Slicing Balls but I am not Jesse...

“See that house there? It costs $4,000 a night to rent. I bought my house in La Romana for $4,000 dollars.”

My caddy, Hector, told me this as we drove along the fairway of Teeth of the Dog, one of the highest rated golf courses in the world. With 8 fairways along the ocean, the cool breeze and shade from palm trees provides golfers with one of the most challenging and beautiful 18 holes they have ever played. I am not a very good golfer, so putting on the same green that Tiger Woods has putted on felt like I was cheating “the system”. To tee off where Bush Sr. and Bill Clinton both recently played felt very special, as I ruined the moment with a terrible slice that almost hit one of the mansions that lined this exclusive course. Princes, billionaires, presidents, professionals, and celebrities have all played on “The Teeth”. And now so has an 18 year old kid who didn’t know there was a difference between a sand wedge and a pitching wedge, much less that they even existed.
Let me rewind and start from the beginning.

Friday
On Friday I went with some friends to Boca Chica, a beach about an hour away from Santo Domingo. There were 10 of us in this little truck that seats 5, but that is how it is here in the DR. “Going to the beach? Ok me too.” We had a great day, celebrating Dominican Independence day (27 of February). Dancing merengue in waist high Caribbean water as the sun sets across the ocean isn’t as terrible as it sounds, and if I was forced to I guess I could do it more often. Unfortunately my “waterproof” sunscreen changed its mind on how waterproof it was going to be, leaving me with a dark red sunburn that almost matched the intensity of the burns on the old, hairy, fat European men in speedos on the beach. Right now even my forehead is peeling.

Saturday
I got on a crowded bus in Santo Domingo with screaming toddlers and mothers breast feeding their babies. As we pulled away from the city, the driver put on a DVD for the passengers to watch. It was The Gods Must Be Crazy in Spanish. I arrived at the house of a friend named Jackaline in La Romana, a coastal town that is made up of sugar cane factories and cruise ships. After a dinner of fried fish and pineapple smoothies, I impressed Jackaline and her friends with my amazing dancing skills, showing off the natural dancing skills that God gave to white people.
The next morning I woke up early and went over to the golf course. Groups of probably important people were warming up on the putting green. Expensive cigars hung from their mouths as they joked around with the staff that knew them by name. I started off golfing with two businessmen from Spain, but let them go ahead, pretending that my sluggish pace was out of choice and not by the fact that I was spending too much time searching for lost balls among the tropical shrubbery*.

As I sat in my carrito (golf cart) watching the clear water of the ocean lap against the white sand of the beach a few feet away, I began to realize why it cost over 300 dollars to golf here. I was lucky enough to golf for free, an experience I will never forget, and one that I am thankful for.
After ending, and NO I will not tell you my score, I went up to the club house to cool off and rest with a Cubano sandwich and a cold Presidente (gasp how scandalous). I was picked up and given a tour of Casa de Campo and Altos de Chavon, which is basically private city for the rich and famous. While there I saw Chris Tucker talking with someone who could have been Miss Universe. Out of respect for his privacy I didn’t say anything to him, but now I wish I would have walked up and said “Man, don’t nobody understand the words comin’ outta yo mouth!” (a Rush Hour reference).

After a day of bumping elbows with people who were wearing designer clothes that I can’t even pronounce the name of, I got in a taxi to head back to Santo Domingo. The glitz and glamour of the yachts and Ferraris quickly faded as the taxi I was in got hit by a semi truck. Everybody was ok, but the cars were stuck together. After pulling them apart, the two drivers went their separate ways (here in the DR if there is an accident it is merely an inconvenience). At the next intersection there was a policeman, and the taxi driver leaned out the window to tell the policeman to stop the truck that hit us. The only problem with this “police report” was that the driver didn’t stop the taxi, and he didn’t look at the road either as he veered into oncoming traffic. The irony of getting into an accident while reporting an accident wouldn’t have been lost on me. This display of Dominican driving made me miss the express bus to Santo Domingo, so I took a smaller, more crowded bus back. I am convinced that the bus driver thought he was behind the wheel of a Corvette, as he swerved around a car a little too fast, giving a reason for the following journal entry:

“Tonight I was in a crowded bus that almost tipped over. It was the first time I have ever been in a bus that used only half of the wheels.”

After too many near death experiences for one night I finally arrived safe and sound at home, only to be greeted with a locked door. Everyone in the house had gone to bed, but after 20 minutes of door pounding I was thankfully let it.

sunburned and tired,

Levi

*Whenever you read this word, please pronounce it like in Monty Python and the Quest for the Holy Grail

Soundtrack of Renewal

If you were being baptized, and could pick a song to be playing in the background, what song would you choose?


Yesterday some members of Mario’s church were baptized, and something strange happened. There was a group of about 50 people standing by the river, watching their family and friends get baptized. A car with loud, bumping music drove by, and instead of driving AROUND the crowd, it slowly drove THROUGH the crowd, music blaring. “Turrible knuckleheads!” I said to myself, doing my best Charles Barkley impression. How ignorant can you be?! Here is a gathering of people celebrating a special moment in the lives of their loved ones, and these idiots want to show off their sound system by driving through the middle of a crowd. Naturally, people were offended, and I am sure some words were uttered that aren’t compatible with a baptism ceremony.


Then, the beautiful irony of the moment struck me. The song that was bumping was “I Got the Power” by Snap. Hmm, how appropriate. A little untraditional, but it still works. I wonder if that song was playing when the dove descended from heaven and landed on Jesus’ shoulder. Probably not. Maybe some guys rode by in a chariot, playing the tune on a harp. Probably not. What kind of music would Jesus want playing during his baptism? What if it was something really corny, like Chariots of Fire style 80s music? *smile*


Sorry, I digress. But still…


Here are some other questions I have been brainifying about...


-In many small churches I have visited, why is the woman who is asked to present a special song almost always tone deaf? And why is she so close to the microphone?
-What is worse, lying to the police or bribing the police?
-When did guilt get introduced to Christianity?
- I was at a worship service with some homeless guys by the ocean, and one of them used to be a priest for Satan. He is trying to get his life back on track, but is homeless and very sick. One Christian told him that he is just reaping what he sowed and is now paying for his sins. How loving. Where in the Bible did Jesus say “That’s what you get you lil sinner. Karma sucks huh? “. I know it’s in the Bible somewhere…
-For every hour that we spend in church, do we get tokens that can be redeemed at a gift shop in heaven? I hope so, because this trip will give me enough tokens to get some really cool postcards and maybe even a t-shirt.

*insert clever blog title here*

Tanbou prete pa janm fè bon dans:A borrowed drum never makes good dancing
-Haitian Proverb

The story of Haiti’s history cannot be told easily. Sure, you can memorize important dates and events, but it is in the untold story where we can find the hope and pain of this country.

I was walking with a group of friends along a street in a rough part of Port-au-Prince. We were going to visit a church, one of many that we had the pleasure of visiting. This particular church is on a steep hillside that overlooks the city and the ocean. In many senses it was a beautiful location, when looking far away. As you focus on the immediate surroundings, the extreme poverty is everywhere. Sewage drips down the streets as children play with kites made from trash. The group stopped and looked over the city. One of the pastors was rattling off statistics and then mentioned something about Haiti being a 3rd World country. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, as I am not a fan of this particular term. “You mean ‘developing’ country, right?” I said, attempting to correct him. “No, look around…this is 3rd World. There is no development here.”

After that visit we went to a church in Cite Soleil, a slum city that the UN recently called “the most dangerous place on Earth”. Slight exaggeration, but I can see where they would get the idea (Wikipedia “Cite Soleil” and reads the first two paragraphs). Don’t worry, Mom, I was completely safe-ish. In Cite Soleil we visited a church that has been in the middle of the violence for some time. Once, three people were killed in front of the church and they just continued with the service. In this area, many churches were shut down out of fear. This one stayed open. The pastor then started talking about things that the community, and others like it, needed from Christians. It wasn’t bigger churches with better music. It wasn’t week long vacation bible schools. It wasn’t 3 point sermons with a creative spiritual “to-do” list. It wasn’t money, aid, charity, or donations.

He called for the body of Christ to be as much about social development as it is about spiritual development. This struck me, since it was something I had been recently thinking. I heard something from a missionary that disturbed me on a very deep level. “There is no hope for Haiti, but the good news is the amount of churches is growing.” How can we pretend to love our neighbor while letting the quality of their life deteriorate? How can we preach to those in hunger? In most cases, the avenues of spiritual issues and social issues never intersect. I wonder what life would look like if we lived on the corner of that intersection.

Here are some other things I have been up to…
-saw a voodoo ritual in Haiti in the street
-Got stopped by a cop at one in the morning. He wanted a bribe or else he would throw me in jail. I told him about my two brothers who are cops, and how much I respect his noble profession. He let me go.
-Saw the Columbus’ house
-Bit into some bread that was given to me that had maggots in it, and out of respect ate the entire piece. I should have done the old “pretend-to-take-a-drink-and-spit-out-the-food-in-the-cup” trick that got me through so many meals growing up. I always drank milk at dinner because it wasn’t clear and could hide vegetables. Sorry mom.
-Went to the ocean and then had some ice cream
-Almost got in a fatal car accident because a guy was going the wrong way on the highway. That is an example of Dominican driving
-Felt like I was in a car chase scene from James Bond as the car I was in slammed, screeched, and swerved around the oncoming car *see above*. That is an example of Dominican driving.
-Learned some Spanish
-Learned some Dominican
-Learned that Spanish and Dominican are two different languages.

In the DR

I sit here under the soothing rotations of an ever present ceiling fan, the humid ocean breeze blowing through my shirt and repelling any beads of sweat that try to appear on my back. The sounds of the street, a continuous chorus of honking and diesel engines, are the only things disturbing my peace.
Since my arrival one week ago my life has been filled with the busyness of new experiences. New country, new culture, new language, new people, new food, new…well, you get the idea. I have already been to church enough to justify an ordination, and I have eaten enough to expel all thoughts of weight loss on the “missionary diet”. For those of you reading this that are snowed in and tired of the long, cold, lonely winter days you might not want to read this next sentence. The weather down here is perfect, and the combination of 80 degree heat and 75 percent humidity is wonderful.
I am been staying with the Matos family. Mario and Yolanda are the parents of two beautiful and energetic children-Susana and Maria Magdalena (aka Magda). Oh, and don’t forget Coky (“coke-ey”) the feisty month old Chihuahua. Mario is my contact here in the DR, and I have been following him around to a variety of churches and ministries in his network of transformation.
As is often the case when I travel, my library of books is about as broad and random as it gets. I am reading Plato’s Republic, Personal Finance for Dummies, Che Speaks to Young People, and Cornell West’s An Afro-American Revolutionary Christianity. All these books deeply confuse me and utterly challenge me, two concepts that are more connected than I am willing to admit. By intentionally disorienting myself, I am forced to recalibrate myself in the right direction, and for that I am reading this old book that was written by a lot of prophetic authors back in the day.
People constantly ask me, “What exactly are you doing down there?”
Well, I am not exactly sure. But here is what I know so far. That I am here because God wants me to be here. That I am here to bring transformation. That the transformation I bring is as much in my heart as it is in anyone else’s.

Obamanos!

This was the view BEHIND me at a concert in DC. Last week I was in DC with my best friend Ellis for the inauguration of "that one"-Barack Obama. We went to two inaugral balls, and almost saw the swearing in ceremony (Google "purple ticket fiasco").
It was an amazing week. Here are some highlights...
-Bumping into John Kerry
-Seeing so many Crackberries
-Riding a secret James Bondish subway under the Capitol
-Tons of free museums
-Having a suitcase full of clothes that are intended for the Caribbean, not windy, cold, 10 Degrees DC
-7 hours standing in line starting at 5 a.m., and not getting into the ceremony
-Marc Anthony and JLo at the Western ball
-Jay-Z at the OFA Staff Ball
-Chinatown
-The Metro, and finding ways to ride for free
-Eating at expensive places, and having random strangers pick up the tab
-tailored tuxedos and looking more important than I really am
-seeing old friends
-the inauguration of BARACK OBAMA!!!

Blogging is for losers...

Alas, I join the blogosphere. I used to think that blogging was silly, and a shallow form of communication. I used to think the same thing about texting. I stand corrected (or maybe I should say "I sit corrected"-honestly, who types standing up?).
"I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute my 1st amendment rights, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend this blog."
This is an oath that I have taken as the president of this blog.

As follows is a chronicle of my thoughts, experiences, and humble reflections as I travel the world on a quest to destroy the ring in the fires of Mount Doom. This is my story...