leaving Ukraine

I really do love what I do. I love the mixed-up nature of my day, which often involves interacting with people on multiple continents (thanks to Skype). I love the conversations. Just this morning, I was sitting with the president of a seminary in western Siberia, talking about the American church. A western Ukrainian sitting next to us told something of his experience with a large church in North Carolina. Listening to the story of this church's ministry to bikers, my Siberian brother asked the question "so what stands behind that? Why is that church doing that? What is the philosophy behind that?" I like these kinds of questions, just as I appreciated a long lunch conversation that rambled over the question of what it means for a seminary to be sustainable. Is it truly sustainable when it has just enough to just barely squeak by, with little left for long term development? As I prepare to leave Ukraine in a few hours, I am so very thankful for the conversations I've had this week. Some of them have been treasured catching up with old friends. Others have been profound discussions of the future of theological education, the church, and broader society in this region of the world. I feel blessed and stretched.

Why do we do invest time and resources in these kinds of gatherings? I think for the same reasons that seminary presidents, deans, and other leaders themselves invest their time and resources in them. It is through these kinds of gatherings of people attempting to do similar things in diverse places that the fabric of a community of practice is formed. While every situation is in a way unique, drawing on and fed by the local context, there is also much that is similar among seminaries and higher education institutions overall. While the presentations and plenary discussions are certainly of value, I am convinced at the end of my time here that the most valuable times are the meaningful discussions over coffee and tea, over meals, late in the evening. That, I sense, is where real learning takes place, learning that will continue within the fabric of ever-more-trusting communities. Life and ministry are a web of relationships, of trust, of openness to one another and to learning. I think that a few stitches were sewn this week.

I travel in a few hours to London, where I will participate in yet another conference, this time with participants coming predominantly from western Europe.

What I don't like about my work is its itinerate nature. I say a lot of goodbyes. There is a little bit of me in a lot of places. Sometimes goodbyes are harder. This is especially true in this part of the world, where there is a bit bigger bit of my heart.Yet I am thankful for those feelings, since I know that they are themselves evidence of the "woven" nature of relationships, forged over time. May they endure. May they contribute to something much bigger.

Ukraine - random thoughts

There is something very special about the light in a Russian forest. Throughout northern Russia and Ukraine, there are stretches of woods and forest, some small pockets near urban areas, others stretching over thousands of kilometers. Somehow, the character of these forests is different than what I am used to in the American midwest, east or southeast. The trees here are mostly birch or white-barked pine. They tend to be tall and skinny. I've spent many an hour walking in such forests. I've long admired the landscape paintings of the nineteenth century Russian artist Ivan Shishkin, who so powerfully captures these places.

Here in Irpin, just west of Kyiv, we are surrounded by small woods. The conference center where we are gathered is itself heavily wooded.

I've always appreciated the way that light falls on these trees in a beautiful, golden way. I remember watching this out the window of buses near Nizhnii Novgorod, in wooded areas near Moscow, and many other places. There is something special, deep, and golden about that light, especially in the autumn. Today was my last day to enjoy that late afternoon wonder. The photo below was taken at the conference center. It hardly portrays 1%...

Cuba - some reflections

I wrote the following in Cuba in September. Lack of internet access prevented me from posting them there. Lack of time prevented me at home. So here I am, posting about Cuba travel in Ukraine.

Growing up in the Midwest in the 1980s, Cuba was pretty close to the top of the list of places that I never expected to visit. The land of Fidel Castro, the Cuban Missile Crisis, and such things just seemed a stretch too far, despite its relative proximity. This is actually my third attempt to visit the island, the first two being scuttled by logistical challenges.

So many things I’ve read about travel in Cuba stress the creeping-back-from-decrepitude beauty of the architecture of Habana Vieja (Old Havana) and the fascinating symbol of 1940s and 1950s US-made cars still in use. The architecture is amazing. While that which has been restored to its turn-of-the-last-century glory is a marvel to behold, those buildings that remain in their “state of nature” also have a certain elegance as they seem to tell the story of this place more fully. And the cars are there, although I suspect in decreasing numbers as zippy new ones begin to fill the streets. Seeing the rounded bodies of Chevys from the 1940s and the dramatic fins of cars from the 1950s are here and there. They remain a testament to the resourcefulness of the Cuban people. They also remind that there are a few places on earth that have not yet fully adopted the culture of disposability.

Cuba fascinates this student of the Soviet Union. With the exception of the palm trees and tropical flowers, some of Havana’s and Santiago’s wide avenues could be plucked directly from some southern Russian or Ukrainian city. Driving into the city, one sees many buildings that could easily be found on the outskirts of St. Petersburg or Kyiv. The Revolution Square, with its soaring tower, reminds me of the Victory Square in St. Petersburg. Clearly, the Soviet aesthetic had heavy influence on the newer parts of the city.

But entering the centro historico, Cuba is its own. Starting with a few blocks of tattered art deco buildings and building toward fabulous nineteenth century commercial buildings and homes, the historic center begins to take shape. What I originally took to be Habana Vieja was in fact many blocks short, despite the presence of stunning, if slightly decrepit, architecture. The capitolio nacional looms large over the city center, seemingly modeled at least in part on the US capitol building in Washington, yet with a romantic European flare that adds drama to the otherwise Grecian lines. Going further in, the heart of Old Havana begins to take shape, with beautifully restored buildings dating from many centuries converging on the port. The Plaza de San Francisco seems to be the center of it all, fronted on one side by the elegant nineteenth century buildings of the port house and by an ancient soaring church on the other.

*****

Heat.  It is not the kind of heat that you notice immediately. It is not the kind of heat we have in the US Midwest where it hits you in the face the second you step out of the air-conditioned space (perhaps I don’t notice it as much here since there is less air conditioning and it is not as dramatic or as cold as it usually is in the US). It is the kind of heat you do not even notice amidst the cool sea breezes and in the shade of buildings or trees. But then suddenly the sun finds you and you feel it well up inside of you. The sweat begins and does not cease until it has soaked your shirt. Although you do not have to go far to find a nice sea breeze, the heat somehow sticks with you even then, beating down upon your head. I can see why Cubans wear hats.

*****

There are two cities here, although there is not boundary visible between them. They live together symbiotically, distrusting one another yet fully dependent on one another, like a bitter old married couple. The first city is marked by hotels filled with tourists from Europe, Asia, Canada, and a surprising number from the United States. These hotels have all the markings of the globalized world, from the subtle lighting to the piped-in American, European, and Asian television stations and an abundance of food of every sort. This is the world of the convertible peso (CUC) which allows foreigners to pay prices that meet the global norm, providing the government with much needed hard currency. This city speaks, for the most part, English tinged with German, Chinese, and Japanese, tinged with the accent of progress and individual autonomy.

The second city dwells here too in symbiosis with the first. It is a world of tall carved wooden doors and grilled windows that reveal old ladies in house coats, shirtless old men, and curious children simultaneously watching television and the flow of life on the street outside. It seems that Cubans would find it difficult to live with the typical American floorplan that places the family’s main living space at the rear of the home. Rather their norm seems to be something akin to the front-porch culture that some older American neighborhoods retain, but with an even less defined line between the personal and the private life. This is a world that speaks a lispy Cuban Spanish, ranging from high literary forms of university professors to the dialects tinged with African tongues. This world lives on the national peso, accessible only to Cubans, that allows them to buy goods at a highly subsidized rate, far below global market costs. A family in Santiago, Cuba’s second city, can live a fairly comfortable life on US$100 per month. Yet it also limits their purchasing power to goods made available by the government. Such essential as salt, oil, coffee (yes, and essential in Cuba!) are often unavailable. In a conversation over lunch in Santiago, I asked if fried plantains were a daily part of the Cuban diet in the home. The answer surprised me. “No, we rarely ever have them.” This surprised me, since plantains seem to be an easy and cheap form of starch for stretching the diet. “We would prefer to, but we cannot obtain the oil necessary to fry them.” This second world is fueled and transported by the antique Fords and Chevy of the 1940s and 1950s that have been continually remade both inside and out. Cubans, it seems, are masterfully resourceful in recycling and retrofitting just about anything. This is not a skill of choice, but rather a skill of survival.

These two worlds meet, perhaps, in the thriving tourist trade. In the tiny restaurants that locals tell me are the only place in Cuba where you can get “real Cuban food,” since they have access through the government to ingredients that cannot be obtained elsewhere. Worlds meet in tiny galleries selling everything from tourist kitsch to high art. I spent 40 minutes today in a small gallery on a tiny street in Old Havana. The store sold lithographs made by a lady who ran the shop. I watched her work on one for a while and we talked a bit in broken Spanish about her work, Cuba, etc. I ended up buying one lithograph that she said showed the hidden nature of the city. I liked it. The Cubans, it seems to me, are an exceptionally gifted people in terms of aesthetics, with a keen sense both for the beautiful of the traditional and the possibilities of the avant-garde. Worlds meet in bicycle and motor taxis, in tiny cafes and coffee shops where locals and foreigners mingle.

Ukraine - remembering how little I know

I'm now more than half way through my time in Ukraine. The joint EAAA/OCI meeting that began yesterday continued today with sessions about financial sustainability and the religious context in Russia.

I'm really enjoying the informal time between sessions. In fact, during each meal and tea break, I found myself lingering over a good conversation as the session began. That is one of the nice things about having no official responsibilities for the conference. My friend and colleague, Taras Dyatlik, who serves as OCI's advisor in the region and a member of the staff of EAAA, has done an amazing job with the team of coordinating the conference. It's been great to hear of developing graduate programs in Christian leadership and management in St. Petersburg, of programs designed to provide ongoing professional development to regional leaders of the Russian Baptist church, innovative ways for seminaries to provide flexible training within churches, and new means of generating local income. I'm really blessed to be around such an amazingly creative group of people. It reminds me of how little I know!

A highlight of the trip has been spending some time with three leaders of a school in Central Asia. It's fascinating to hear their stories of leadership in a context that is very challenging due to very strict control of all religious activity, both Muslim and Christian, in their country. It has been kind of fun to have limited conversations with them in their own language, which I studied as part of my graduate work at Indiana University a few years ago. Unfortunately, I've lost much of my ability, but I think they've valued my pitiful attempts. Thankfully, we're able to converse in Russian most of the time. We have had some great conversation about their curriculum and their context and the interrelation between the two.

Tomorrow morning, I'll give my presentation on global trends in theological education. I've rewritten the presentation several times over the course of the last few days. Rather than just bringing a list of impressions, I've attempted to form it in terms of questions I would ask theological educators today. Basically, the base-level question is "does what you are doing really respond to local issues," or stated differently, "does it respond to the questions people in your churches are asking about their lives, their families, their communities, their societies?" I am hoping that it can stimulate some good thinking. As always, I'd rather be sitting in the back row listening to others...

I often find myself amazed by the sheer variety of what I do. It is really a priviledge to be able to learn on such a stage and from so many fascinating, talented people.

Ukraine

Ukraine has been a relatively frequent destination for me over the past fifteen years. Although I've not kept track of such things, I suspect that I've probably spent as much time here as in any foreign country, save Russia and perhaps South Africa and/or China. I've had the opportunity to visit many parts of the country, from the eastern regions that are culturally closer to southern Russia to the western, Ukrainian-speaking areas near L'viv. This trip takes me only to the capital, Kyiv, for a meeting of theological educators from across the former Soviet Union. Overseas Council is co-sponsoring this conference together with our partner, the Eurasian Accrediting Association. Approximately 150 people are expected at the conference from Ukraine, Russia, Belarus, Moldova, Uzbekistan, and Lithuania. I will be speaking on Wednesday about trends in theological education globally.

What do I hope for in this week together? In the 1990s, Protestant (and Orthodox and Catholic) theological schools proliferated in the former Soviet Union, all serving a kind of pent-up desire for training. At the time, there was a huge interest in the west to assist this part of the world. This led to many schools that were modeled strongly on North American seminaries with costly infrastructure and curricula that followed classic divisions. Most institutions drew the vast majority of their financial support from overseas. For a few years, this worked well. Yet around 2000, things began to change as the pool of students began to dry up and interest in this part of the world lessened in the west. Quite a few schools closed or were forced to change significantly. By the middle of the past decade, I don't believe that it is an overstatement to say that theological education in Eurasia was in crisis. Some may argue that it still is. Yet in many programs, I have seen the development of new, flexible programs, often in modular forms that allow people to receive training without commiting to multiple years of uprooted residence. More programs are providing non-traditional training to lay leaders. More schools are offering on-line training. Many schools have found creative ways to generate local income. Perhaps most importantly, I see here a younger generation of leaders who are committed to building on the strengths of generations before and finding ways to make theological education more responsive to the needs of a changing church. The program for the week and my own presentation on Wednesday all seek to probe these innovations, to think about what it looks like to lead in a time of remarkable change, and to raise questions of how to bring even greater sustainability to theological education in the region.

Change does not come easily. Although the entire world has changed remarkably since 1991, the depth and scope of change has been nearly overwhelming here. This period of change has been very difficult for many of the traditional Protestant denominations and their members. During the Soviet years and the immediate post-Soviet period, many of these groups found their identity in their traditions that had been painstakingly preserved through periods of persecution. To be Baptist or Pentecostal was not only a religious identity, but a way of life, a worldview. Social and theological realities together focused attention on the interior of the community, since any real ability for the church to influence broader society was severely limited. This, of course, has changed markedly. Yet the transition from that safe, sure world to today's multifaceted, ever-changing situation has not been easy. Many still long for that secure, traditional church world that was a blessing to many. Yet many, especially younger leaders of my generation, seem to realize increasingly the need for new models that express scriptural truths in ways that respond to and resonate with the culture and that allow the church to have a positive influence in broader society. Navigation of this reality remains a leadership challenge. Leading change is not a simple matter anywhere. Yet I suspect that is an especially great challenge here.

My presentation on Wednesday will not be a monologue. Rather, it is framed around several sets of questions and observations. What challenges do you as a leader know that your institution will face in the coming two years? What are the predominant questions of men, women, and young people in the church and broader society? Why exactly do our schools exist? What purpose do they seek to serve? And most importantly, is there alignment between our schools' ultimate purposes, what we actually do, and the questions being asked by those we serve? It would unquestionably be easier to simply give a lecture, to present my ideas and leave them on the table. Yet the educator in me knows that this is insufficient. The soils must be plowed open with provocative questions that engage leaders where they are. There must be adequate space for people to think about any question and make application in the context of their own situation. There must be engagement with reality, not just remote theory. It is my hope that my tiny part, together with the work of colleagues here in the region, can encourage those who are seeking to innovate, can calm fears that accompany change for all of us, and can be a small part of strengthening the leadership of the church in this part of the world. It is my hope that my small, insignificant part can contribute to this greater reality.

Kingston, Jamaica and travel more generally

Ten years ago, I would not have believed someone if they had told me that there was such a thing as "too much travel." I have rethought that one. The last few months of my life have contained too much travel by far. I am glad that this season of particularly hectic travel is coming to an end with these few days in Kingston.

There was a time when every trip I took involved lots of reading, research, and preparation. I crammed a few moments of sightseeing into every conceivable minute. I've changed a good bit since then, but I am committed to not letting travel become routine. While the excitement of "going fast" on an airplane that I saw in Leah and Sophia last week is not really part of my regular travel routine, I still marvel when a 747 rumbles down the runway and somehow lifts into the air. I still am entertained by funny, highly artistic hand-painted signs in Africa. I continue to see both the incredible diversity of this world and our inherent similarities. The list of cities I've toured in the meeting-free early hours of the morning remains substantial. And I do love food in all of its cultural forms. I'm learning that I'm becoming a bit famous for my culinary adventurousness in the small circles in which I move.

Lunch today was at a popular cafeteria-style fast-food shop in a commercial district of New Kingston. The lines were long, the surroundings spartan, and the daily offerings listed on a board above the counter. There was an "express lane" for those interested only in Jamaican "patties" and "loaves." Patties are savory baked meat pies in a flaky yellow-tinted crust. Loaves are a baked yeast-based pie filled with meat or vegetables, often the popular Caribbean green callaloo. The heavier dishes consisted of meats and vegetables serves with "rice and peas," a mix of rice and kidney beans. I had a spicy curried mutton, stewed with the bones, peppers, and spices until tender. The influence of West African, Lebanese, and Indian cuisines are evident.

Although I've traveled to distant and remote places visiting theological schools, this is my first visit to Jamaica and to the whole Caribbean region. I am here visiting the Caribbean Graduate School of Theology and conducting the fourth of six research visits for my dissertation. Kingston is a city unlike any I have encountered. It nestles beneath four hills at the foot of the Blue Mountains along the southeastern coast of the island. Unlike many cities in the world, the poor tend to be concentrated in the "old city" at the center, near the waterfront, while more prosperous suburbs climb the hills. I'm told that this is due in part to the violence that characterized the city in the 1970s, causing many who could to escape upward. The historical center today is a slowly reviving place, filled with scarred-yet-sturdy colonial architecture and a seeming resurgence of commercial activities and development. One year ago, a major military operation closed the entire center city while government forces sought to capture a leading criminal figure. The press is filled with reports of how the murder rate has declined 40% over the course of the last year. Yet as in so many places, the underlying social causes of conflict remain and fester beneath the surface.

One of the things I love about my job is the ability to interact meaningfully with institutions that are seeking to make a difference. CGST is an organization with deep roots, where the president can speak at length on the continuing influence of slavery and emancipation in the 19th century on family structures in Jamaica today. It is a place that has become a leading center for counseling of married couples, traumatized children, and victims of violence. Like so many theological schools, it is trying to find its way in a rapidly changing environment, learning that models that worked even five years ago are not working so well today. Change is the theological educator's constant companion. I'm not an advocate of change for the sake of change. Rather, I long to see institutions that have a good sense of who they are, who are able to value what has worked well in the past, but who are able to find new and creative ways to strengthen their work in a way that has a real impact of learning in church and society. Institutional development, board governance, curriculum design, faculty development and such things are hardly exciting subjects. Yet I am more and more convinced that it is these kinds of "deep change" interactions within institutions that helps to bring about positive change in society in the long-term. It is not a quick fix. It is not easy. Engagement in such questions can at times be a glaring reminder of the fragility of humans. Yet it is a work based in hope, a sense that true education and transformative learning can be restorative, peace-giving, and life-changing.

Addis Ababa - Ethiopian Food

Today was the final day of the Institute. The last couple of days were a bit of a blur of meetings. A lot to think about! This afternoon, we began a second set of meetings, geared toward a major research project being conducted by Overseas Council. In essence, this project will seek to discern ways in which student learning outcomes are being achieved in 9 theological schools around the world. Because this is a collaborative project with those 9 institutions, we are holding a 2-day planning meeting here in Addis. We've been joined by colleagues from Sri Lanka, Singapore, Ukraine, Poland, Costa Rica, and Argentina, as well as three participating institutions in Africa who remained after the Institute program, from Kenya, South Africa, and Benin.

There's much I could say about the last few days of meetings. But instead, I'm going to write about Ethiopian food. I first had Ethiopian food long before I traveled to Ethiopia, at a tiny restaurant near Wrigley Field in Chicago. Stefanii and I later fell in love with "The Queen of Sheba" restaurant in Indianapolis, formerly located near IUPUI. Sadly, it closed a number of years ago. In recent years, we've gotten our Ethiopian fix at Abyssinia on W. 38th St. or more infrequently at The Major on W. Washington. It was at Abyssinia that our girls (Leah especially) learned to love Ethiopian food.

But nothing compares to Ethiopian food in Ethiopia, especially the injera, an airy, flat bread made from a fermented dough. It's kind of like a cross between sourdough bread, Russian black bread, and a French crepe. Made from teff, a grain indigenous to Ethiopia (and now available at the Ethiopian market next to Abyssinia in Indianapolis), injera is the center of any Ethiopian meal. (Ethiopians pray for their daily injera). In a traditional meal, a large plate, often 3 or 4 feet across, is placed in the middle of a large basket stand. It is covered with injera and then a variety of stews are ladled on, and additional rolled injera is served on the side. You eat with your right hand, pinching off bits of injera and using it to scoop up some stew. The stews vary from meat-based to legume-based to cooked or pickled vegetables and cheese curds, all ranging from mild to fiery hot. The dark reddish ones have the most punch. My personal favorite is the injera that has sat under the stews, thereby soaking up the savory sauces. The photo above is our Ethiopian dinner this evening. The middle dish is a stew of chicken and boiled eggs, quite spicy and a bit sour. There are various other lentil-based dishes spread around, interspersed with a bit of meat, some cheese curds, and some string beans and cabbage. This plate was meant for about 8 people.

Addis Ababa - Day 4

We have completed another day of the Institute here in Addis. Today was a full day, with a bit too much of a good thing. We had a number of good, penetrating, insightful presentations. The day might have been even better with a bit more time for reflection and application, although there was a good hour at the end for group work.

The day began with two presentations, one speaking to the changing economic context of Africa, the other to the educational context. The day continued with presentations on changing religious environments, and the influence that this is having on theological education. This presentation involved Dan Aleshire of the Association of Theological Schools, speaking primarily from the North American context. Nupanga Weanzana of Central African Republic responded to Dan. While both noted many similarities in a rapidly globalizing world, Nupanga pointed out one key difference. While religious commitment and participation continues to decrease among young people (under 30) in North America, there is a strong resurgence of religion among this generation in Africa (where youth constitute a much larger percentage of the population). The day concluded with participants working in groups with 2-3 people from their own school, thinking about implications of the presentations for them.

One of the presenters today, speaking to the role of leadership in changing times, called for greater "self awareness" of African theological schools and those who are part of them. New and creative approaches, rooted deeply in African realities, are necessary not just for financial sustainability but for successful leadership development. This, to me, seems to be an absolutely critical factor when thinking about sustainability. Andrew Walls, a Scottish scholar, shared at a recent meeting that one of the challenges facing the global church is a "crisis of confidence" among the churches of Asia, Africa, Latin America, etc. The rules of the conversation, the modes of acceptable expression and thinking, and the framework for topics of inquiry are still largely dominated by the European/North American world. What is needed, according to Walls, is a rich interaction of Christianity with the cultures of "the southern continents" on their own terms. This is, after all, the demographic heart of Christianity, and the place where it is growing fastest. This growth, however, is mostly in churches that have sunk their roots deep into local soils, bearing little resemblance to the mission-originated churches. For westerners, this forces us to look upon our own beliefs and practices, realizing the sheer impact that our own history and culture have had on our theological thinking and understandings. We will certainly be stretched in new ways as the Gospel sinks deep into the soils of Africa and elsewhere. We all have much to learn. Africans have much to give. It is good to be together.

A few random quotes:

"Change is constant; the only variable is leadership."
"You cannot create or innovate if you don't know who you are."

Addis Ababa - Day 3

The Institute for Excellence began officially this afternoon. Over 100 people have already arrived, with 20 or so additional people expected tonight or early tomorrow morning due to delayed flights. The diversity of the group is amazing, coming from 22 African countries, plus observers and participants from the US, UK, Germany, and Switzerland. The meeting is bilingual, English and French, with translation to the other language, although conversations in German, Portuguese, Twi, Amharic, and Swahili, among others, are taking place on the edges.

The theme of the week is "sustainability." What does that mean? Basically, it gets at the problem of how a seminary manages to accomplish its mission within the constraints of limited resources. My colleague, Scott Cunningham, started the meeting off with a presentation that argued that sustainability is about the intersection of three key components of any training institution - its business model, its educational practice, and its mission. All of these are in turn nested in the dynamic context in which the school operates. Are theological schools able to respond to the rapidly changing needs of churches and broader society? Not a few leaders here feel a bit overwhelmed, as if the floor is shifting beneath them. It is interesting to see many of the schools developing new and creative ways to sustain their missions, including approaches as diverse as renting out facilities, running a banana plantation, or providing agricultural and community development training. Dr. Daniel Aleshire, Executive Director of the Association of Theological Schools (ATS) in the United States also gave a presentation on questions of sustainability in North America, to which my colleague and friend Dr. Victor Nakah responded from an African perspective. Today's sessions merely "plowed open the soil," setting the stage for much more robust interaction tomorrow. It's really a joy for me to see these sessions growing increasingly interactive and oriented toward adult learning principles with each passing year. I'm really proud of my colleagues.

Tonight, we shared a wonderful welcome banquet hosted by our friends at the Evangelical Theological College. They served a lovely Ethiopian buffet. A number of special guests from the community joined us, including the US Ambassador to the African Union (based in Addis Ababa). He is a former pastor and president of a theological school in Atlanta. He encouraged the participants that they play a critical role in raising up transformative leaders in Africa. I couldn't agree more. It's really a privilege to be with such a diverse, talented, and engaged group of people. And this is just the beginning. More to come!

Addendum - A few pieces of Ethiopian Religious Art from the National Museum of Ethiopia

Addis Ababa - Day 2

Today was filled with informal interactions before the official program begins tomorrow. Since many of these early arrivals had not been to Ethiopia before, I arranged for a brief tour to some of the city's main sights. The highlight of the time (at least for me) was a visit to St. George's Cathedral in central Addis Ababa (above). This is one of the leading churches of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, which is the majority religion of the country. A deacon gave us a tour of the cathedral and a well organized museum.

I developed a deep appreciation for Orthodox Christianity during time spent in Russia in the mid-1990s. I continue to marvel at how little attention our western, Protestant narrative of church history gives to the fascinating and enduring churches of Russia and eastern Europe, the Middle East, Ethiopia, and Mesopotamia. All too often we simply ignore them after the split of the eastern and western churches. Yet their rich theological and artistic traditions have much to teach us. These churches have survived for centuries, sometimes in extremely challenging circumstances. It was fascinating to see again some of the rich biblical symbolism used in Ethiopian Orthodox worship. While these approaches can at times fall a bit strangely on our verbally-oriented western ears, there is something in the depiction, expression, and experience of faith in these forms that continues to intrigue me. These churches are, of course, deeply human and influenced by good and bad aspects of their culture over the course of centuries (not unlike my own Protestant tradition). While I confess a Protestant doctrine, I will always find a part of my heart resonating with the aspirations of Orthodox worship.

I'm going to include a few pieces of Orthodox art from the National Museum of Ethiopia in a subsequent post.

Intercultural communication is at the heart of what I do. Every day is an intercultural experience to a greater or a lesser degree. Today was one of greater degree. I was reminded today in a rather complex afternoon meeting of the interplay of culture, age, position, and authority in almost every situation. In one's own culture, we tend to intuit these things and navigate them almost without conscious thought. Yet moving in cultures that are more aware of age and positional authority is a challenge. The injection of financial resources into any such situation only increases the complexity of dialogue. In such situations, I can only push toward humility (first and foremost), clear communication, relational openness and trust, and (always!) the search for the understated or hidden meaning. Few cultures say things as explicitly as we North Americans do. Sometimes I feel like these kinds of conversations are riddles or jigsaw puzzles. I have to continually step back, survey the whole territory of the conversation, and then circle back in with that broader viewpoint in mind. I really find the whole process exhilarating.

Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

Over the past few years, a lot of people have asked me why I don't keep a blog of my travels. I really don't have an answer. I used to write reflectively a lot more about my travels. But then life happened. Four daughters happened. Professional responsibilities grew and grew. Doctoral studies commenced and consumed. Ay yay, somedays I feel like it's a success just to live life, without having time to reflect. This is an attempt to change that.

I write today from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, where I arrived a few hours ago after a long-haul flight from Washington Dulles. I've learned to appreciate the little things in travel, which in this case included an empty seat next to my cozy little window-side perch. This is my fourth visit to Ethiopia, a country of nearly 80 million people in the Horn of Africa. There are few countries that so encapsulate the political, religious, demographic, and environmental challenges facing our society. Yet it is a fascinating culture, unique unto itself in Africa and beyond. It is a deeply proud nation, rooted deeply in its ancient Orthodox Christianity, although both Muslims and Protestant Christians compose a sizable part of society. In many ways, it has more in common with the Arab world of North Africa and the Middle East, although it also fits well into the East African sphere. Perhaps my favorite aspect of traveling to Ethiopia is the food (perhaps more on that later, or for those in Indy, Leah can give you enthralled descriptions of her much loved cuisine).

So why am I here? This week, Overseas Council is sponsoring an "Institute for Excellence" for about 45 seminaries across Africa. We expect well over 100 participants coming from east, west, central, and southern Africa. Although we facilitate Institutes every year in Africa, this is only the second time that we've brought the whole continent together. Each school will send between 3-4 members of their team for the week, covering a portion of their travel and lodging costs as an investment in their team. The topic for the week is "financial sustainability and change." This topic rose to the top of a survey we conducted in 2010 of seminaries worldwide. This is a critical time as theological education (and education more broadly) faces immense changes. The increasingly global nature of education and educational standards, economic uncertainties, changing student and church expectations, and a continued sense of need for "renewal" in theological education are raising some fundamental questions about how schools like those that will be represented here this week can do their work more effectively. This Institute isn't a "chalk and talk" workshop where a bunch of western experts share the "proper" way to do things. Rather, this is a big discussion, drawing on the decades of experience in the room and the real challenges that these men and women face. A lot of time will be devoted to group work among individual school teams, seeking to facilitate application exercises and creative thinking about individual situations.

My active, up-front role this week is minimal. My investment has been largely on the front end, through a lot of work with my African colleagues (Victor Nakah of Zimbabwe and Philippe Emedi of the DRC) and the director of our Institutes (Scott Cunningham, who himself lived and worked in Africa for more than 25 years). It is a privilege to work with a team like this. I'll also be focusing on a lot of individual conversations and preparing for an important meeting at week's end that will draw 10 people from around the world for planning of a major research project on theological education (more on that later).

It is our hope that this week will lead to:

• a sense of commonality and fellowship among participants (many look forward to this gathering every year)


• serious and practical reflection on the topic of sustainability of seminaries in Africa, including interaction with some leaders from other parts of the world (including Daniel Aleshire of the Association of Theological Schools in North America).


• reflection on what it means to lead change within communities. While some of this will be rather "nuts and bolts," utilizing John Kotter's materials, we are deliberately focusing more on the human element of change leadership, for it seems to us that this is the most critical, especially for Christian institutions.


• personally, I look forward to learning a lot and having good fellowship with African friends.

I'll try to share some updates throughout the week, along with some photos.

Don't hesitate to ask questions.

And bear with me as I learn to blog...