Island of the Misfit Toys

This weekend I had the great pleasure of participating in a poetry slumber party with some friends I met at University of Houston's Boldface Writer's Conference. I began writing poetry in high school (um, who doesn't write poetry in high school) but got serious about it at Carnegie Mellon where I majored in creative writing. When I started writing songs just after I graduated I stopped writing poetry- at least the non musical kind- and hadn't picked it up until a trip to Laity Lodge this past Spring inspired me to start writing again. Inspired feels like too flimsy a word. It's a valve that I had sealed shut, as the season's of my life turned me away from poems and toward marriage, moving across the country, having a child and the like. That weekend in the Hill Country the valve blew and poems have been flowing, for better or worse, ever since.

Today at Ecclesia, Chris Seay talked about divine appointments. About how sitting next to someone on a plane or in a restaurant can be an invitation to sacred conversation. Lives, mine and yours, can be changed because of a seemingly chance meeting. This is how I feel about my poetry friends. It's funny; I went to Boldface with the intent to leave my church stuff at the door. I had just left the church where I worked for 5 years and I needed a moment, a pause, to be among people who love the other thing in my life- words. Being around people who love God is awesome, but we all know the church can be a bubble. And bubbles are suffocating.

Not an hour into the workshop and the Jesus issues came out. I don't say this lightly. There were about 8 of us in our group and I can almost say for certain that each poet wrestled with the things of God in at least on of their four workshop pieces. Mostly these poets had been hurt by some part of the church- a priest, a pastor, a friend, a parent, a grandparent. It had left a scar, a wound that was still working it's way to the surface years later.

Sarah (not her name) is one such person. Sarah is smart. Really, really smart. Really, really, really smart and sensitive. She was a committed part of a church until as a teenager she went on a mission trip to Russia. She said it felt bad- invasive- condescending to the people of that country- to go in the way they did. I can only imagine it involved brightly colored t-shirts. She also didn't like how everyone at her church acted all happy all the time. She said "Nobody is that happy all the time." Other things happened to Sarah in regard to her life at her church and she left. But in her work, God is there. Working His way to the surface.

After our slumber party I spent a few moments talking to Sarah and her mother about Ecclesia. Her mother told me that her youngest child, sensitive and artistic, is being bullied in the youth group at their suburban church- for being sensitive and artistic. I explained how everyone at Ecclesia- or at least it appears so- is sensitive and artistic. Alot of people seem to be drawn there to rebuild their sense of self in the context of faith. It's a place where your sensitivity, your creativity, your weirdness and eccentricities are not mocked or ridiculed. They're celebrated.

So being someone who likes words, I described Ecclesia to Sarah and her mom as something like the Island of the Misfit Toys. And as I said it I realized that we were having a moment, a sacred conversation right there on a sweltering neighborhood street in Montrose.

For those of you who are wondering what I am talking about- remember that particularly heart wrenching part of the Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer Christmas special? (Which happens to be the longest running Christmas special in tv history, according to wikipedia at least.) King Moonracer is a flying Lion who searches the world each night for toys who are abandoned and unloved,bringing them back to his Island where they become a part of community. (Um, Aslan?) There is Charlie in a Box (misfit status= b/c he's not a "Jack in the box"), a polka dotted lion and a depressed rag doll- among other toys. Rudolph and his misfit friend (an elf who wants to be a dentist) find sanctuary among them while on a treacherous journey of identity. Even thought they're not toys, they fit in, and they can rest a while.

Ecclesia is a place that should have "All Misfit Toys are Welcome Here" above it's entryway. It's a place where you can let your freak flag fly and you will be welcomed. There will be no fake "Gap" greeting as you enter. Just a throng of other folks like you. Bankers, bus boys, doctors, artists and students. Prostitutes, pastors, carpenter's and millionaires. Come one and all.

Ecclesia is a church where my poet friends will come. They will sense something is different about this place. They will not stand out. They will not be asked to wear a nametag. They will fit in quite nicely. Heck, they may even catch a glimpse of a flying Lion, a spotted elephant, or a Charlie in a Box. It's Montrose, so you just never know who might show up.

Divine Romance

Dear Friends,


“What started as a crush, blossomed into a full fledged romance. At first we weren't sure if Budapest returned our feelings. Afterall, who doesn't fall in love with her at first sight?”

Almost exactly two years ago, as Matt and I were getting ready to say goodbye to Budapest after three months of ministry there, we shared these words on our mission blog. We thought for sure we would return to the city and the people we’d fallen in love with sooner rather than later.

In his heart a man plans his course,
but the LORD determines his steps. –Proverbs 16:9

God is faithful and his timing is perfect. When we returned to the States in August of 2008 a lot happened that made it clear to Matt and I that the best place for our ministry, and our family, was right here in Houston, Texas.

Since then we have seen our relationships with close family members (my father, who is 83 and in poor health) restored and strengthened. We have shared our music and ministry with a half dozen Houston church families and have recorded and released an album of original worship songs as a part of Advent Conspiracy. Most recently we have been thrilled to accept an invitation to work alongside Robbie Seay as worship leaders at Ecclesia Houston. And of course, Sydney, who wasn’t yet two when we were in Budapest is now nearly 4 years old and starting pre-K in the Fall! What an amazing two years it’s been.


We are thrilled to share that God has called us back to Budapest this summer! We will spend 10 days reconnecting with friends and mission partners, offering support for the Kingdom work they are doing in that beloved city.



Our romance with Budapest and the Hungarian people has not waned in these last two years. We’ve talked, read, learned and dreamed about Budapest nearly non stop. Matt is practically an expert on Hungarian culture, history and politics! We are eager to return and refresh the passion for Hungary that God has given us.

The statistics are still heartbreaking. Hungary maintains among the highest suicide rate per capita of any nation in the world. Anxiety and depression affects a disproportionate number of Hungarians, as does alchoholism and drug abuse. After more than a thousand years of occupation by repressive ideologies (from the Ottoman Turks to Nazi’s and Communists), suicide and hopelessness are part of the national identity.

As Christians we know that Christ alone offers the only true hope in this broken world. We long to share that hope with a city and a nation of dreamers, poets, scientists and artists.

Would you consider supporting our mission with prayer?

We covet your prayers. During our three months in Budapest in ’08, your prayers opened doors, sparked conversations, and overcame darkness in so many moments of ministry. Your prayers for provision were answered in astounding and humbling ways.

1. Please pray for safe travels for us (August 2 &3- August 13&15).
2. Please pray for peace and safety for Sydney who will be staying with my mom in
New York.
3. Please pray that God will use us to both boldly and humbly plant seeds of faith for those we encounter by His divine appointment.
4. Pray the Holy Spirit will use our music to reach people’s hearts where language is a barrier.
5. Pray for financial provision for our plane tickets, and for our meals and travel while there.

Would you consider contributing financially to our mission?

1. We are needing to raise about $2700 to cover our plane tickets.

2. Your contribution can be a tax deductible donation through Ecclesia Houston, who will be supporting us on this mission.

3. To give online: From the ecclesiahouston.org website, click ‘Online Giving’ from the menu on the left side.

4. Enter the amount of your donation in the Amount box below.


5. Make sure the ‘Recurring Donation’ checkbox is unselected.


6. Click the ‘Make Donation’ button.


7. You will be taken to a Paypal page.

8. If you have a Paypal account, you can login with your email and password. If you do not have a Paypal account, you can click the link at the bottom of the page to use your Credit Card or Bank Account (in some cases the bank account option is unavailable). Follow Paypal’s instructions to complete the transaction.

9. Our you can send a check or put a check in the offering plate at Ecclesia Houston on Sunday morning. Please make checks out to Ecclesia Houston and put Hammon’s Mission Trip in the note line. Mail checks to Ecclesia Houston, 2115 Taft Street Houston, TX 77006.


We love you guys so much and are so glad that we are on this journey with you. Until we arrive in Budapest we will be blogging at www.hammonsinhouston.blogspot.com.

When we arrive on August 4th you can follow along with us at www.hammonsinhungary.blogspot.com.


Love,


Matt and Cameron

Matt- matthammon@mac.com
Cameron- cameron@ecclesiahouston.org

How to Help Dan Cho's Family

Friends- there are two easy ways to support Dan's family. I am including widgets here. I think. Hopefully it will work.





Dan was a Christian, an artist, a father, husband, brother, son and friend. He was an amazing person who was an integral part of my own faith journey. Please consider supporting his widow and baby girl financially during this awful time.

Dan

Psychologists insist that anger is a legitimate stage of grieving, and so I admit. I feel like cussing. I am angry. I've been thinking all day about how much I want to sit shiva for Dan, my friend who died on Tuesday. I want to spend seven days sitting around with friends, laughing about the good times, eating, crying and remembering. I suppose this is what I feel like cussing about. Dan was not Jewish, and I guess I'm not either. But that particular discipline is a really important one. Grieving is something I feel like I know too much about. And what I've learned is that not allowing it to take it's course; not meeting, talking, crying and eating, is the worst thing you can do.

I am also angry that this is the second person I've loved that I've eulogized in as many weeks. As horrible and shocking as it was to lose Barbara one could not deny that she lived an incredible, full life. Six children, many grandchildren, friends, family. And Barbara's beloved had left this earth four years ago- she must have longed to be with him again. She told me often that she was pissed at him for leaving her so early.

But Dan. Dan, Dan, Dan. He had half the years Barbie did, but he squeezed every last drop of life out of the time he had. He travelled the world with amazing musicians, including Regina Spektor, played SNL (!), Ellen DeGeneres, played for Coldplay. Pretty much the 'bucket list' for any musician. He had a beautiful wife, a gifted artist in her own right, and a gorgeous baby girl. His family was just beginning. He should have had 20, 30, 40, 50 more years with them.

So I met Dan at the Manhattan Vineyard Church. I was not yet a Christian, I was investigating. I'd gone once with Matt, but he was on tour and so I went alone. I cried during the worship time. The music pierced me. It was so powerful, moving and minor. Not what I expected. I don't remember the line up, except for Dan. He was the cellist. I approached him with some bizarro boldness I didn't have and simply asked "I'm a singer songwriter. Would you play with me?" He said "Ok." And kinda smiled and shook his head.

Dan was a Christian. He answered alot of questions for me, but he never evangelized. He'd smile and kinda shake his head when I'd say or do something that indicated I was 'getting' it. He was proud of me. He was sort of, protective. When I said or did something that indicated that I wasn't 'getting' it, he shook his head again, but this time differently. I cared tremendously what he thought of my life, and my choices. When I was baptized in the middle of a lighting storm on the beach at Coney Island, he and Julia were there. With a camera. Because of them I have a record of this major milestone in my life. Julia made a collage for me with pictures from the baptism and scriptures and framed it, presenting it to me as a gift a few weeks later. I was blown away. I knew I had become a part of a real family. And they were a part of it.

Dan was a man of few words. But the ones he did speak, meant the world. He was so mellow about everything, I sometimes wondered if he liked playing with me. He seemed content, and interested, but I am a chick who needs a lot of reassurance. When I would ask him what he thought of a new song, or a new arrangement- he was honest, and encouraging. Musically, he provided a depth and resonance that those early songs probably didn't deserve. I remember recording his part of "Gulf of Mexico"- on "Mary's Daughter" the song I wrote about Jeff Buckley's drowning. I see the irony in this only now. He played a cello part that made the song. It was far more emotional, and powerful than any guitar solo could've been. And since there were no guitars on my record, by choice, Dan was it. He was my lead player. He colored everything he played with honey, resin, and love. I don't know how else to say it.

When I saw him in Houston, he was on tour with Regina Spektor. I was proud that Dan had graduated to such heights. He was protective of her too. Apologizing in advance for her if she didn't say hi to us, explaining her voice is strained, she's been sick. He loved playing with her, and she obviously loved playing with him. Her songs deserved him. It was a perfect fit. He was luminous at that show; the honey tone warming and washing Regina's songs. He got us the most rock star seats in the whole place, and I kept shouting "Dan!" when ever I thought it wouldn't embaress him too much. We drank green tea, we swapped baby pictures. Being away from Julia and Audrey was really wearing on him, Matt and I could both see that. I had the sense that he planned to get off the road in the somewhat near future, but he didn't say anything specific.

Dan was loyal. I kept expecting him to flake out on my in those early days and he never did. I wouldn't have blamed him. He certainly wasn't playing with me for the money. But he would always be there. I remember our first rehearsal, at a divey rehearsal room off of Times Square- just him and I. He was excited and prepared. I couldn't have hoped for more. This is not all I will say about Dan, but this is all for now. I hope this paints a bit of a picture of the person who he was, at least to me.
Posted by Cameron Dezen Hammon a

pain.is.everywhere.

I'm sitting in the coffeeshop where last week I met a woman, who is now a friend. She told me the story of having, and losing her first child, a son. He was born with a fatal heart condition, and lived only 56 hours. I need to write this, I'm not sure why, to do what I do- to mark these events as having happened. I have no conclusions, except that pain is everywhere. Its sitting next to you in the coffeeshop sipping a cup of french press, looking at a map. It's behind the wheel in the car on your tail. It's there,radiating like a muscle spasm.

What are we going to do? All I can think of is to talk to eachother, to ask eachother about pain- how is it going? how are you feeling? what are you remembering of your beloved mother, husband, friend today?

Death is foreign. It's not supposed to be this way. It's shocking because it's not a part of the original plan. We wait anxiously for the day when all is shalom, when all is restored. And we are playing music, cracking jokes, and cuddling with our loved ones again.

Rest in Christ; Daniel, Barbara, Dan, and Mike.

Barbara

You have a special place in your heart for the people who love your children. Aunt Barbie loved our children, Grace Presbyterian Church. She gave them candy when we weren't looking (or when we were) she kept their pictures at her desk, and always wanted the most recent one. She hugged them, held them and let them push the button on that Christmas reindeer as many times as they wanted to, making it sing an ear splittting chipmunks version of some carol. She loved it. She loved our kids and they loved her. Barbara Marsden Cattanach you are loved and missed and will always be Aunt Barbie to me and Sydney. Enjoy Jesus. Tell him we said hi.

short leash

I will admit this: I'm on a short leash. And honestly, I'm grateful. I remember tearing out of bed one morning, choking down coffee and throwing on jeans and a tee-shirt (while Matt did the same) to make it to the Houston Vineyard on time for worship. Not just to participate in worship, but to lead worship as a part of the band. We lived three blocks away and slept until about 15 minutes before soundcheck. Now, this is the Vineyard. Jeans and tee-shirt- just fine. Bedhead-- no problem. It isn't a Vineyard church if at least one Pastor isn't wearing flip flops.

So, tearing out of bed to get to soundcheck on time I realized something. We probably would have slept through both services if we weren't playing on the worship team. This is awful, right? Only making it to church on time if I'm singing, or serving, or needed in some way? Shouldn't church leaders be the ones who are there every time they open the doors, early and eager?

Maybe yes maybe no. At the time, our marriage had just suffered a pretty significant blow. We'd been married two years and the issues that had been there before we got married- well, they'd just gotten worse. Heated to boiling. Someway, somehow- just on the other side of this crisis point, our friend Shae Cottar asked us to join the worship team at the Houston Vineyard. Matt had been making his living, though with considerable difficulty, as a touring drummer. He was, and is, and incredible musician. The offer came with a promise of hot coffee and community but no paycheck. Though I was not a professional musician at the time, and had no problem volunteering, I knew it would be hard for Matt. A caveat- he'd learned to play drums as a teenager in this very same church. Then left Houston, and the church (well, all church) for about 10 years.
I'd been going to the Houston Vineyard on and off by myself for most of the first two years of our marriage. People would often ask me if I was single. It was painful.
I'm not even really sure how Shae knew we were even Christians. But he invited us in, and so really, he invited us into what would become the call on our lives. To lead worship, to play music together. TOGETHER. That's what God had for us. And it took a volunteer opportunity in our local church, (a church we were rarely on time for, but who loved us just the same) to show us that. Seven years later Matt and I are worship pastors and songwriter's. He is an accomplished record producer. He uses his gifts to help artists and musicians shape their songs and lives.

If God hadn't opened up that opportunity to serve--we would likely have not even gone to church, let alone shaped our lives around serving the church. It all just sparkles with God-personality. Humor. Patience.

I give you all this back story to say simply, that I've been tugging at the leash for the last three weeks. Having left my job at Grace, I've had some 'time off'. For the first time in 5 years I haven't spent all day every day at a church. I've spent a week with intellectuals, writer's!, at a workshop at U of H. Dipping a toe or two in the fountain of academia, flirting with graduate school; a interesting idea I am still flirting with. But suddenly, I was a fish out of water, and I allowed myself to doubt, for the first time in a very long time. Spending time with poets made me realize that I had been on auto-pilot as a Christian. Quipping slogans and trying to believe them. Could I go back?

Full of humor and patience, God sent me there. To the writer's workshop. A chance encounter, led to a narrowly missed discovery matched with impeccable timing and there I was. Only God could organize something so flawless and unlikely. He knew what I needed, and how I would best receive it- he released me to wander (though only a few miles east)- and process. Jesus stuff was everywhere. At the workshop I mean. And not in a religious manifestation - like seeing the Virgin Mary in a water stain on the ceiling- but in everyone's work. Tortured, wrestling, hurting, searching, grappling, hiding- all of it - with "Jesus stuff." I felt like the most well adjusted person there. I felt so grateful that I knew what I knew. And I believed. I needed to wander to be reminded. I smiled to myself all week about that.

It's like this- I will let my daughter grow up and be her own person, make her own choices. I will do this, though every fiber in my being wants to protect her, keep her safe, limit her choices and therefore limit the potential for pain. But I know, because I love her, she will have to figure it out for herself. And if I let her wander just a few more steps, she'll come running back to me by her own choice. Eager to show me what she'd seen and learned.

So at the end of this week, I will return to work for the church. It's a different church, it's ecclesia. It's the place I've gone to worship on Sunday evening, often by myself, for the better part of eight years when I wasn't serving somewhere else. It's a place I'd gladly volunteer. It's a place I'd take out the trash if it was full. It's a place that makes getting out of bed at 6:15 on Sunday morning sound like a great idea.