Mark Scandrette

It was an exceptionally warm spring day– and walking home from my last appointment yesterday I could sense that there would be a lot of activity in the neighborhood over the weekend. You can feel it in the air and pick up the vibe from the energy of the people you walk by. One of the clues for me was a man I saw sitting up in a tree wearing a clown suit and roller skates and sipping champagne. The Mission District is such a vibrant neighborhood with a lot of energy—both positive and playful and negative and violent.

When I got home I called the family together to discuss our plans for the evening. We were sitting in our front room, deciding to have a quiet evening at home, when I heard the gunshot and ran to the window. A young thin man wearing a red hat and a large young woman ran toward our front steps and then doubled back in the other direction. I saw blood and rushed to call 911. When I got off the phone we began to hear the sirens. Out of respect for Lisa, I’ve learned to wait a few minutes after the gunshots to go outside to look. I walked out the door and found the young woman lying face down on the corner—now surrounded by police and paramedics. She had been shot in the chest, but was still conscious. The police began asking me questions as other officers searched for bullets and taped off the area. I stood with a young Latin man, who had blood on his hands and pants. He was walking to the subway listening to his headphones when he discovered the young woman lying facedown on the pavement. He held her in his arms trying to keep her awake until the paramedics arrived. The police questioned him suspiciously and accused him of being intoxicated—which he wasn’t. He had just been in the wrong place at the right time.

The paramedics went to work on the young woman, stripping her shirt, wrapping her in blankets and placing an oxygen mask over her face. After they loaded her into the ambulance I went back inside to tell the family what I’d seen. In our neighborhood, if you don’t go outside to look, you would never know what happened. The eight police cars, three rescue vehicles and two fire trucks and all the police-line-do-not-cross tape were gone in fifteen minutes. I talked with the family and we prayed for the young girl. We didn’t even know her name. We asked that she would survive, recover and discover a new way of life apart from the gangs.  The phone rang. It was a police officer with more questions and information. The gun was found on the next block. It wasn’t a drive-by like I’d thought. Someone fired and then quickly ran away, blending into the crowd.

Unfortunately one of the signs of spring in our district is the sound of gunshots interspersed with the chirping of birds. Although we think our Barrio Libre initiative has been helpful this event makes us wonder how we can relate to fatherless children in a more tangible way.

Next week we are heading to Washington, D.C. for a family learning trip and book promotion. We are also looking forward to seeing friends. We thought that before we venture to Europe together we should stop by this nation’s capitol to study U.S. government and history. I will also be visiting Emergent cohorts in D.C. and Baltimore, promoting SOUL GRAFFITI. Here are the details, in case you live in the area:

Monday April 9: The D.C. Emergent Cohort at The Harp and Fiddle in Bethesda, MD 7-9 P.M.
Tuesday April 10: Baltimore Emergent Cohort at The Bare Bones Grill Ellicot City, MD 7-9 P.M.

A week ago Saturday we celebrated Hailey’s good friend’s Bat Mitzvah. It was quite a moving experience for me. Bat Mitzvah literally means “daughter of the commands” and Hailey’s 13 year old friend led the entire two hour Shabbat service, including singing the liturgy, reading Torah and giving a sermon. She had studied since she was nine for this day, that culminated in a lox and bagels lunch followed by an extravagant feast with wine, cake and dancing in the evening.

I was moved by the reverence this tradition has for the revelation of scripture, the seriousnessness of the shema, and how it plays itself out in family life through daily and weekly rituals, meals and prayers. It is quite something to participate in a tradition that is so ancient. I was also struck by the similarity between the shabbat service and the Christian liturgical tradition. I want to do some research into this, but my assumption is that in the first century the disciples of Jesus simply incorporated new meaning into the common rituals and gathering rites of the synogogue. At the shabbat service there was even a breaking of bread and sharing of wine (Kiddush) that resembles Eucharist.

I later talked with some Jewish friends about how moved Lisa and I were by the Shabbat service– and their reaction was interesting. For them the rituals seemed tired and rather empty of true integrative spirituality– more a tradition preserved rather than a living faith. I’ve begun wondering if all religious traditions are akin to museums of spiritual experience. We go to these museums to remember or learn about the history of how people have sought to live life with God and one another. The best use of a museum, in my mind, is a place that inspires you to make your own art or your own history– and it seems that as people seeking to live life with God and in community with one another, we recognize those who have taken this journey before us and then improvise to create a way of life together to do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with our God.

I’m not much of an institutional ritualist, but with this analogy to the museum I’m trying to recognize the connection between creating community and local culture and appreciating the historical traditions that also shape our journey with God and one another. I’ve wondered, for example, if it would be helpful to tap into the historical movements that have shaped the landscape for my own spiritual journey (Anglican, Lutheran, Methodist and Weslyan) and share the best of these traditions with my children– even though we primarily see our task as negotiating how to live in reverence today with the people that make up the tapestry of our lives.

Its been just over two years since my grandfather, Dr. Onas Cudley Scandrette died at 91 years old. My cousin, Chunky Blood, has written me recently inquiring about things I might remember about grandpa. Sometime knowing more about where we come from helps us makes sense of who we are becoming. I still think of my grandfather alot– as a signpost fading into the past about where I come from and where my destiny lies. I remember being at the hospital just after he died. I was sitting in a chair beside the bed where his body was beginning to stiffen– his mouth still open. Next to him was my dad on the phone making funeral arrangements. I could hear my sons running around out in the hall. That moment gave me an enduring picture of the cycle of life– where I have been– the child out in the hall, where I am, and where I am headed: middle age, older adulthood and mortality.
I found a place to write offer a tribute to him in SOUL GRAFFITI:

“My other grandfather, Onas Cudley Scandrette, could not have been more different than Grandpa Ray Clow. He and my grandmother Mary lived in a college town near Chicago where my grandfather was a professor of psychology. Their home, instead of being decorated with church craft bazaar knick-knacks, knitted Kleenex box cozies, and dinosaur bones, was furnished with 1950s modern furniture, shelves of art and psychology books, and walls hung with black and white art prints and paintings—including signed lithographs by Marc Chagall, Pablo Picasso, and Thomas Hart Benton.
Grandpa Onas looked the part of an eccentric college professor, wearing thick glasses, suit jackets, and a derby hat as he drove his red MG convertible through campus. He dabbled in mountaineering, experimented with Pop Art, and was an accomplished photographer who corresponded with Ansel Adams. In his basement there was a dark room where he perfected experimental print techniques that he documented for publication in photographic society journals. I rarely saw my grandfather without an SLR camera around his neck.
He also wrote down and told stories about his childhood experiences and wrote romantic and philosophical poetry exploring the human psyche. Academically and personally Grandpa Onas was interested in the intersection of faith and humanity—particularly the psychological dimensions of human spirituality. He was a lifelong fan of the Hebrew Psalms because of their resonance with subjective human moods and motivations. Raised in a religious tradition that regarded the arts and culture as “worldly” and the cravings of the body as shameful, he sought to find God in the pleasures of human creativity.
Always a bit of a hipster, Grandpa Onas wore the latest running shoes, was the first person I knew to own a personal computer, and gave me recommendations about his favorite rock music. For birthdays and Christmas he and my grandmother gave me art supplies and books. They took me to museums and galleries where I recall seeing Andy Warhol’s car crash sculptures, the photographs of Robert Mapplethorpe, and the assemblage sculptures of horses by Deborah Butterfield. From Grandpa Onas I learned to explore the goodness and beauty of God revealed in humanity—through the arts, philosophy, literature, history, and the study of cultures.

On Thursday afternoons Lisa leads “knitting club” at our house with about 10 kids. Last week our kids and their friends finished knitting an afghan to send to Afghanistan.

Last weekend my son Noah and I went with my friend Charley Scandlyn to Yosemite for four days. Charley was officiating a wedding and we got to tag along and enjoy the solitude of the Valley. I had always wanted to see Yosemite in the winter and it was spectacular! Noah and I had a great time hiking and walking on top of frozen lakes and streams. As a special bonus we were invited to the wedding and to the wedding feast at the fabulous Ahwahnee.

On Tuesday night I flew to Tampa to be with some friends and colleagues for a few days. We are staying at a great house on the beach having good conversation and dreaming together about good work to do together in the future. Overnight on the plane I read the Starfish and the Spider– on recommendation from Linda Bergquist– and was reminded of the power of loose associations and volunteer involvement.

Yesterday we drove up to the mountains to go sledding in the snow. When we lived in Northern Minnesota I got all the snow and cold I needed for the rest of my life– and begrudgingly went along with the Scandrette/Laird tribe. But it was great and the mountains were beautiful. On the way home we stopped at Victrola Cafe in Capitol Hill– for a great cup of coffee. Thanks to Aurora for recommending this place. It was very much like Ritual Cafe back home. Earlier in the day Isaiah and I went out on a date and visited Caffe Ladro in Fremont and did some shopping at the Fremont Sunday Market. Isaiah likes to look at the Sunday Newspaper funnies.

1. Friday night dates with Lisa at our favorite Italian restaurant or French Cafe.
2. Completing “Bay to Breakers” with the guys from “running club.”
3. Working with a great team of people who give energy to ReIMAGINE.
4. Feasting and making a life with SEVEN, our new faith community.
5. Sabbath Retreats at the Dixon’s cabin.
6. Fifteen mile walks through the city with Noah and Isaiah.
7. Playing games at home for “Dad and kid night.”
8. Finishing my first full-length book project, SOUL GRAFFITI.
9. Traveling to Montreal to train & teach.
10. A sense of mystery and curiosity about how God is leading, guiding and providing for our family.

We are grateful for so many friends and companions on the journey to do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with our creator. MERRY CHRISTMAS & HAPPY NEW YEAR!
—Mark & Lisa, Hailey, Noah & Isaiah