror as one building burned… and seconds later we watched the second plane go into the other tower…

I remember the details of lots of emotion, horror, confusion and fear that followed. I remember crying together with that small class, Basim included. and I remember that he was as confused and sad as any of us. I also remember that Basim seemed to fill in gaps for the many questions I had in my admittedly naive awareness of the world. You see: Basim already had a global perspective. I’d never thought much of it before, but Basim was from Pakistan. And he is a dedicated to his faith tradition: Islam. I had always respected him for this, especially in our white, “Christian” community.

So if Basim (and his family) were the only Muslims I’d ever met, and they were great, trustworthy, honorable people: then how could the world suddenly be afraid of and full of hate toward all Muslims? That certainly wasn’t my experience…

My naive questions have proven to be incredibly formative in the years since then. Instead of buying into the fear I’ve been sold, I have continued on living my life... working adamantly against that dreaded 4-letter F-word: Fear. Instead, I work toward living into Faith... and the love of ALL God has called us to...

I made the mistake of stopping and watching television for about 5 minutes this morning. I took a moment to mourn with the mourners. To listen to the sad voices reading names. To hear an interview clip from “the last survivor” who was pulled from the rubble. These stories are moving, and sad, and did their job of making me emotional, bringing me to tears as I relived those dreadful moments with the rest of the country…

and then I walked away. I couldn’t watch any more. I don’t want to forget (I never could) - but it isn’t healthy to re-live it, either. It was a terrible enough day to live through once. We can’t do it every year. I know I can’t. Not even on the 10th anniversary.

But I couldn’t let my sadness go, and I couldn’t figure out why.

So I moved on and walked to my boarding gate to take a seat. That’s right: my boarding gate. Today, on a day that most of my fellow citizens are most afraid to fly, I am not only flying, but flying into Washington DC’s National Airport: where my plane will touch down on a landing strip right next to the now fully-repaired Pentagon…

Why fly today? For one, I’ll be honest: it was convenient. and I didn’t really think about it when I booked the flight. I did realize it in plenty of time to have changed it: but why? To let  fear win? I do not believe in fear. Especially not this irrational, media-induced fear we have been sentenced to live with. On the contrary, lets be honest: security is so high today that it’s probably one of the safest days to fly.

So I am on my plane as I write this. And as I do so in an intentional stance of my rejection of the fear many want me to have, I do remember those whose lives were lost in 2001. But my sadness does not stop there.

Instead, most of my sadness is focused on the survivors. It is wrapped up in remembering victims of the fear-induced hatred that has engulfed and changed so many of my fellow American citizens.

The country I live in and that I am proud to be a citizen of is one whose citizens spent hours building sandbag walls around every house in my home community when they were threatened with flood waters. It is one that wasted no time arriving to help victims of the multitude of tornadoes that hit this past spring… And that took care of and celebrated with my teammates and I small town after small town when we were hot, hungry, thirsty and exhausted while riding our bicycles across America in the heat of summer.

That is my favorite picture of the America I love. It is vast and diverse and embraces the joy of community as we were able to realize that really: no matter where you come from, we are more alike than different.

The America I truly love is the one that opened my eyes up to the reality of the world as I watched the Twin Towers fall. As I watched people on the other side of the world dancing in the streets because we were suffering (an image I regrettably saw in reverse when Osama Bin Laden was killed…), I knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of such hatred for the first time. Living in my naive bubble in my small town in South Dakota, I really did not know that people hated our country, culture and people until that day.

So as we look back an talk about “10 years later” - that is what I keep thinking about. About how fear and anger have consumed much of our society. I wonder (perhaps hope?): is this the same as it has always been, and my eyes are more open to it now? Or, is there something we can do to stop it.

It all starts with one. As I sit aboard my American Airlines flight into DCA, I renew my pledge with you - all people of the internet (who are still reading). A pledge to do more to “act justly and love mercy” - and to walk HUMBLY with the God who has been so full of love, justice, and mercy for me.

Won’t you join me? I promise, the world will be a better place...

Detoxing

Today I officially started my detox.

It did occur to me as I rolled my nauseated and exhausted self out of bed for a 5:40am bike ride that this might not be the best day to start. But then I decided I could probably find an excuse not to start every day if I looked for one. So: there’s no time like the present.

I’m not gonna lie: I think its going to be tough. Not because its impossible, but because while I’m detoxing I’m also starting a new routine of supplements that I have to take. And on days like today, when I wasn’t feeling well anyway, it seemed impossible not to be thinking about the food I could (or could not) eat. All. Day. Long.

It also doesn’t help that the day just plain started off wrong: I eat cereal for breakfast every morning!! Its a routine I’ve had for years and LOVE. I don't even eat the sugar-packed ones: I am partial to Weetabix and Puffins Peanut Butter and Honey Nut Cheerios (ok, maybe more sugar in those). Sugar-packed or not: they have some… and they’re processed, naturally.

Detox = no processed food.

This will be good for me, I remind myself.

But my rhythm was off. The oats didn’t go down well with my upset tummy so I didn’t finish them. Which means I was hungry early.

A snack? No… I didn’t really have anything at the office I could snack on. So I settled for an early lunch. Of a (delicious, actually!) salad.

The problem? Salad doesn’t have as much sustenance as I’m used to, and I ate early… so I was hungry again by mid-afternoon. I’m sure there are options out there, but today, I’m feeling whiny and hungry and sickly (and sorry for myself, clearly).

But I’ll get there. God willing, I’ll get there. Just be patient with me, I say to myself over and over again. And now I ask it of you: this might be a long two week detox… and a difficult road thereafter. So won’t you pray with and for me? I have committed to always remember in my prayers as I cry out for my own “struggle” of so many foods I can’t eat… to also remember those who have no choices. Who are hungry and struggling to find food at all.

My prayer today, then, is that my restlessness into gratefulness. I have sought answers to being unwell for a long time now: I am working on being grateful for it. And most of all… I am seeking to be ever mindful of the many blessings and privileges these “challenges” represent. With every lettuce leaf I lift, may we I be praying (we be praying together) for those who have not even that.

...and of course I’m human, and therefore also praying for my self-pitied self, that I would grow into a place of genuine contentment, honest, and coping with all of these changes in my life.

Eating to Live

After months of seeing different doctors and having various tests done, I'm finally in a place of starting to be able to do something about it.

Being able to do something, of course, doesn't mean it will be easy or pleasant. But do something I shall anyway.

I've been on a "get healthy" - from the inside out - kick for about a year now. I decided I'd had enough of feeling "ok" being the standard, while many days brought less than that. In January my efforts led me to discover a severe dairy allergy: after having entirely removed all dairy product from my diet for 7 months now, if I have even a little it causes a severe, immediate reaction. To think I was poisoning my body all this time!

Since I still haven't been feeling up to par and all symptoms haven't all gone away, I've been running more tests and doing more research. I've been seeing a great doctor who specialized in holistic health (since regular doctors kept telling me I was fine and weren't interested in even testing for other allergies!). Today, I got results back from a hormone profile and from allergy tests.

...SURPRISE!?! We found LOTS of stuff to "fix!"

Perhaps the best thing about the "allergy" tests we did is that they weren't testing for immediate reactionary allergies. Instead, we did blood work and tested for "intolerances." Similar to the oh-so-familiar lactose intolerance many people have, we discovered my body has built up 17 intolerances. SEVENTEEN!! (Lactose is not one of them)

Some of these reactions were stronger than others: the goal is to eliminate the strong reactions from my diet for a full year, while beginning with only 6 months for the others. We can retest in a year or so if all goes as planned.

So... the moment of truth: what am I reacting to and needing to avoid? At the very, very top of my list of strong reactions:

CANE SUGAR

That's right... Freaking sugar! What ISNT sugar in? I can absolutely, easily avoid adding sugar to my diet. But eliminating it ALL - even in my favorite processed foods like sugar!?

Needless to say, I’m struggling a bit with not only the idea of such an adjustment, but with the practicality of if. I am determined to find a way, though… so I invite and welcome any extra prayers on this journey as I prepare to embark on a new journey of restructuring my entire diet… a task that I will easily admit is quite intimidating. But I know I can do it…

Of course… I’m always open to suggestions, recipe sharing, or folks who want to try it for a few weeks as a means of support! I promise to support you as you have supported me… and look forward to seeing results from this next adventure of life!

Happy Anniversary

Today marks my first anniversary of a day I never imagined I would face. A day that I am simultaneously very grateful for, and that I wish didn't have to exist.

One year ago today, I met my friend Emily. One year ago tomorrow, I met her parents and my good friends- Jen and Matt.

One year ago on the 11th, I was celebrating with the world as the 2010 FIFA World Cup came to a close. I remember that day vividly: the cheers, the celebrations, the crowd of somewhere around 40,000 people from all over the world gathered to watch the Word Cup Final - Spain vs. Netherlands - on a big screen at the Sandton Fan Park. Indeed for me, that was a great day.

The next day (Monday) was filled with sorrow as we heard news that there had been two terrorist attacks in Uganda: bombing aimed at similar groups who gathered joyously to celebrate this world event. Groups who had no idea how much their lives were about to change.

On Tuesday I woke up to news that one American had died. Not just any American (it wasn't the nationality that hit me so hard)- he was a friend of many of my friends. I didn't know him well, but I had met him once. It was suddenly much, much closer to home. and I felt connected to this tragedy in a way I didn't understand. I desperately wished I could do something, but like most tragedies around the globe: there was little I could do from far away except pray. I did a lot of that...

Around lunch time I became restless and had "had enough." I felt claustrophobic in our house (we weren't working at this point, as it was our first full week off from SHADE). So I informed my roommates that I was going out to the mall where I would browse and sit in a coffee shop and read my book and just be "out." They agreed this was a good idea, so before we knew it, we found ourselves sharing lunch in a coffee shop with our books and half-written letters lying beside us. It was a day that was filled with good conversation, with the company of friends who challenged one another but were good for each other, and above all: it was good for our souls.

Rachel had been in contact with folks from Pennsylvania, who gave us word that a couple of other Americans had been on a Mission Trip (from a Methodist Church) and were in critical condition. They were to be flown down to Joburg where they could receive better care than the bursting-at-the-seams hospitals in Kampala.

Before we knew it we found ourselves looking for complete strangers in a South African ICU. The nurses were kind and we told them why we were there: American Missionaries who were asked to visit the Americans and offer support until their family could arrive.

I'll never forget that night.
 
We met Joanne, Emily's grandmother, and her greatest concern was over her grandaughter. We assured her she was nearby and resting well... as we had just been to see her. Emily... was sleeping when we arrived. We prayed over her. Then, at the prompting of a nurse, we gently woke her to say hello, to pray with her. I can still hear that quiet, sweet, scared voice like it was yesterday. The thought of it has literally given me chills.. I wrote a little more about that day in an old post you can find here.

The days that followed were unexpected. We showed up in the morning to greet Emily's parents, sure they'd want to know who had been to visit their daughter. We immediately knew who they were when they walked out, as it was winter and Matt was in shorts and flip-flops: straight off the plane from America. We introduced ourselves and intended to leave, only leaving behind a number "in case you need anything" - but honestly not sure we could offer them much. I'm so glad we were wrong.

Emily had evidently been asking where her "3 angels who came to visit last night" were: and there was a bit of relief to realize she wasn't crazy, and I imagine they measured us up to be normal enough - at least for 3 girls who choose to live in South Africa.

So we stayed. We took some "dubers" (Matt’s favorite word for foreign currency) and got them a local phone... and then stayed for lunch. And dinner. And lunch and dinner almost every day for the next 4 weeks…

It has been a long, hard year for my friends. Bur progress has been made, all are home, and while life is still anything but normal compared to one year (and 3 days) ago,  I am grateful to be carrying on with this journey alongside them.

To my Kerstetter family: you have been an incredible blessing to my life. Thank you. I love you all.

Cell Phones...

A conversation in the office this week that I thought worth sharing:

Rob: They gave me one of those little phones. They put their names in it, so I just have to open it and go to their name and it just calls them all on its own! Its great for people like me who are getting older and have no memory.

Me: Yea, I’m the same way. If I can’t remember anything now - and I’m only 27 - then I can’t imagine what it’ll be like when I get older.

Rob: Yea, you are in trouble all right…

Oh, all-consuming, wonderful (and terrible) technology… how would we live without you!?

:)

And they'll Know we are Christians...

I struggle with angry people in the church.

There are different types of anger, of course. I affirm anger that is productive. Anger that leads to addressing systems of injustice. Anger against injustice that can be ….

People who are angry and ready and willing to fight about resolutions or policies of our Church. People who are angry when they intentionally exclude people from God’s church. People who react with anger as they seek to be “inclusive” - even when that inclusivity comes at the cost of excluding those who disagree with them…

For the first time (that I can remember), I was uncomfortable taking communion today. I was torn as I realized how uncomfortable I was. Torn because I was uncomfortable with the situation, but then also uncomfortable that I was so uncomfortable. What kind of witness was I making in my own inability (refusal?) to walk away? What would have been the better, healthier decision?

You see… today, I decided to take part in a communion service with a group of folks who were intentionally welcoming “ALL” people to the table. In theory (and usually in practice!) this is something I stand with and for. I believe our church needs to continue working in this direction of radical hospitality, welcoming “only” those whom Jesus welcomed in his ministry: everyone. That’s it. No categories. No “except,” no, “but what if…” - just everyone. Yes, those lack of exceptions even include and move beyond one’s sexuality. Really, truly, with all of my being (even when its hard) and at the core of my being, I believe: Jesus’ intentionality in uses phrases such as “the least of these” means that he loves and welcomes ALL of US. There is no “them.”

So… Have you ever had the experience of reading something and understanding it one way, then later having someone else read it to be something entirely different? Today, that is how this service felt. The liturgy was beautifully written. The songs were well chosen. And yet somehow, today, something in me (call it the Spirit!?) moved. I was uncomfortable not with the words, but with how they were spoken. I was uncomfortable with the words (that we didn’t sing due to music being played behind us), “they will know we are Christian by our love…”

I was uncomfortable as I asked myself…
    Would those around us know we’re Christian? We didn’t exactly invite everyone. That is: you were not invited if you did not agree with our “inclusive” stand.
    … and so I ask: is that love?

A huge part of my call to ministry is a commitment to dialogue. How is this conducive to that?

...To be clear: this is not to reflect poorly on the individuals holding the service. It was a nice service. But today, it stirred something within me that made me angry. And that kind of anger has no place at the table. My prayer is for my own healing. For my own journey toward perfection. For my own desire to love better. As I sit here at an Annual Conference with over 2500 other United Methodists, I can’t help but to wonder how many people among us have been excluded… and how can we journey together to be the truly welcoming and “radically hospitable” church we claim to be?

I am grateful for the journey… and that I am not the one who is expected to have all of these answers. I am grateful for the God of love and Grace who carries us, forgives us, and loves us: even when we are not living up to the call on our own lives to do the same.

Rainbows

I can't stop thinking about a little girl I met at church yesterday morning.

About 9 years old, she was well spoken, respectful, and a bundle of positive energy. She was mildly bashful when first introduced to me, but when I was trying to leave 10 minutes later, I was not allowed to walk past her without engaging in conversation.

Not just any conversation, though. She was referred to me by (Pastor!) Jeff, who I imagine was as surprised as I was when she asked him, in the midst of all the flooding and chaos going on in the McCook Lake/Dakota Dunes area:

"Why does God let bad things like the flood happen? Is God angry?"

What a profound question, my darling. If only we knew what went through God's "mind."

Perhaps the reason I find myself still thinking about this conversation a day later has to do with the intense and thought-provoking conversation that followed. I found myself challenged by the honesty and genuine questions of a (9year old?) little girl. She wondered aloud, "will we be wiped out like all the people except Noah?" as she also made astute observations like, "when I am sad it is like it should be crying outside. and when I am unhappy a storm... when I am angry a Tornado (etc)." Is that how God works, too?

I began with the most well-known story of a flood: she was well acquainted with Noah and reminded me (in her words) that there, too was a story of God seeking vengeance on God's creation for all their wrong-doings. I asked her if she knew what happened at the end of the story and was promptly told, "the ark was left on dry land, but even they were stranded on top of a mountain!"

Searching for the message of hope offered to us, I asked, "Do you remember the rainbow at the end of the story? Do you know what that means?"

"That God was angry and we should be careful."

I wasn't sure what was worse: that we teach our children the difficult pieces of stories to instill fear in them, or that it seemed there was no sign of hope in a story that really ends with an ultimate reward offered to us: a covenant with God. How great that we have a God who offers us hope and love and makes promises to us that are not dependent on anything we do?! God covenants with us purely because God cares!

We talked about the rainbow and its promise and she was entirely unfamiliar and so she continued, asking equally thought-provoking questions. Eventually, I found I could leave her with only this:

God loves us and when we are sad, God is also sad. It is not always that God wants bad things to happen, but sometimes they do. It is then that we should remember how much God loves us, how God even sent Jesus to show us that, and because of Jesus, we know that God really does understand how we feel. So when we are sad, God is sad too. When we are hurting, God is hurting. When our homes flood, God is cries with us through our struggle and is sorry that we have suffered and lost so much. God does not want bad things to happen, but God does want to help us find hope and to offer us strength as we find ways to pick up our lives and begin anew.

That, my friends, is why we have the rainbow. and today… my rainbow and reminder of hope came in the form of a little girl...