..the production part of the studio was mine to run and as of yet many of my efforts to rally the workers around the future projects had been met with skepticism. Beyond this, it would a great time of cultural exchange, who would have known that day in December that the harmless White Elephant Gift Exchange for the studio workers would turn into a story steeped in horror and dread. It was hot the day of the party, and very very dry. It was of course the dry season and everyday was hot but this day was of a more sinister dryness and equally malicious heat. I really had no idea what to expect past that most of the workers had expressed to me that they were brining gifts. I should have began to form the first kernels of doubt when I saw Ra digging around in front of his families house on my walk from the drink stand back towards the studio. I would have questioned his spontaneous gardening but my command of Khmer did not allow me to question someone in this way. I sauntered into the studio’s main room and was happy to see that Anne was there to help me steer this event towards something that would resemble a proper U.S.A. White Elephant Gift Exchange. We began explaining to the workers the plan and had the news translated to those who did not speak English. And so it began, we passed out roman numbers to each person with a gift and set the great experiment into motion. An audible sigh of relief left me when the first gift was opened and was greeted with excitement by the openee. The thought that maybe they had not grasped the idea that these were to be gifts that someone would not want may have escaped them but feeling like a good Western missionary I thought the whole encounter might offer vital implements to some of the workers that may save their rice crop or be used to upgrade their motos. My thoughts were shifted back to the encounter as Anne announced that Tyra was to open my gift. I was a bit skeptical how she would react to one old Nike high top, a broken camera, and some stickers I had received in a box of malt biscuits. She was ecstatic and threatened with a wag of her finger that anyone who stole this gift would be the recipient of her rather legendary wrath, a wrath that belied her 4 foot 7 frame. I was quite content with myself at this point. If an old size 12 shoe could elicit such glee then surely the staff had grasped the concept. The next gift to be opened was by my translator and dear friend Bunleang who grasped the box wrapped in newspaper and laughed out loud and proclaimed in Khmer his most amazing gift. He spoke quickly so I only caught the word duckgai. Ra was laughing uncontrollably to the side and several of the guys crowded around Bunleang as he slowly tipped the box over. Like it was loaded on a spring a large gecko leapt out of the box and landed in the center of the studio floor staring right at me. Every Khmer girl in the room shot off the floor and onto every table and chair in the room. Anne and I sat shocked and looked around quickly and then refocused on the prone lizard lying amidst us. I became relieved as I realized it was clearly a plastic toy as it had not moved since its grand entrance from the box. The girls all poised on their chairs began to relax and the boys began to chatter again when the great reptile swung its head to the right. I screamed as it launched forward in a path that would land it in my lap in two or three seconds. Anne joined the girls on the table in one stride as I ran a great fantastic circle route to a waiting chair. It was a moment of frantic, adrenaline charged, bliss.

At this point I should clarify what a duckgai is I suppose. A much larger version of the gecko it has blue and grey stripes and is named after the call it makes at night. They are surrounded by many folk stories one that was very prevalent in my mind at this point was that once they clamped down on you they would not let go even after they were killed.

This was in my mind of course as I ordered the gecko corralled and sent outside. The boys surrounded it in the corner and with great bravery took the gecko outside. We the quick risers began to leave our perches and regain our seats. With order restored the present process began again. Even though the dreams of an orderly gift exchange had vanished I was still strangely content knowing that no White Elephant gift exchange would ever equal that one newly opened duckgai cage lying nearby. The next gift was to everyone’s relief was a pen set. And then someone’s old shirt. And then…well Saveoun was quite surprised to find a freshwater slug in his box. We all nervously laughed at that one, Anne and I making sure that this creature was not mobile before we relaxed. Two living creatures in the last ten minutes surpassed the grand total for my existence of gift giving.

The gifts were passed, and stolen, and repossessed, and all was well with the duckgai and slug safely put aside and order restored. Poetic justice though still lurked in the wings. Ra, one of the last to go, picked up his gift and screamed out as a duckgai sprung out onto the floor once more. This second monster produced as much shock as the first and more so, I mean who really would have thought that two of the guys would have been possessed to package the same large reptile for this event? I stayed off the chair this time but……

The emergent, the poor, and the quest for temporal holiness

So many of us are striving for something different than what we know, what we grew up with. Many are emerging today. Others head for the fields of social ministry and working with the less privileged as their perceived ticket out of the status quo. Others follow the path of personal piety and personal sacrifice to seek a higher state of holiness. Not that all these approaches are wrong, well at least in moderation they can be productive, but do they really solve the problem that began the whole exodus? Does withdrawing from “traditional” church to start new technocratic media savvy churches of the HD the answer or is it a plunge to the other side of the teeter-totter? Indeed does withdrawing help at all? But past this when exactly does the emerging stop and what does the newly emerged individual do when they break out into bloom in all their relative splendor? Where does the emergent person go when they are postmergent? Do they emerge to revolutionize the existing church or have they given up on it all together? Do they plan on their church being how church is done in the future? Do they emerge to build a bridge to the pagan or to raise a drink and a swear word to the church they emerged out of?

There are those whose answer to our current church is to institute a strict ministry to the poor and the oppressed. They trumpet classless society and shared income while tenuously balancing the catalyst of the gospel with the never-ending needs of this world. They look at the alarming facts and the opulent wealth trapping their suburban dream world and toss aside what is being done for the homeless. The “helping the poor as the answer to the status quo” crowd chuckle when someone points at Jesus and the perpetual homeless but scoff at the rich and their impassable needle, and in this want it both ways. But what then is your main goal, their spiritual hunger of their physical hunger? Where does your success come from then, is it when there is no one poor and all are fed and happy? Is utopia then the ultimate goal, is a painless world the final answer to your quest to toss pearls at a terrible swine of a world? Do you plan on your focus becoming the church of the future? Do you threaten the status quo or do you labor out of guilt?

Some seek to answer the question of how to change what many see as broken by seeking a personal holiness. They pray longer, talk holier, and feel more righteous in a move to stop their slide into sin. They rank the holiness of others in their church in comparison to their own quest. They wash their hands of the affairs of others as they look inward. They see trial as cause for more discipline and prosperity as a cause for a pat on the back. They seek others who abide by their own mendicant standards and discuss their humble spiritual workouts and when a winner is found they are hailed as a mentor. A penny for their mandatory quiet time and feeling of spirituality, a dollar for their works-based self-indulgent search for temporal holiness. Do they then influence others so that change might be grasped for the church? Does all their labor grant them anything or does the lashing of their disappointed souls equal a better them? Will their pursuit become the norm of the church of the future? Will they work for grace?

No answers. Just questions. Just hope.