Ongoing Response to COVID-19

Weekday Email to Members and Friends – 2021-05-06

Thursday, May 6th 2021
A Weekday Emailer from
Matt Matthews
 
To Members and Friends of 
First Presbyterian Church
Champaign, Illinois

Dear Friends,
 
This letter from Sue Grey of the United Way captures chilling statistics about Champaign/Urbana. Consider this letter from Sue food for thought. Be in touch with me if the letter sparks ideas or insights. 
 
First Pres seeks the welfare of our community–to God’s glory.
 
* * *
 
April 20, 2021
 
Dear Community Partner Board Chair,
 
We want to take a moment to share with you the changes which have been made to the grants process at United Way of Champaign County.  We feel it is important that you as well as your Agency CEO know the same information.  This is a significant change, and we want to be as transparent about this as possible.  
Champaign County is now a big community – our metro area is the 202nd largest in America.  We are the second fastest growing community in the state.  The future success of our community will be determined by our ability to improve the lives of the people who live here today.  
 
We must focus on solving ongoing, chronic community issues.  United Way has done a lot of listening in the past few years: a community survey, meetings with our Partners, reviewing countless research reports, and many conversations with community members. 
 
Based on research and conversations, the following concerns rise to the top:
 
ALICE
24% of households in Champaign County are working hard but continue to earn below the ALICE (Asset Limited, Income Constrained, Employed) Self-Sufficiency Threshold.  Additionally, 20% of households earn less than the federal poverty level. Together, nearly half of the households in our community struggle to make ends meet every single month.
 
While people of all races struggle financially, a disproportionate number of Black and Hispanic families are ALICE families.
 
19% of children -one in five- live in poverty. Child poverty is an adverse childhood experience. It also disproportionately impacts Black and Hispanic children.
 
Gun Violence
More than one ‘shots fired’ incident a week in 2021 alone.  Last year was record breaking, and this year is on track to exceed numbers from last year. 
 
Child Abuse
Child abuse and neglect cases are some of the highest across the state. In 2020, Champaign County filed 131 petitions of abuse and neglect versus 90 in a “relatively normal” year. 477 children ages 0-18 are in substitute or foster care. Champaign County is in the top 10 Illinois Counties with an abuse or neglect rate above 30/1000.
 
Food Insecurity
15% of households in Champaign County are food insecure
 
Achievement Gap
Champaign Unit 4 and Urbana Unit 116 schools reported 45% of incoming Kindergarten students did not demonstrate any kindergarten readiness
Unit 4 data shows 93% of African American males in 3rd grade are not meeting standard expectations in Reading/Language Arts; in Math is 90%.
 
Urbana U116 data shows 88% of African American males in 3rd grade are not meeting standard expectations in Reading/Language Arts; in Math it is 81%. These gaps have lifelong impacts on children.
 
Champaign, Urbana, and Rantoul have chronic absenteeism rates higher than state average and national averages.
 
All this, and then a pandemic hit, and put a spotlight on many more challenges and obstacles in our community.
 
Through our prior grant model, United Way was able to help many and provide significant support. But many in our community have long endured systemic challenges which hinder progress, growth, and better quality of life.  We see solutions – but to act requires a change in our grant approach.  All of Champaign County deserves to thrive and we will fight for this in our community. 
 
The community has said, loud and clear, that they want United Way to do more to change community conditions.  With over 1,300 survey responses, 95% agreed that United Way should to more to address the root causes of chronic community issues. The voices in our community conversations have been equally emphatic.
 
To better respond to the needs of the community and solve the longstanding issues in our community, United Way of Champaign County has made fundamental changes our Community Impact Grant model.
 
This new model has two parts: Community Essentials Grants and Community Change Request for Proposals.
 
Community Essentials Grants
Community Essentials funding from United Way of Champaign County targets services that are designed to meet physical needs (such as food and water, safety, shelter, and healthcare) as well as help navigating and accessing complex human service systems (identification and documentation, technology, and resource navigation).
 
Today – April 20, 2021 – United Way will offer Community Essentials contracts to 19 programs. The total funds awarded is $588,286.
 
Programs were chosen by community volunteers from our current grantees. This will be a one-year contract.  Early in 2022 we will announce the application process for future Community Essentials grants. Long term support of community essentials will be required to lessen or prevent the intensity of a crisis, provide stability, and support people navigating a complex social service system.
 
Community Change Request for Proposals
We must move beyond annual grant making to changing systems, changing conditions, and moving the needle on complex issues facing Champaign County.  We must invest differently. Always working in concert with the community, we will identify a community issue and issue a Request for Proposals (RFP). 
 
On May 1, United Way will open our first RFP process. The community issue is Early Grade Level Success. $700,000 will be available. We will seek applications from programs which aim to reduce the achievement gap in kindergarten readiness and 3rd grade reading among students of color. Full details will be available on our website by the end of this week.
RFPs will be reviewed by a panel of community subject matter experts, volunteers, and community members. By coordinating work around a specific need, we know we can move the needle and change the statistics. 
 
We will have at least two additional RFPs this year. In late summer, we will issue an RFP focused on child well-being, trauma, and violence prevention. A third RFP is still in development with volunteers. 
 
This is a year of transition for United Way and our community. We acknowledge that we may not get everything right the first time – but we are committed to learning, growing, and changing for our community. We and our volunteers welcome your questions. 
 
Our mission says, “United Way of Champaign County will bring people and resources together to create positive change and lasting impact.” We can and must develop effective strategies which deliver results for our neighbors. If we do not change, problems do not change. We must all do our part, working United, to make our community the place that our neighbors need it to be – equitable, safe, and opportunity-filled.
 
Sue Grey
President & CEO
United Way of Champaign County.
 
* * *
 
Much love to you all.
 
PEACE,
 
Matt Matthews
Cell: 864.386.9138
Matt@FirstPres.Church


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Weekday Email to Members and Friends – 2021-05-05

Wednesday, May 5th 2021
A Weekday Emailer from
Matt Matthews
 
To Members and Friends of 
First Presbyterian Church
Champaign, Illinois

Dear Friends,
 
Allergic Reaction
A story about Church 
by Matt Matthews
 
            As Thomas cinched his tie, he leaned into the medicine cabinet mirror and examined the zit on his nose. It was large enough to have its own moon. He had cut grass for two hours in full sun and had come indoors to get ready, sneezing non-stop. Earlier, at noon, he had taken the tiny pill, his first dose, from his brand-new allergy prescription, and now, showered and shaved, his eyes still watered, ropes of snot twisted down the back of his burning throat, and that terrible pimple blinked like a traffic light. He reached into the cabinet for the eyedrops and one more of those fast-acting, not to exceed one-a-day allergy pills. On any other evening, he would have surrendered and pulled on his pajamas for BBC World News. But this was Holy Thursday. He had practiced his sermon on the riding mower. Now the time was nigh for the actual preaching of it. No calling in sick. The service started in an hour, and he wanted it to go well. Rev. Thomas Maxwell usually looked fit and trim in a black suit and purple tie. Tonight, not so much. His swollen head had taken the shape of a pale gourd, allergens commanding a beachhead on his puffy face, ears aflame with sunburn.
            
            “Come on,” he called out to wife. “We’ll be late.”
 
            “No,” she said from the nearby kitchen. “We’ve got time to get a burger on the way. You look good,” she said as he grabbed his keys from the hook near the microwave.
 
            “I look horrible,” Thomas said. “Horripilated. Bad. And look at my nose. And my poor eyes. My head is swelling. My face is shrinking. My brain is being crushed. I might not survive.”
            
            “Yes, you will,” she said. “And I was talking about the suit.”
 
            There were only a few cars in the church lot when they arrived with their greasy sack of food. She dabbed a broiled chicken tender into honey-mustard. He wolfed down a double swiss burger with bacon and extra onions, fries, and a giant Dr. Pepper. The sun cast the last rays of burnt orange into branches loaded with spring buds. This night deserved scallops, risotto, sorbet, and leisure. The westerly brick wall of the old church glowed. He shoveled in his last bite.
 
            They liked their new hometown, but they missed their four daughters, all grown. Their youngest would graduate from library school five states away in Virginia. Funding for libraries, though, like churches, was waning. And this daughter, Thomas had openly joked, was their last hope that one of his offspring would fund his early and comfortable retirement.
 
            Never mind. All the girls had landed on their feet, teaching and guiding non-profits and, otherwise, paying off college loans and making rent. Lambourghini would be in no one’s future, and his retirement, early or late, would be adequate but not lavish.
 
            “What are you thinking,” she asked.
 
            He looked blankly at her, a wad of fries composting in his mouth.
 
            “Me too,” she said. “I miss them, too.”
 
            She could practically read his mind. He dabbed at his mouth and weepy eyes with a napkin. “Damn allergies,” he muttered. Holy Week was a big deal. He wanted the service to go right. “Of all nights.”
 
            “You’ll need this,” she said, handing him a single peppermint. The gift seemed anemic, but as with all things, she gave him all she had. He didn’t deserve this devoted partnership, but who ever deserved one good thing? “And this.” She gave him a name scrawled on a scrap of paper. For such a prim, ordered woman, she wrote like a Viking. “Don’t lose it,” she cautioned. “Mrs. Pool called and asked that you include her grown son in your prayer tonight. Erectile dysfunction.”
            
            “Is that his name?” he asked, “or his condition?”
 
            “Neither,” she laughed. “Gallbladder problems,” she said, “which’ll wreck one’s libido, all the same.” She patted his hand. “Got your sermon?”
 
            He reached into his jacket like Napoleon. “If somebody shot me in the chest, all this folded paper would stop the bullet.”
 
            The entire front of the sanctuary was covered in potted Easter lilies in full bloom. He had never seen so many in one place. The pulpit bobbed above the flowers like furniture from a shipwreck floating in a green sea foamy with white caps. He had forgotten to warn the church flower guild that he was allergic to that very flower, but he figured now that his allergies tonight couldn’t possibly get worse, and his medicine would kick in eventually. Besides, this service was a briefer-than-usual service. They’d be out with some twilight to spare, in 45-minutes, tops. 
 
            When the steeple bell rang the hour, he wove through the flowers like Peter walking on water and stood at the pulpit taking the expectant congregation in. They were flowers, too, of another sort, and to these souls he was not allergic but glad, glad to see their upturned faces catching the muted light from century-old stained glass. He knew nothing in the world as beautiful as a congregation at worship. 
 
            The body often rises to the occasion, doing what you need it to do when you need it done. He didn’t feel strong or good, but capable. He greeted his flock with a few sentences of scripture. About a quarter of the membership came out. Most had a member of the family in the large choir, which sang “Let Us Break Bread Together” with great feeling, even as each verse lagged slower and slower than the first. This happened from time to time when the organist had an unexpected drop in blood sugar, which is why the music director kept a candy dish of wintergreen mints in the choir loft, ostensibly to stem choral halitosis, but really to keep his classically trained organist alive. What better time, Thomas thought appreciatively, to fall out of tempo than during Holy Week.
 
            Thomas stood up to preach as one comfortable and in command. It didn’t come naturally, but with preparation: three-quarters of a day in his study writing, an hour drawing circles in the lawn with the John Deere, and pacing around the house, manuscript in hand, talking to the empty recliners. He noticed the raspy gurgle in his voice, proof his allergy medicine was a dud. He rested his voice by pausing in the right places, asking his listeners to imagine that night in that upper room where Jesus washed the feet of his astonished disciples.
 
            The propeller of his voice sputtered, then locked. He had four paragraphs to go, plus the whole second half of the service. It was those lilies, the final straw, his Waterloo. He should have warned the guild. There was no way he could get through the service with just one lily, much less 121 of them—one for each year the church had served this sleepy, college town. He didn’t stand a chance. 
            
            “Preach often,” Saint Francis of Assisi was alleged to have said. “If necessary, use words.” Thomas knew God didn’t need his voice or his earnest words from that double-spaced sermon manuscript. God didn’t need Thomas. But the flock waited for his next word.
 
            Thomas salvaged his sermon—which was by now filled with so much silence as to constitute an intermission—by croaking out his summary of the whole faith: “As He loved us, let us love others.” His voice was now completely gone. After another pause, and like Lincoln at Gettysburg, he sat tiredly down. What he needed to do was walk out for fresh air, but he sat down instead, and the choir rose up like a forest for their next anthem featuring a swoony solo by an elderly soprano. The rest of the singers oohed and aahed along like the sound of pipes groaning in an old house. The sounds fit together though not, necessarily, in a strict musical sense.
 
            Lilies were everywhere. He had never seen such an assemblage of them, perhaps worth a half-year of car payments. Their drained faces dusted in yellow pollen looked at Thomas with the indifferent gaze of perfumed corpses. From the ashes we have come, of course, and to the ashes we shall return.
 
            As the choir sang, both the music and the odor of lilies enveloped him like the cloud of transfiguration. He went clammy. The burger knotted in his stomach, turned over all elbows and knees, and yawned. He should not have drunk that whole 64-ounce soda, which now seemed intent on not staying down. He relieved the pressure in his gut with a discreet belch. The fragrance of onion, sugar, flowers, and the slightest hint of peppermint bubbled up invisibly, he hoped, towards the high ceiling. The smell of flowers filled his head like warm soup. 
 
            Beyond the pulpit, the flock sat contentedly. The choir in the loft behind him finished their lovely amen and rattled down into their chairs with a creaky plop and the rustle of purple, Lenten robes.
 
            Thomas didn’t stand right away, though it was his turn. In normal services of worship this pause created dramatic tension. Tonight, it bought him time. But time for what? His plan required a voice. Without one of those, he had no Plan B. He could think of no next step. He knew that no amount of preparation covers every scenario. But this?
 
            Your body sometimes lets you down. His sneezing, hours ago, was the warning he could not heed. Now the skin on top of his sunburned ears and neck and shoulders began to curl and fleck off. Everything itched. His swollen face burned with the sickly coating of lily dust. A sharp pain stabbed his left breast, unguarded by his folded sermon manuscript. It could have been a sniper’s lone bullet, a panic attack, a heart attack, a double-bacon cheeseburger. He allowed the pain to dart through him and pass. It mercifully did not rebound.
 
            When he stood and approached the Communion table to administer the Sacrament, ash filled his throat. Now what?
 
            In what many in that congregation would later say was the most meaningful enactment of the Lord’s Last Supper since the real thing, Thomas simply took the bread and lifted it up before them like Mufasa lifted Simba. He lowered the loaf, broke it, then lifted the chalice in his left hand and tipped in a stream of juice from the pitcher lifted, higher, in his right; it was a bartender’s trick for Presbyterian preachers. Not a drop splashed out of that silver cup onto the new carpet. He set the elements down, beheld the table like some manger, and pointed to the elders who, after a pause, gathered around and took the trays of cubed bread and tiny cups of juice to the awaiting congregation, mesmerized in their pews.
 
            What did they make of their mute pastor, he wondered from his chair, as Jesus mingled through the congregation row by row? Did they think, This new pastor has new-fangled ideas. Did they think that he didn’t say a word at the table because they already knew the words by heart? Did they worry he was a lunatic and they had made a mistake inviting him to follow in the footsteps of previous esteemed pastors? On a good day, he didn’t measure up, but he had learned to fake it until you make it. There was no faking this. Everything had been stripped away. A preacher without words was—well, he didn’t know. He had never been forced to find out.
 
            But now—now he was finding out.
 
            The allergy medicine seemed to have kicked in, or his adrenalin had drained away, or both, because, when he stood, his body felt suddenly heavy. His extremities had started to go numb. The itching became a tingling, which ignited flame that covered his flesh like oil.
 
            As the elders returned to the Communion table with the trays, he served them in silence. After a settled moment of repose, he dismissed them with a wave of his hand. They paused before returning to their families in their seats, standing like curious children gathered around a flattened frog on a neighborhood street, their first real blush with death. They seemed to be waiting for something, a bus, a paycheck. A blessing? They lingered, breathing in, for them, what may have been the pleasant perfume of the flower that represents the One with whom they so sincerely sought such holy communion. Not knowing what the moment required, Thomas embraced each of them, but since his arms didn’t work, the hug was awkward or subtle, depending on one’s perspective. He simply leaned his head lightly into the shoulder of each, arms hanging like Judas, the great betrayer. One by one they rejoined their families.
 
            Thomas now stood alone. His face felt like it had been stung by a thousand mosquitos. Skin chaffed beneath his clothing, puckered in hive upon hive. Lifeless limbs were slathered in Novacane. He could do nothing but stand there—stand there and ponder what ought to happen next but couldn’t.
 
            He couldn’t offer a spoken prayer for Mrs. Pool’s grown son, for the healing of erectile dysfunction, gallbladder stones, broken hearts, human tangles and estrangements. Nor could he utter a word about the awe and gratitude he always felt when people bowed for prayer. The ache of all the world’s woe, the searing headlines, our allergic reaction to the gospel, the sad absence of those we love, the anticipation of what lies ahead and who, our heart’s restlessness calmed only by the One was says, peace, peace, would all go unmentioned. Thomas had offered no spoken Great Prayer of Thanksgiving, could pronounce no benediction.
 
            By now, many in the congregation were attending to their own watering eyes and sniffles. The choir sat like an army awaiting the bugle to sound the charge. Children had stopped their fidgeting and stood up to get a better look at what was happening in the roar of all this silence. Thomas felt their stares. The tingling itch of lily-toxins seeped into the microscopic apertures of his flesh. 
 
            One word. Just one word. If he could muster one word, what should it be? A Rolodex of possible religious words flashed upon the windscreen of his mind. Grace, peace, potluck.
 
            Even the best words fall short. Every preacher confronts the limits of language each week, aspiring to capture the essence of God in a well-crafted three-point sermon and a stolen poem. Nothing shall be added, Kohelet wrote two-and-a-half millennia ago. Or taken away. Trying otherwise is wasted effort, hot air, vanity. And yet.
 
            Thomas stepped to the center aisle and looked to the choir, then into the faces of his congregation. They had called him earlier this year from a congregation in the South. They had welcomed him with immediate friendship, helping them unpack, pounding them with gifts, flowers, heart-felt notes. He looked at each face. He found his wife’s at the back of the sanctuary. She would meet him at the door and together they would make their escape. She beamed support and love and something steely and strong, a sheer will, some determined transcendence. He saw this look in her eyes when she bore each of their children, when they miscarried the twins, the night his father died, when she led the way, a child in each hand, into the gates of Disney World that summer when all of them were young. She exuded an all-knowing. 
 
            She knew her husband’s allergies had gone haywire, or that he was having a small stroke, something. She knew. A space alien had crash-landed in his brain. Food poisoning, which, really, describes all fast food. The sobering realization that he dared declare anything at all about the Almighty God—her very own Zechariah coming out of the holy of holies unable to say a word because of what he saw, because of what he dismissed with a laugh, with unbelief. He knew she knew.
 
            He left her gaze for theirs. He looked at their faces. It was a shame to make it almost to the end of the service and not be able to cross the finish line. They never once talked about this possibility in his training decades ago at the seminary. 
 
            For his mute benediction, he was able to raise one arm. This motion riveted everyone’s attention. He hoisted his arm like the stoic Statue of Liberty except he had nothing in his hand, only fingers he could not feel. With love in his allergic eyes, he lifted his arm like Moses, with a great reach, for he was, indeed, reaching, reaching with his remaining might for something, for some gift just barely out of reach, his final act of faith, reaching.
 
            He tried to speak. He mouthed a word.
 
            People doubled forward to hear, listening.
 
            And, from somewhere, somehow, he managed not one word, but four.
 
            “Love,” he whispered. “Love, love, love.”
 
            When he closed his hand and lowered his arm, the organist intoned the choral benediction, and Thomas began the trek down the center aisle towards the doors. He didn’t think he’d make it this far. He still had a bit to go. A dozen or so steps. Nothing in life is certain. One can’t prepare for every vicissitude. He wasn’t finished yet.
 
            In the distance from the pulpit to the doors, perhaps in the space of twenty paces, a preacher is swept up with relief that the service is less than a musical measure away from being over. Sometimes her ego confuses relief with success. She feels tall and satisfied and necessary, in league with Old Testament prophets and sainted martyrs. The service unfolded more or less by the book thanks to her masterful planning and professional execution, or, even better, things took a turn, usually accidentally, for the sublime or glorious. And sometimes the preacher is sure her beloved congregation was confused, even injured, by her ruinous preaching and now all of Christendom totters on some brink. This, too, is a malfunction of the ego. 
 
            It is impossible for the minister to sort this out right away—or ever—certainly not in the span of steps from the front of the church to the back. It is best just to walk to the doors, one foot after the other, as the postlude erupts behind you and the crowd stirs to its feet, and the choir streams single-file towards the side door, and old friends consort about gardens and grand kids and how the Cubbies did at Saturday’s double-header. Old men brush away tears. Some saints sit back down in another world, heads cocked at strange angles, or bowed, listening to the music. Ancient couples squeeze each other’s hand, helping the other up, then out of the pew, straightening spines curved by the weight of life, testing unreliable joints. Nowadays, attending to church and traipsing off to doctor appointments comprise their only outings. And the children are told not to walk on the pews, but they dart around, anyway, like they own the place, like it’s theirs, as if church were home, a field of play, a place to be glad and rambunctious and happy. Thank God for the little children. Suffer little children, Jesus said, and forbid them not to come unto me: sliding around in sock-feet bringeth spasms and spasms of joy. For of such is the kingdom of heaven.
 
            Thank God for the children. Thank God for everybody. Gracias, Senor. Te deum laudamus. That’s what a good preacher carries with her. Gratitude. Always gratitude.
 
            As the congregation joined the choral amen in sigh-like reverie, Rev. Thomas Maxwell strode down the center aisle like a man fortified with purpose, looking sharp in a black suit with a purple necktie, their new pastor, an emotional man of few words, who, as it turned out, had a flair for the dramatic. 
 
            In fact, he was a man infested by stinging ants and peeling skin, resisting the compulsion to hop and skip and swat and claw at his itching body, steadied and willed by his wife’s tractor-beam blue eyes, making a beeline from that sanctuary to his bath tub at home, to soak up to his chin in oatmeal and cool water, with bags of frozen peas nested upon his allergic eyes that smoldered like stars.
 
 
 —Finis—
 
Much love to you all.
 
PEACE,
 
Matt Matthews
Cell: 864.386.9138
Matt@FirstPres.Church
 
* * *

Remember to contact the church office (217.356.7238) by noon on Fridays if you want to attend church on Sunday.

* * *

NO Sunday in the Park this Sunday, May 9th.   It is Mother’s Day!  


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Weekday Email to Members and Friends – 2021-05-04

 
   
                                                       

 

 

 
The Heart of Mission
May 4, 2021
 
Thank you all for being an Earth Care Congregation!!
I promised some pictures of the Styrofoam collection day. What a success! Thank you all again for a wonderful Earth week. Five big bags were collected and sent to DART where they are recycled. (Kathy and Pat removed a few dandelions on the side.) By the way, you are welcome to take your Styrofoam to DART any time but we wanted to highlight how much landfill space is saved when we can pull together and reduce, reuse and recycle. Holly Nordheden reminded us on the church’s Facebook page of the need to collect #6 Styrofoam and no packing peanuts. She gave us this link for more information at DART –

https://www.dartcontainer.com/sustainability/foam-recycling-centers/?fbclid=IwAR2ZtmHY4sgZxuNQtQYeiWkzms1uCHTMNK6J3Q0Ig9FDpvhNvkGkmUbRITo
 
Girl’s Leadership Program – Leslie Thomas and Rachel Matthews with a lot of help from Mindy Watts-Ellis set up a pilot Girl’s Leadership program with girls from our DREAAM families using Girls With Ideas curriculum. This 6 week pilot program has come to an end as of Monday but it was a positive experience for all. We hope to build on our learnings from this program in the future and do it again.
 
Opportunity International – Opportunity International was in the news recently. In an article in Forbes magazine, “Women, Poverty and Opportunity,” Mona Andrews explains the reality of the gender gap in the workforce and the benefits of more women moving into company leadership. Opportunity International was hailed as an example of how the microfinancing of women’s businesses can help reduce the gender gap in the workforce.

https://www.forbes.com/sites/forbesbusinesscouncil/2021/04/12/women-poverty-and-opportunity/?sh=136f58cf4e16
 
CU at Home has a new format for their newsletter. It is wonderful. Instead of cutting and pasting pieces of it, I am giving you a link for the whole thing. This month it highlights staff and the partnership with Champaign Township, Prosperity Gardens and Daily Bread Soup Kitchen as well as noted business partnerships. I am adding the link to the newsletter hoping you will be able to read it as well.

https://www.cuathome.us/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/April.2021.Newsletter1_compressed-1.pdf?blm_aid=253367297
 
Our Mission Co-workers, Bob and Kristi Rice, will be speaking on Wednesday night May 12, 7pm, at our regular zoom gathering. Bob and Kristi will lead a discussion on their work in South Sudan which has continued despite the pandemic! They have been working online just as we have. Bring your questions to ask them about the joys and challenges of the work they do.
 
The Pakistani group is gathering on May 16, 23, and 30 at 3pm in Westminster Fellowship Hall to view the PEB/Bunyaad Rug Cooking Benefit classes as a group. Anyone is welcome to join us, but you must sign up with us. We are taking donations for PEB because we would not be using individual registrations and this is a benefit for PEB scholarships. People are welcome to register on their own for their own private viewing, of course. If so, they will need to register by May 8. Contact Sallie if you wish to join the Pakistan group in person at Westminster Hall. (We are social distancing and using safety protocols.) If you wish to make your own registration, contact here https://donorbox.org/pakistani-dinner-three-class-series This gives more info about the event as well.

Drivers needed and maybe a change of focus –

            It seems as though several mission agencies that we have worked with over the years need help that we are less and less able to provide: drivers to deliver meals. But, it is not just drivers. Our agencies seem to need volunteer coordinators as well. It is quite a lot of work to coordinate drivers to help with food delivery ministries. Several of you have suffered silently over the years trying to get volunteers to fill deliveries for promised days and weeks and filling in for people that had to back out. You have done this for Canteen Run, Empty Tomb, and Meals on Wheels. Thank you for your ministry.

            Recently the Mission Team, Presbyterian Women, and the Community Mission Deacons have had separate discussions about the need for volunteers for coordinating and delivering food and meals in these agencies. If you have missed being asked and this type of work is heavy on your heart, please step up and we can help you lead in such a ministry! Otherwise, it is clear to many of us that the type of mission work we are doing here at First Presbyterian is changing focus away from delivery ministries.    

            The winds of the Spirit of God do change from time to time. Salt and Light now has curbside pickup. In fact, so do our big box stores like Walmart. People whose mobility is impaired are learning how to use delivery apps and other mail order deliveries. It seems that when we don’t have the calling for one ministry, other people do or God provides for some other way for it to be done. Aren’t we glad for the freedom to change focus? The many talents in the body of Christ allow some to gifted for some things and others gifted for different things. There are churches who have food pantries. There are churches who do have able drivers. There are churches who make sandwiches. We will find what ours will be. Where is God leading us in our ministry of hospitality? Is it to develop and share the wonderful kitchen that is emerging in our very own Centennial Hall? Will our kitchen be a place for senior ministry? Will it be a warm coffee stop for neighborhood bus riders? Will it be a place for budding entrepreneurs who need a “microfinance” boost to their careers in a state of the art kitchen? Will it be a garden fresh kitchen? Whatever our next food ministry is, God is leading us. Let us keep the ministry of hospitality in our prayers. Let the Spirit come in.
 
Peace,

Rev. Dr. Rachel Matthews, Mission Coordinator
 
We want to keep our mission partners in our prayers, those who are waiting to go back to their place of ministry and those who are able to work where they are. Listen for God’s call to you in their ministry.
 
Our PC(USA) Mission CoWorkers:
Mark Adams and Miriam Maidonado Escobar (Mexico)
Farsijanna Adeney-Risakotta (Indonesia)
Jeff and Christi Boyd (Central Africa)
Bob and Kristi Rice (South Sudan)
 
Our regional and global mission partners:
Kemmerer Village (and Camp Carew)
Lifeline Pilots
Marion Medical Mission
Mission Aviation Fellowship
Opportunity International
Friends of Presbyterian Education Board in Pakistan Presbyterian Cuba Partnership
Special Offerings of the PC(USA)
Theological Education Fund
Young Adult Volunteers
 
Here in Champaign – Urbana:
CU at Home
CANAAN S.A.F.E. HOUSE
CANTEEN RUN
COURAGE CONNECTION
DREAAM
eMPTY TOMB, INC
FAITH IN ACTION
JESUS IS THE WAY PRISON MINISTRY
THE REFUGEE CENTER
RESTORATION URBAN MINISTRY
SALT & LIGHT
 
Here at First Presbyterian Church
FPCC Amateur Preachers
FPCC Environmental Committee working with Faith in Place
FPCC Presbyterian Women
FPCC ESL
FPCC Children, Youth and Families
FPCC Mission Possible/Go and Serve
FPCC Mission Team, World Mission and Community Mission Deacons
 
 
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  302 W. Church Street
  Champaign, IL 61820
  217-356-7238
  info@firstpres.church
 
 

 
   
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Weekday Email to Members and Friends – 2021-05-03

Monday, May 3rd 2021
A Weekday Emailer from
Matt Matthews
 
To Members and Friends of 
First Presbyterian Church
Champaign, Illinois
 
Dear Friends,
 
Some of you have asked to see the entire Cuba journal. Each day, different members of the team kept “the journal.” Here’s the whole thing. You can skip over the parts I wrote, which I’ve previously included here. 
 
Thank you all for your continued prayers for our partner church in Havana, the Iglesia Presbiteriana-Reformada de Luyano. They celebrated their 99th anniversary yesterday. Please pray for their pastor, also, Rev. Daniel Izquierdo, who has been sick with prostate problems.
 
Finally, thanks be to God for our First Pres Cuba Partnership Committee. 
 
Here’s the journal from our winter 2019 trip. It was life-changing. I hope to join YOU on this trip in the near future.
 
* * *
 
Cuba Travel Journal
First Presbyterian Church, Champaign, Illinois
visiting brothers and sisters of 
The Presbyterian Reformed Church of Cuba at Luyanó, Havana
February 25th—March 4th 2019
 
Judi Geistlinger, Robert Ferrer, and
Matt & Rachel Matthews
 
Saturday, February 23rd, Champaign
Matt Matthews
 
      All the weeks of planning seem to be coming together: our study, our prayers, our fun meetings, getting all the details straight, packing. Tomorrow (Sunday 24 February) we will be commissioned. Monday we fly.
 
Packing
getting ready
luggage getting heavy
thinking sun
Cuba!
 
Monday, February 25th, Bloomington, IL, airport
Matt Matthews
            
            Check-in was flawless except we were told we needed a ‘tourist card’ which costs $50/person. I (Matt) put all the cards on my church credit card. We hope I’ll be reimbursed because I’m cheap.
 
            We are sitting at the gate at 4:57 a.m. We are ready to go with only an hour to wait. According to Judi’s hi-tech watch, it’s 11-degrees F outdoors, not counting a blustery wind chill. According to Robert’s weather app on his phone, it’s 70-degrees in Cuba, not counting wind chill. We are only about seven hours away from touchdown in Havana.
 
TSA
scanning people
plastic terminal chairs
muzak, frittering
travel.
 
Waiting
small talk
shaking off winter
thinking Caribbean
gratitude.
 
Havana!
 
            Out tickets say out plane was to touch down at 1:35 EST. I forgot to look at my watch, but it was close. It was sunny, warm, and we were glad to be on the ground in Cuba. When the plane touched down, passengers broke out in applause.
 
            The flight was pleasant. From Atlanta we flew over the piedmont of hilly, green Georgia to the sea, and at the ocean followed the coast of Florida until we veered out over the ocean of perfect blue speckled with white dots that, to the naked eye, could have been scattered flocks of gulls or whitecaps. By the time land reappeared—Cuba—we were descending and jockeying toward the airport. Passenger applauded—I guess—not because the flight evoked fear but because a lot of us had never been here, or had been gone a long time, or, I cannot say. I simply joined the clapping.
 
            On the shuttle from the plane to the modern terminal of grey chevrons trimmed in red—we deplaned on the tarmac—we met the 17-person delegation from Westminster Presbyterian Church, Minneapolis, on their way to their CPN sister church in Mantanzas. A Baptist engineer waited for his visa so that he could meet his delegation; they were rewiring a nearby Baptist Seminary.
 
            After we got our VISAs and got out of security (run, mainly, by young women who might have been teenagers and who didn’t seem too concerned about any threats we posed to Cuba security), Daniel and Yamilet met us with smiles and hugs. We lugged our bags to the Toyota church bus that was an older, possibly 1850s mode, and onto the road to Luyano.
 
            At the church, we were offered snacks of cookies and cold, frothy mix of papaya, pineapple, and guava fruit juices, coffee, and filtered water. We took a brief tour of the gated compound, petted semi-feral, wild-eyed cats (one halfway through pregnancy), and headed to Judi’s room to unpack and sort our gifts. 
 
            I am tired but glad to be on the ground, unpacked, and awaiting dinner in our home-away-from-home.
 
            Cuba smiles all around.
 
* * *
 
Carlos is our van driver.
 
Hector is the gate guard. He wears an Australian hat. He’s never been to Australia, but he has been to Russia, and, when asked, admitted drinking buen vodka.
 
Those who prepared our snacks were Mercedes and Silvi. Mercedes is a name that, Daniel says, has its root in the word “mercy.” 
 
In the kitchen, two heavy, soft melons sat on the counter. They said it was papaya. I’ll bet we’re going to see that again on our plates very soon.
 
Arrival
hospitable welcome
we are here
gracious reception
home.
 
P.S. Food, so far, is amazing, but the fruits are otherworldly. They are indescribably delicious.
 
P.P.S. “We have good thing, we have bad thing.” What travelers to Cuba learned during the Clinton years when they visited Cuba. This created pressure to normalize travel between our countries.
            
 
Tuesday, February 26th
Robert Ferrer
 
      We gathered for breakfast in the dining room at 8:00 a.m. We had eggs, sausage, cheese. We were delighted by an array of fresh local fruit: papaya (also known as “fruta bomba” because the big melon is bomb-shaped) and guava. The Cuban coffee gave us all the boost we need for the morning. We were greeted warmly by Milados, our chambermaid. In her earlier life, we were told, she was a dancer at the Tropicana.
 
      The hospitality is unparalleled—we were immediately made to feel like family and honored guests. 
 
      I, personally, was so moved at dinner when a special dish was prepared for me because they thought, being Jewish, I don’t eat pork. Their thoughtfulness melts the boundaries that we artificially construct based on nationality or religion. 
 
      After breakfast, Daniel led a discussion regarding the church Luyano and life in Cuba in general. Judi brought a few maps so we can get an overview of Cuba and where we are.
 
      Maddie’s cousin, Daniel, came by, and we exchanged gifts. We delivered something from Maddie and Daniel gave us a couple of salamis. We discussed the role of church in the lives of people. Most people are very secular—most do not go to church—yet there is a spark of longing to belong. Pastor Daniel is an example of educated people with skills building Cuba; when the Soviet Union collapsed in the 1990s, so did Cuba’s economy and the lack of supplies resulted in many skilled people unemployed. 
 
      Fidel Castro said in 1959 “Our palm trees are not red, but green.” But as relations with the USA soured, the Soviet Union filled the void. 
 
      Cuba’s biggest problem is debt and lack of money to get raw materials. Today Cuba is relying heavily on tourism.
 
      Daniel says that there is a prevailing feeling that to “climb the ladder” one must join the Party—but there is no enthusiasm or ideological fervor. After a short break, we met with Hairam and Rosita to walk around town and see first-hand the devastation the recent tornado caused and how quickly people gathered to rebuild. As we walked, we saw groups of workers clear away debris. After our walk, we came back to campus for a delicious lunch with Daniel.
 
      After lunch, we had a city tour of Miramar (?) neighborhood.  We stopped at the Memorial Center of Dr. Marin Luther King, Jr. The director brought us to a conference room to discuss their mission and operation through two parallel organizations: One popular education, the other ecumenical, they strive to enable their constituents to take active responsibility for their destiny.
 
      Influenced by King’s use of non-violent protest, they focus of social issues and human rights. 
 
      Afterwards we went to the artists’ section of town where we say hand-painted murals and mosaic walls.  
 
      After dinner we went to one of the old forts to watch the canon shooting ceremony.
 
Wednesday, February 27th
Judi Geistliner
 
                 The dawn was beautiful, cloudless day. As the city awoke, we all found ways to enjoy the morning. Some slept in—more them shows which is such a luxury! Judi did a little workout in her room and the Matthews discovered they still didn’t have much hot water. Matt got his first hot shower while Judi walked the grounds of the church. Since she was the only one to have hot water since arrival. Somewhere after 7:30 we lost power. 
 
            Breakfast began at 8:00, and without power, the fried eggs were replaced with hard boiled eggs. We had three kinds of fruit: papaya, pineapple, and tiny bananas, plus fresh pineapple juice and sliced hot dog-like sausages. Matt tried the milk, discovered it was warm, and made a latte.
 
            Following breakfast, we met with the knitting group. We gave six bags of yarn, a Ziploc full of embroidery floss to the group, and then the washcloths made by our knitting group, we gave with a bar of soap each. Five women were there and will give the rest to the other five who were unable to attend. Katerine insisted that we each take an item as their gift to us. We also contributed to their ministry: $10 CUC from Judi; $20 from the Matthews, and $20 from Robert.  
 
            Katerine had explained that the proceeds from their sales provided money (40-percent to the church and 60-percent to the knitters) for their ministry of the breakfast program.
 
            Alejandra also talked about other ministries: garden concerts the last Saturday of the month from the cultural center music institute where a member of the church is on the faculty, a health program for people in the third age (senior citizens) as well as exercise programs (Tai Chi and calisthenics) both of which are open to the community. Melinda a church member also teaches Spanish dance to girls from the neighborhood on Tuesdays. 
 
            From there we loaded up the bus and headed to Matanzas.
 
* * * 
 
Knitting group:

  • Katerine
  • Alejandra
  • Melinda
  • Mariella
  • Bertila

 
* * *
 
            We arrived at Central Presbyterian Church around 11:15 a.m. where we met Ari Fernandez and his wife Beidy. Ari is pastor of the church. His wife has a position with the Cuban church in charge of programs—education, training lay leaders, coordinating Vacation Bible School. One project she is working on is developing a Cuban hymnal, seeking input from churches all over Cuba.
 
            Ari’s church has about 100+ members and regularly has 80+ in attendance. They have children and some young people. Ari showed us the sanctuary where they have a baby grand piano and drum set. One new program is music lessons for children. Beidy explained that muisc is not taught in the schools, so this has been a big draw. At least one new family has joined as a result. 
 
            They showed us their apartment which has a salon, a good-sized kitchen, and three bedrooms. They showed us a terrace they said they eat dinner there every night. 
 
            Their church has a Living Waters of the World Program (as does Luyano) and offers water from 4:00 to 6:00 every day.
 
            From there we went to lunch as a restaurante called Pacha. We all suggested Daniel order for us. Rachel, Robert, and I all wanted fish, which was a meaty steak-like fish topped with shrimp and cheese. I was beautifully presented with salad, cucumbers, tomatoes, cooked veggies and (???) around the plate. Daniel ordered appetizers for us. We had ‘tostones,’ which are plantains molded into small cup shapes and fried, then filled with meat and topped with cheese. We had ham and cheese, and shrimp and tuna as well. We shared some flan after the meal, then Daniel and Robert each had café with milk, which Daniel told us was ‘cortalito’ (cut with milk).
 
            At the restaurant, videos of a popular Cuban musician were played on screens. Ricardo Arjona.
 
            Over lunch we discussed Matanzas history and a recent celebration of being 325 years old. A re-development and restoration project included rebuilding the high school, which Ari told me had 1,000 students. The city population is 600,000 in comparison to Havana of two-million. We discussed theology, boundaries, and sabbath.
 
            After a leisurely lunch we went to the seminary. Daniel gave us a tour, showed us his apartment while in seminary, which buildings he designed/built, we visited the library, toured the gardens, refilled our water at a Living Waters plant fountain, and wandered to the gazebo.
 
            At the gazebo we met Emily Beggin, the associate pastor at First Presbyterian of Virginia Beach. Matt and she know many people in common. Emily told us she was ‘solidifying the sisterhood’ with their partner congregation of San Nicolas. She is staying with Maricela. She thanked Daniel profusely as Imara from Luyano was able to get her an emergency VISA, with an hour to spare before she got on her flight to Havana.
 
            Emily recommended a restaurant in Old town Havana called Restaurante Jama, a fusion restaurant of Cuban and Japanese food. 
 
            We met up with David, a mission co-worker with his wife Josey at the seminary and brought them coffee, powdered milk, and vitamins with iron, as requested.
 
            We boarded the bus and headed back. 
 
            We stopped at the Bacaneyaga bridge and had pina coadas (I bought Daniel his, spending $10 CUC total.)
 
            While there we delayed our dinner, as we only got back at 6:28 and were supposed to get to Yahimi’s at 6:30. On the way back, a soldier stopped the bus, boarded and brought his wife with him. They rode with us to the outskirts of Havana.
 
The Tai Chi class was going on, and I sat in the lovely evening air watching them practice until it was time to go.
 
At 7:00 we headed to Yahimi’s house.  Her parents greeted us, Griselle(???) & Mario. She warned us that a party was going on across the street and it was quite loud.  She said a famous actor was dressed as a clown and entertained the children after school.  She said she suspected that this coup of getting a star to appear in Luyano was likely from the recent tornado and people doing their part to lift spirits.
 
We talked about where Yahimi was born and Matt did a great job attempting to speak in Spanish to Mario.  Mario loved it and Matt got him to open up about his love of salsa and the history of how salsa is really based on a Cuban song and is therefore a Cuban dance. 
 
Mario worked in HR for his career, working in management at a travel agency until retirement. They told us to listen to Chuco Vades, a famous Cuban pianist.  “Ira Quere” is his album.
 
            Our dinner was delicious. We had pineapple juice first. Rice and black beans went with roast pork –a fantastic roast prepared with garlic, onions, and dry wine. Griselle explained how to make it and Rachel promised to try it.  They called it something like carne asada.  We had yucca (cooked with garlic – a specialty of hers and a favorite of Mario’s plus veggies and beets, plus a green salad.
 
            After dinner, Griselle presented a pineapple pudding and papaya – candied or something in a sauce.
 
            We all talked about how wonderful it was, presenting our gifts and sharing love.
 
            We walked back with Yahimi and her mom—they did a devotion at the tables, debriefing what had been and the upcoming schedule. Osvaldo joined us for 15 minutes, then to bed!
       
 
Thursday, February 28 
Rachel Matthews
 
            Today Osvaldo is joining us as we travel to Revolutionary Square and the Cuban Art Museum. The Spanish founded Cuba. Havana was popular because of trade winds and safety in transit.                        
 
            The Spanish copy (copied the British).
 
Osvaldo said the recent tornado in Luyano went down the Pie Blanco.
He said it was an intelligent tornado. (It knew right where to go.)
 
We passed the chocolate factory (on our bus tour of the city.).
The sports arena had the Rolling Stones and people filled up even the roof tops around it – 2 million people.
Royal Palms are Cuban. It’s in the Coat of Arms.
Palm seeds make pork (pigs) tasty. (That is what they used to feed the pork in Cuba).
 
Revolutionary Square was closed the day of our tour.
 
In the hospital section of town is a park called Farm of the Windmills.  It is like Central Park.  We passed the largest Catholic Church, Sacred Heart.  Jesuit.  Pope Francis visited.
Lona St. / Queen St.  First Presbyterian is one block from there.
 
We picked up Vladimir (who became our art museum guide).
 
Alexander Manuchi – Italian who invented the telephone.
 
The Revolutionary Museum, was under reconstruction for the anniversary.  However, we were able to scan it. We went very fast through all the floors.
 
Even that meant checking our bags, walking up several flights of stairs.  The brutality of the revolution, the significant sacrifice of the people and the passion of the revolutionaries were evident. The perspective was decidedly Cuban.  History is told from a viewpoint.
 
The art told its own history of Cuba at the Classical and Modern Cuban Art Museum.  We picked up Vladimir who is an art teacher who filled in the history of the Cuban artists.  Osvaldo translated for him and added stories of his own.  Vladimir’s favorite painting is “The Chair’ by Wilfredo Lam and Osvaldo’s is “Relacion” by Tomas Sanchez.  Cuban artists were decidedly influenced by the revolution but also by the Spanish artists. 
 
            Much of the art is philosophical and symbolic. The Afro Cuban art has Santeria (synchronistic Cuban religion) religious elements as well. We were boisterous and interactive in our tour which got us in trouble with the guards. I saw them smile though. I think they enjoyed our enjoyment of such treasures.
 
            Lunch, as always, was bountiful. I am so grateful we can eat these veggies.
The downtown market had beautiful art. The art was on the exterior rows of a huge metal warehouse overlooking a bay (if you walked outside).  The interior rows were full of trinkets and tourist items–leatherwork, jewelry, clothing.  It was overwhelmingly consumeristic in this enclosed space.  I wondered if any of it was from China or somewhere else imported.  We did finally find some items to take home.  There was a painting for 250 pesos or cucs that was of an African woman with a rainforest coming out of her head.  It was wonderful.  I thought the Earth Care committee would like it but it was in a different league than I could afford.  We got beads for the Cuban dinner auction. 
 
Time for Bible study.
Tamara gave me a letter to give to Kathy S.
Hermanas de Hermanos
Relacion in Christo (relationship in Christ)
Adelphi a brethren in Acts 57.
Matt. 23.8, 25.40,  Luke 22.32,  John 21.23
Usoen el A.T.  Old Testament hermanos extension to family members
Gen. 13.8, Gen 29.4, Sa 1.26,  (Ez) Esd 6.20 
NT humano
Brethren used 160 X in reference to Christians as they share the same faith and hope.
What makes us sisters and brothers?
Understanding of Jesus himself
(comprehension)
We use the term because –
We are children of God Jon 1.12, I Jon 3. 1,2)
Matt 6.9 we share the same Father.
Invocation of God as Father in OT, 40 X’s (3% of the total)
In the NT 260, X’s (63% of the total)
What does it mean for you to be called by God with the same title bestowed for Jesus? Robert connected this to Gen 26.  We are called to form an assembly.  Ecclesia
The body of X  –  I Corinth 12. 12, 27
How to be a community beyond the local church?  To maintain the common unity of the body we are?  In which ways can we nurture together our faith and keep the bonds tighter?
Story of our 2 church relationships
The Knitting Circle
Su Voz
Main achievements – Building Bridges
2 Cor 5.20 Ambassadors of Reconciliation
 
 
We toured the church.  On the second floor are 4 dorms each with their own bathroom/shower. 7 + 7 and  6 + 6.  There is a sitting area overlooking the sanctuary.  In a few months the Christian Youth will have their meeting/assembly there and will fill up the dorms.  Any group can us it / preferably on religious VISA.  A suggestion—a spiritual practice retreat with the day of action / praxis.
 
            We ended the day with Dominos.  This was a peaceful end – a keeper.  Matt played guitar.
 
 
 
Friday, March 1st
Matt Matthews
 
            Prior to breakfast, I traipsed around the Luyano campus trying without success to capture some pictures taking advantage of morning light. The light was summery and golden but my pictures turned out flat and uninteresting.
 
            Breakfast was not. As usual, we relished fresh pineapple, guava, bananas, frothy fruit drinks, small shots of hot café, breakfast ‘hotdogs’, an egg scramble, bread, cold water, and hot sweet milk.
 
            Conversation wasn’t so great because I had to sit next to Daniel. Ha, ha. He’s getting pretty good at ‘busting’ me. I’ve been treating him with kid gloves. The gloves will come off at lunch. In my world, joking and a hand on the shoulder means familiarity, friendship, and love.
 
            We piled onto the bus—our rickety, old friend—for a 30-minute drive to Santa Maria del Mar. Robert was the first soul into the ocean. I was the last. We bobbed around as white as fish bellies in bright swim trunks. The deeper water was blue. At the beach, turquoise waves broke into pearl foam. Midway between the beach and the horizon the blues blended into a color I cannot describe, and in midwinter could hardly believe. 
 
            Katerine and Norco are our friendly hosts. Katerine and her twins are moving soon to England. I told her she would miss her Cuba sun and Cuba warm. There’s an ocean in England and the same sun, but there is no scene comparable to this. Cambridge is filled with wonders, but not Cuba’s.
 
            At the Restaurante Costarenas a hundred yards from the beach, we sat outdoors beneath a high tarp. By now, our pink skin needed protection from the bright sun. Katerine, Robert, and I ordered cervezas nacionale. Norco ordered a coke. Judi and Rachel ordered rum and cokes; when the drinks appeared with ice in them, they became immediately alarmed and asked the waiter to take the ice out; nothing poses as egregious a threat to intestinal health as a cube of local ice. Amiably, he returned the drinks sans ice but with more rum. Soon Judi and Rachel were laughing loudly and talking with their hands like native Cubans.
 
            The waiter thought my and Rachel’s pizza was to be an appetizer for the table and the paella was for everyone, which is why we ended up with two whole pizzas and six paellas, a heck of a lunch for just six of us.
 
            I used Judi’s Spanish-English dictionary to shape nonsense sentences, which amused Norco and Katerine. I liked hearing them laugh and watching their faces twist up with delighted smiles. Maybe they were being polite. “Dessert with sugar in a plates,” I said, “to bring happiness to the peoples of the world.” And, “I stamp (sellar) a jungle (selva) with a traffic light (semaforo).” They didn’t know what I was talking about and nobody cared. The laughter seemed meaningful enough.
 
            Towards the end of lunch two men approached with congas and a nylon stringed guitar. They regaled us with an impromptu concert. Nothing quickens one’s pulse like music, especially music well-played, as this was. Spanish speakers in the small crowd of diners—there were maybe ten of them—laughed at the same times. Those of us who didn’t speak Spanish missed the joke, and I told Katrina when we walked to the van later that I wondered if the singers had been making fun of us gringos. On the contrary, she said. They were singing about America. 
 
            I blushed with shame.
 
            I dozed on the bus to the chatter of the others. When we returned to Luyano, we retreated to showers and naps. Marilyn, we were told, would take us to Old Havana tonight. 
            
            We spilled out of our rooms to the patio for reading and conversation. Oswaldo (“not Lee Harvey,” he insisted), Vladimir, Marilyn, Daniel, Hector, and Rosita’s husband all dropped by for afternoon salutations. As the afternoon eased towards evening, we watched the old women in white shirts congregate in the compound for Tai Chi. We talked about joining them, and then we did. We stood up and formed a ragged line behind them. We stretched, massaged our faces with our finger tips, touched our toes (or tried), stood on our toes, pointed our toes, and bent our necks and arms in every direction. The women were flexible and could stand on one foot like flamencos, which is to say they were perfectly balanced. These gentle contortions relaxed me, though made me feel a little like a beached whale as I was the most awkward of our nimble group. At least I was a relaxed beached whale. 
 
            These centering movements took us to another good dinner—this time shrimp creole, salad, baked plantains, and a creamy yellow soup. Daniel arrived late with a six pack of cold Bucanero Cervezas. Cheers!
 
* * *  
 
Dinner
good stuff
always a surprise
we are
blessed
 
Dinner
frutas especiales
much hard work
we are 
loved
 
Silvi
always serves
with a smile
she’s a 
saint
 
* * *
 
            Friday evening was a letdown, one for which, I guess, we were due. Everything else all week had been so amazing. You can’t have one amazing experience after another forever. Carlos faithfully dropped us off at the Iglesia San Francisco in the heart of Old Town Havana. Marilyn, our faithful guide from Luyano, took us through dark alleys until we stepped out onto the wide plaza. We watched a street band play a song, strolled in a circle, sat down at tables on the plaza and tried ordering dessert but they only sold booze, so we got up, walked around in another circle, then found ourselves in a chic second story restaurante that, to our happiness, served ice cream and flan. The cigar smokers in the small club shared their secondhand smoke. The piped-in muzak was too loud and lacked the soul of the tunes outside. Even in the third world one can be beset by first world problems. 
 
            We did devotionals back at the church. Sitting on the patio in perfect weather refreshed me. The stray cats moaned their discontent, however. Maybe one was in heat. Maybe one wasn’t thrilled with our reading from or interpretation of Hebrews.
 
Saturday, March 2nd
Robert Ferrer
 
We started the day with breakfast: eggs, sausage, fruits, etc.  We prayed for Eric – wishing him our best and good graces as he leads services back home, solo, this weekend.
 
This morning we attend an ESL session led by Osvaldo.
 
Class 18
Videos – Views and discuss in groups
Idiom card games
New song: Bruno Mars, “Just the Way You Are”.
Video review different
Sounds generated by “ed”
watched   –   lived   –   wanted
   (t)                 (d)             (id)
 
Osvaldo told us that many of the rooms in the church were used for school classrooms—but when all the schools were nationalized they had to disband the schools in church. 
 
Next stop is ISECRE—Science of Religions School.  An interfaith school combining secular subjects with religious subjects.  Pastors without training receive degrees.  Adolfo (pink shirt)—founder and director (emeritus). Started as theological school for lay people. Expanded to include all religions. Present: Adolfo, one of the professors and a student, and current director. 126 students current enrollment. 4 – year program.  Also 2 – year masters of religion.
 
Director!
Science of Religion is a major program of the institute.  Important to promote dialog and understanding.  Share spirituality. Unfortunately, government does not accredit the program – under nepotism.  Adolfo: new constitution open to broader values. Both genders are equally represented as students.  Many of the students have already completed university degrees.
 
            We left the institute with a feeling of warmth and amazement – an amazement on how there is so much interest among the Cuban people to learn about each other – to celebrate diversity and understanding…
 
            ALL under the common Cuban flag.  Much to my surprise and delight Daniel (with the enthusiastic support of everyone) took us to Grand Synagogue Bet Shalom.  We entered the sanctuary as the closing prayers were recited.  I was told that no matter where you go you will find the prayer service as familiar as home.  This was certainly the case here. 
 
            From the synagogue we went to the town market. It’s an expansive, busy place with produce and meats. The variety of food competes with anything you’ll find in the produce section of our supermarkets. Went back to our campus church for lunch, readying for our next venture into Old Havana.
 
            For Old Havana City tour, Osvaldo was our guide. We had an “insiders” tour – with Osvaldo’s command of history.  We viewed the Greek Orthodox Church with its magnificent courtyard.  We walked through the Garden of Mother Teresa.  Burned (?) are famous Cubans from all areas of Cuban arts and culture.  We walked through many of the narrow streets of Old Havana – each street full of life and history. 
 
            Café Taberna is where many famous musicians play. The streets were alive with music from street musicians. The courtyard of Arabia had a peacock roaming around. We went inside Cuba’s only mosque.  Palza de Armas was one of many plazas brimming with people. Osvaldo took us to a museum containing a full miniature to scale of Old Havana. One of the highlights of the tour is we stopped at the hotel frequented by Ernest Hemmingway.  Pictures on the wall showed him with many Cuban heroes. We took the elevator to the hotel rooftop where we had an incredible view of the city while drinking Cokes. A special exhibit  at the Cuban cultural center amazed us with the mobiles consisting of birds of peace.  We finally made our way back for a short rest before dinner with Yamilet.
 
            We were greeted by Yamilet and her husband, Rolli. Beautiful home. Gracious hosts. We settled for dinner—What a feast:  chickpea medley, chicken, fish, salad and rice. After dinner, we were introduced to their daughter, Laura. She is studying art at The Institute. Laura showed us her artwork. Special preview. What talent. We all couldn’t help but be very proud of her. After coffee we embraced goodbye and went back to the church. By the way, Yamilet is also an artist and we bought several of her pieces for the church auction.
 

Sunday, March 3rd
Rachel Matthews
 
 I am grateful for Mercedes – she has prepared our breakfast every day.  We attended Sunday School. We saw many of the people who were helping us during the week (Tamara, Katerine, her boys, Osvaldo). The S.S. lesson was led by Racquel, Katerine’s mother. She began with a devotion on world peace and our praying for it. She prayed for First Presbyterian Church, Champaign.  So did Osvaldo. The Baptist Church was having a work day to recover from the tornado. Luyano Iglesia Presbyterian sent 2 workers.
 
            In class we studied Paul in Hechos / “Acts”.  The women in class could resonate with Paul in the storm. They talked about they themselves in the recent tornado. Paul had courage. Raquel taught the whole lesson without notes. 
 
“Donna and Nancy from Champaign regards from Irene.” 
Osvaldo’s daughter-in-law and friends:  Anessa  (singer?) and Ocidi.
 
Judy read scripture’
Matt served words of institution
Rachel served elements with Yahimi and Pepito and Yamillo.                                          
Lunch was served with the session.  Ahram took pictures.  Rachel ate at the table with Leahi, Ahram and Noico.
 
Evaluating the visit with the session:
 
1.        Logistics /recommendations and food
Guest and house wonderful.
Food was wonderful  –  Santa Silvi
Hospitality good.  Hot water fixed.
Fresh fruits and veggies everyday  –  succeeded!
Felt like we experienced Cuba.
Max crowd 12-15. What is a minimum?
Luyano is happy to have anyone – but 6 is a good minimum.
 
Invitations have to come to Champaign –
Ask for an invitation letter, need one. 
We need to fight for the Cuba embassy to open.
Once you get a visa there is no need for an invitation.
 
2.        Program –
Too busy
Enjoyed  families’  homes, Old Havana, beach
Practical important ministry
Critique of ourselves – learn Spanish
 
3.        Future plans
Spirituality retreat
Prayer and Praxis?
Et labora?  ora caba
 
Su  Vos?   It is written nationally.   Synod  level.
 
Robert – one on one people travelling with group was special.  When we got to worship at the end of the week – we felt we knew you.
 
We will work in Advocacy.  Push for visas so we can see you in Champaign.
 
Judy and all of us would like to feel less like a tourist but don’t know how to make that happen.
Eye opening trip for Matt.
We are grateful
5th of May – Cuba Sunday
Worship planning
Cuban Hymns
_________
Bus
_________
Go to New Orleans – Cuban Partner Network.
 
 
 
Monday, March 4th
Matt Matthews
 
            On the way home, jostling in the church van, I ponder how I’ll never be able to utter the word “world” from the pulpit ever again without thinking differently. 
 
            Thank you, Cuba.
 
I’ll miss you.
 
Sweating men cutting grass with machetes as Carlos carts us as gently as he can to the airport. Pay phones. A man on his motorcycle—with his goat. Packs of dogs on sidewalks watching the cars whiz by. Los gatos in sunny courtyards. The man sweeping the gutter of a busy city street with a push broom. Bulls and horses tied to stakes on the roadside at the outskirts of the city. Palm trees. Packed city buses, standing room only, filled with people of all ages. Trees with enormous leaves, mimosa leaves, shining leaves, hanging brown pods pointing to the ground like wiccan fingers, pink flowers, orange flowers, red shoots, yellow and lime blooms. The sign on the greenhouse hawking plantas medicinales. Fading pictures of revolution on walls, on billboards, on buildings. Old men playing checkers on benches in the small neighborhood parks. Carlos’ smile in the rearview as he taps the horn twice and waves generously to another passerby he knows. On these roads with the holes and taxis and zipping scooters one hand on the wheel is a gracious plenty
 
Our flight to Miami was uneventful. Upon landing, however, we rushed to customs only to wait in line. Robert had gotten an app a week ago at check in that allowed him to bypass this step. He told us to get that app, too. We didn’t listen. As he sailed through customs, we waited like cattle shifting from foot to foot. Cleared at the last stop, we charged to get our bags, which Robert had gotten for us, then to the gate on concourse H only to discover had we arrived seven-minutes prior we would have gotten our bags on our connecting flight. No worries, the nice lady at the counter said. Flying space available should get us to Atlanta eventually to catch our 9 p.m. connection. 
 
In this unexpected Miami layover, we ate. Heading to our gate, I bought a small fortune’s worth of primo chocolate for the beleaguered troops. Swiss milk chocolate with coconut filling makes everything better. It took the edge off. 
 
WiFi worked in Miami, and like junkies we buried our faces in our phones for a fix. 
 
When Paul Simon recorded So Beautiful or So What largely in his Connecticut home, he accommodated the ambient noises common to a less than perfect soundproofed studio. Acorns, for example, fell on his roof and tapped out their contribution to his guitar passages. He and producer Phil Ramone worked the sounds in. “Everything is music,” Simon said, “when you start to listen.”
 
Missed flights, bumpy rides on a cacophonous church van, poison ice cubes, rationed chocolate, migrating at jet speed from winter to summer and back, and dozens of other inconveniences are all part of the song. Everything is music when you start to listen.
 
* * *
 
            Our flight to Bloomington arrived on time. Jay Geistlinger, dressed in a long black coat akin to priestly robes, greeted us with a beneficent smile. He had draped each of our heavy coats over the chair backs at the table near the restrooms near baggage claim. We struggled to get the strange encumbrances zippered onto our reluctant bodies. Our bags awaited us, and, outside, so did the snow. The temperature when we woke up was 95-degrees warmer. But neither wind-chilled, bitter skies nor jetlagged memories of the warm ocean obstructed the bright stars as we stepped into the cold night for the van ride home.
 
finis
 
 
 
Much love to you all.
 
 PEACE,
 
Matt Matthews
Cell: 864.386.9138
Matt@FirstPres.Church
 
* * *

From your Nurture Team — Last week’s photo challenge was a bit easier, and Judi Geistlinger was the first to correctly identify the photo of Karin Vermillion.   

  
Here’s this week’s photo.

Visit http://fb.com/groups/firstpreschampaign to make your guesses, or email them to photos@firstpres.church.  
 
Please join in the fun!  We are running low on photos, so we would like you to select a photo from your younger years (grade school, high school or early adulthood). Photos need not be professional. Candid shots are welcome. Please send your photos to photos@firstpres.church.


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Weekday Email to Members and Friends – 2021-04-30

Friday, April 30th 2021
A weekday e-mailer from
Matt Matthews
 
To Members and Friends of 
First Presbyterian Church
Champaign, Illinois
 
 Friends,
 
Tomorrow (Saturday), Sunday worship, and Sunday afternoon (for Two-Step!) all focus and celebrate our partnership with our sister congregation in Havana. Come join these Zooms to help us celebrate. The links are at the very end of this email.
 
Let’s pray for the Iglesia Presbiteriana Reformada de Luyano this weekend. They celebrate their 99th birthday on Sunday. Rev. Daniel Izquierdo wrote the reflection of the Twenty-Third Psalm for us to share with our flock. Had technology allowed, he would have preached for us on Sunday but Cuban internet will not allow sending large files. 
 
I look forward to preaching on Sunday. Mati Stone will lead us in Spanish-language prayer. 
 
Join us THIS Sunday.
 
Remember: FirstPres.Live for on-line, and 302 West Church Street, big green doors, for in-person.
 
PEACE,
 
Matt Matthews
864.386.9138
matt@firstpres.church
 
 * * *

The Good Shepherd
Rev. Daniel Izquierdo
 
Psalm 23, John 10: 11-18 
When the young David proposed to fight against that Philistine giant who defied the armies of Israel, the argument used to reject his offer was his young age and his inexperience in the art of war, something that Goliath obviously boasted of having. But David’s response to the king was that in his life as a shepherd he had to defend his flock from the beasts and risked his life for them (I Sam 17: 33-35). 
 
The sacrificial and loving image of a shepherd for his sheep is also indicated in Isa 40:11: He tends his flock like a shepherd. He gathers the lambs on his arms, and carries close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young (NIV). Thus, Psalm 23 describes with very expressive words that care of the shepherd towards his sheep, from the experience that a man of such office can express. 
 
This is a song of confidence describing God’s care for his people, which each person can make his own; it uses not only the image of a shepherd (verses 1-4) but also that of a good family man who behaves like the ideal host (verse 5). The trust in God who is our shepherd is declared from the first verse by affirming that we lack nothing under his care. This does not indicate the absence of dangers or that life is easy and smooth, the psalmist suggests serious difficulties when he refers to the valley of the shadow of death, and later mentions his enemies. The image of the shepherd suggests on the one hand tender care regarding provision, restoration; but it also implies liberation and protection. The descriptions the psalm makes are not simply to be read but to be experienced. Imagine when we are on a picnic and we lie down on the fresh grass, what a feeling of relaxation and comforting rest, add to this the sound of a stream, the murmur of a brook invites you to nap and calm. It is equally comforting to know that in the search for abundant pastures and suitable regions for grazing, sometimes you have to cross in the middle of the most tortuous and frightening trails, but the shepherd is the one who leads the way, he is the one who does not leave any sheep to get lost, he is the one who directs with his rod and rescues with his staff. If the Lord is the shepherd, then we shall not want. These ideas are complemented by the final image of the host who welcomes us at his table and gives us a luxurious welcome by anointing our heads with oils and serving our glasses until they overflow.
 
It is not surprising then that Jesus, illustrating his own actions in the midst of Israel with vivid images, said: “I am the good shepherd” (John 10: 11,14), for many interpreters it is a kind of declaration that refers to his divinity, by the multiple references to God as the shepherd of Israel. In this specific text, the evangelist refers to the giving of the life of Jesus as something that he has chosen, in obedience to the Father, but more than anything in love for his own. He is the shepherd who would lay down his life for the sheep so that we have the certainty of life, and of a life in abundance (John 10:10). Therefore we must have the same experience of the psalmist in Psalm 23, one that reaffirms over and over again that in God we are complete, secure and confident, that we lack nothing, that nothing frightens us or can take away the certainty of his perennial care. Despite any adverse circumstances, the psalmist’s conviction and his trust in God make him anticipate his return to the temple after his deliverance, make him long to stay in the temple to bear witness to his experience and worship the God who rescues him and holds. There he will celebrate the goodness of God. 
 
We have lived, and are still living, unprecedented times due to the presence of an epidemic that has affected some 150 million people in practically the entire world, and that has claimed the lives of more than three million inhabitants on the planet. Although the vaccination processes have begun, there are still moments of tension and anguish, in many places closures and quarantines remain to prevent further spread of the virus, even the appearance of new strains puts immunization efforts at risk. The pandemic has left a trail of economic collapses, shortages and hardships, of which in Cuba we have been hit with greater visibility. Even so, we continue to proclaim hope, we continue to cling to the psalmist’s conviction that God is our shepherd, the one who guides us, the one who cares for us and therefore we declare: we shall not want. In that faith we encourage ourselves to live the present life, and to bear witness to each action where we see that divine hand working in our midst. In that faith we continue to celebrate our faith and encourage others to do so. It does not matter if we are in Luyanó or in Champaign, we are all sheep of the good shepherd. May God abundantly shower his grace on each one of us. Amen.
 
El buen pastor.
Salmo 23, Juan 10: 11-18
 
Cuando el joven David propuso luchar contra aquel gigante filisteo que desafiaba  a los ejércitos de Israel, el argumento esgrimido para desestimar su oferta era su joven edad y su inexperiencia en el arte de la guerra, cosa que obviamente Goliat se ufanaba de poseer. Pero la respuesta de David al rey fue que en su vida de pastor de ovejas él tenía que defender su rebaño de las bestias y arriesgaba su vida por ellas (I Sam 17:33-35). La imagen sacrificial y amorosa de un pastor por sus ovejas queda también indicada en Isa 40:11: Como pastor apacentará su rebaño. En su brazo llevará los corderos, junto a su pecho los llevará; y pastoreará con ternura a las recién paridas.
 
Así pues, el Salmo 23 describe con palabras muy expresivas ese cuidado del pastor hacia sus ovejas, desde lo vivencial que un hombre de tal oficio puede expresar. Este es un canto de confianza describiendo el cuidado de Dios por su pueblo, que cada persona puede hacer suyo, utiliza no solo la imagen de un pastor (vers. 1-4) sino también la de un buen padre de familia que se comporta como el anfitrión ideal (vers. 5). 
 
La confianza en Dios que es nuestro pastor queda declarada desde el primer versículo al afirmar que nada nos falta bajo su cuidado. Ello no indica la ausencia de peligros o que la vida se presenta fácil y sin tropiezos, el salmista sugiere serias dificultades cuando hace referencia al valle de sombra de muerte, y más adelante menciona a sus enemigos.
 
La imagen del pastor sugiere por un lado tierno cuidado en cuanto a provisión, restauración; pero también implica liberación y protección. Las descripciones que hace el salmo no son simplemente para ser leídas sino experimentadas. Imaginemos cuando estamos de picnic y nos tumbamos sobre el césped fresco, qué sensación de relajamiento y descanso tan reconfortante, añadamos a ello el rumor de una corriente de agua, el murmullo de un arroyo invita a la siesta y al sosiego. Es igualmente reconfortante conocer que en la búsqueda de pastos abundantes y regiones apropiadas para el pastoreo, a veces haya que atravesar en medio de los senderos más tortuosos y atemorizantes, pero el pastor es el que va delante guiando, es quien no deja ninguna oveja que se pierda, es el que dirige con su vara y rescata con su cayado. Si el Señor es el pastor, entonces nada nos falta. Estas ideas son complementadas por la imagen final del anfitrión que nos recibe en su mesa y nos da una bienvenida de lujo al ungir con aceites nuestras cabezas y servir nuestras copas hasta que rebosen.
 
No sorprende entonces que Jesús, ilustrando con imágenes vívidas su propio actuar en medio de Israel, haya dicho: “Yo soy el buen pastor” (Juan 10:11,14), para muchos intérpretes es una especie de declaración que refiere su divinidad, por las múltiples referencias a Dios como el pastor de Israel. En este texto específico, el evangelista hace referencia a la entrega de la vida de Jesús como algo que él ha escogido, en obediencia al Padre, pero más que nada en amor a los suyos. Él es el pastor que daría su vida por las ovejas de modo que nosotros tengamos la certeza de vida, y de una vida en abundancia (Juan 10:10). Por lo cual debemos tener la misma experiencia del salmista en el Salmo 23, una que reafirma una y otra vez que en Dios estamos completos, seguros y confiados, quenada nos falta, que nada nos atemoriza ni puede quitar la certeza de su cuidado perenne.
 
A pesar de cualquier circunstancia adversa, la convicción del salmista y su confianza en Dios le hacen anticipar su regreso al templo después de su liberación, le hacen anhelar la estancia en el templo para dar testimonio de su experiencia y adorar al Dios que le rescata y sostiene. Allí celebrará la bondad de Dios.
 
Hemos vivido, y aún se viven, tiempos inéditos debido a la presencia de una epidemia que ha afectado a unos ciento cincuenta millones de personas en prácticamente todo el mundo, y que ha cobrado la vida de más de tres millones de habitantes en el planeta. Aunque los procesos de vacunación han comenzado, aún se viven momentos de tensión y angustia, en muchos lugares permanecen los cierres y las cuarentenas para evitar mayor expansión del virus, incluso la aparición de nuevas cepas pone en riesgo los esfuerzos de inmunización. La pandemia ha dejado una estela de derrumbes económicos, carencias y penurias, de las que en Cuba hemos sido golpeados con mayor visibilidad. Aun así, seguimos proclamando la esperanza, seguimos aferrados a la convicción del salmista d que Dios es nuestro pastor, el que nos guía, el que tiene cuidado de nosotros y por ello declaramos: nada nos faltará. En esa fe nos animamos a vivir la vida presente, y a dar testimonio de cada acción donde vemos esa mano divina obrando en medio nuestro. En esa fe seguimos celebrando nuestra fe y animando a otros a que lo hagan. No importa si estamos en Luyanó o en Champaign, todos somos ovejas del buen pastor.
Que Dios derrame abundantemente su gracia sobre cada uno de nosotros. Amén.
 
* * *
 
Your soundtrack for the weekend…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UhMRD7lw5zs

* * *

Cuba Celebration weekend this Saturday and Sunday May 1st and 2nd. Join us for our Cuba Forum on Saturday, May 1, at 10 am.  In the meanwhile watch firstpres.church/cubakeynote about Cuba and Cuba-US Relations 2015-2021. Then zoom in Saturday with your questions for Professor Jacobsen. You can link into the Forum on May 1 at 10 am at 
firstpres.church/cubaforum

On Sunday, worship will have a Cuba theme with special prayers for our partner church in Havana, the Luyano Presbyterian Church. Later Sunday afternoon, we’re having a Cuba Two-Step salsa lesson.

Shared Worship  Sunday, May 2         9 AM at FirstPres.live. 
Cuba Two-Step   Sunday, May 2         1 PM at firstpres.church/cubatwostep

For more information, contact the Church Office at 217-356-7238 or zoom@firstpres.church.  The links for the Cuba Forum, Shared Worship and Cuba Two-Step will all be live on their designated dates and times.


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