KensFootnotes

Wholly Jesus

2011-02-07T09:30:00.000-08:00

Wholly Jesus

Since I was awake anyway (the phone having rung in the pre-dawn hours of the morning because someone could not find a key to a church vehicle and thought I might have one - which I did) I took the opportunity to finish up a book I had been reading by Mark Foreman entitled Wholly Jesus. Mark Foreman is a pastor of a Calvary Chapel church in a beach community in southern California, and in this book he shares a little of his own story and reflections on his spiritual journey. Exactly why it is that my own reflections on his reflections managed to push past a number of unfinished posts that somehow have never made it out of the "draft" folder, I'm not sure (it may have as much to do with untimely phone calls as anything else), but there are a couple of things about his book that I think are worth sharing.

First, I am always intrigued when someone "outside" of the Adventist faith community does such a good job of articulating a theme that Adventists have often thought of as being one of their more unique contributions. Not only is this a helpful reminder to me (and maybe even others in my faith community as well) that we don't "own" the insights that we get the privilege of sharing, but also that God is not limited to or dependent on us to share them. Both the encouragement and humility that this provides is a good thing, as it reminds us that we are not alone, and perhaps much more connected with others than we might realize at times.

What's more, there is a richness in listening to familiar insights coming from fresh voices which frame things such that we are able to hear old truths in new ways, which can give us a perspective that we might otherwise miss through over familiarity with our own language.

Second, because he writes as an evangelical pastor, from a perspective that evangelical Christians can easily tune into, it seems to me that he has a better chance of being read and heard by many who identify with that community, and who might not otherwise be drawn to the kinds of insights he is sharing.

And third, I appreciate the way he invites is to more fully loosen our hold on the way that Greek philosophy has shaped the thinking of the church over the years, and to embrace once again the view of the Kingdom of God that was central to the message of Jesus and the New Testament - one that is not just about waiting for an ideal to be realized in a world to come, but one that is about living differently right now in the world we find ourselves in. A kind of Kingdom life that is not just about what the spiritual part of us will finally experience in the future, but rather a kind of life in which every aspect of our lives feel the impact and transformation beginning right now, as whole people, following a Wholly Jesus.

In any case, since this is not intended to be a book review but rather just a few reflections, I won't go into a lot of detail here, except to say that he does a very good job of unpacking the wholeness of people in a way that not only mirrors what one finds in the Adventist faith community, but which also challenges Adventists to continue to live out the full implications of that emphasis. This is especially important for a faith community that often defines itself by it's desire to "make people whole" but too often stops short of fully appreciating all that that entails. One of the ways he does this is illustrated in a short story he shares about the experience of a girl named Christy, and how the failure of her church to fully embrace this aspect of the Kingdom has impacted her life:

Her youth pastor told her that Jesus didn't care about world peace, only the apocalypse. He didn't care about the wellness of the body, only the soul. He didn't care about the people of other faiths, only Christians. He didn't care about art and culture. He didn't care about ecology; the planet was going to burn anyway. And he didn't care about the integration of science and her faith. And the reason she could be sure Jesus didn't care about these things is because none of these things were mentioned in the Bible. Jesus just wanted her to pray, read her Bible and tell others about him. But eventually the tension between the real world and this fabricated youth-pastor's world snapped. In order to be true to herself and her passion about these issues, she had to abandon the other-worldly Jesus she'd known. Christy is an example of tens of thousands of Christians who have learned to disassociate a thin Jesus from their own wellbeing, along with the wellbeing of society. Even now that she is suicidal and struggling with clinical depression, Christy won't turn to Jesus because she believes he doesn't care.

He then goes on to ask:

Is that what we deduce from Scripture simply because Jesus 'never mentions" nutrition, ecology, globalization or pluralism? Jesus doesn't mention cars, light bulbs, toilets, burritos or televisions, but Western Christians seem to have no problem using these and incorporating them into their lifestyles. Wise believers learn to think Christianly and apply Jesus' teachings to all areas of their lives.

*(both of these quotes are taken from the final chapter in the book, and as I am not exactly sure how to reference the appropriate page numbers in the Kindle electronic version of the book, all I can tell you is that these quotes are found at positions 2846 & 2856 respectively)

As a member of the Adventist faith community, (one that, like many others, too often expends way too much energy debating the bark on the trees to the detriment of the forest), Wholly Jesus is both deeply encouraging and affirming in that it reminds us that we are not alone in the richness of the contributions we have to share . . . AND . . . perhaps also serves as a wake-up call which should remind us that we do not own this message, and if we neglect to fully embrace it, there are others who have and who will.

What a great opportunity for many to discover new friends in unexpected places!

Being Pursued

2010-11-29T01:16:00.000-08:00

Pursued

For a couple of years now, Lael and I have found a nice place in a little coastal town where we have been able to get away for a couple of days to celebrate our anniversary. The town is small, the pace is slower than we are accustomed to, and the beach is within easy walking distance from where we are staying, providing wonderful opportunities for walking along the water's edge, or just sitting and listening to the waves or watching the sunlight on the water. With no appointments to meet or calls to return, there is lots of time to relax, walk through town, take a nap, read a book, and enjoy un-rushed and unhurried thoughts. To pause and be at peace.

On one of these mornings as we sat on the beach watching wet suited surfers trying to catch a ride on uncooperative waves, I noticed a man walking down the beach whose presence exuded anything but peacefulness. He carried a small napsack slung over a well worn jacket, baggy shorts, over-sized tennis shoes and one black sock. He seemed agitated as he walked. I had the impression that he was looking for something or someone - but whatever it was, he clearly was not at ease. Now and then he would pause and stare out over the water, and then at what appeared to be a small pad of paper in his hands on which he seemed to be writing something, and then reading what he had written. He would then walk back down the beach in the other direction for awhile, pausing again, looking, waiting, and seemingly unsatisfied, retrace his steps once more. While there was something about him that both intrigued me and drew my attention, I would also have to admit that there was also something unsettling enough about him that I really didn't mind that there was a fair amount of distance that separated us.

After he had continued on like this for quite some time, he finally paused, walked closer to the waters edge, and looking out over the ocean, methodically began tearing pages from the pad he held in his hand and throwing them into the air, one at a time, until they clustered all around him on the shore. Then with what appeared to be a sense of exasperation, he turned his back to the water and walked over to a set of stairs that made their way up the face of a small cliff to the streets of the town above. When he was about a third of the way up the stairs, he paused, and stood there on a small landing that overlooked the beach for few moments. Then, surveying the coast line one last time, with a look of finality, he wadded up his last remaining piece of paper, tossed it over the railing down to the sand below, and turned away for the last time, making his way to the top of the stairs and disappearing into the quiet streets of the town.

Since it was now early afternoon, we collected the few things we had,and set off in search of lunch. As we walked by the base of the stairs, I noticed the small wadded piece of paper that he had tossed over the railing in his final gesture before leaving the beach. Curious, I picked it up and unwadded it, only to find scrawled there across the wrinkled paper, three times, in a manner that seemed to express the anxiety and agitation that he had been exuding all morning, the words "World War III."

While I certainly did not understand all of the import that those words carried for him, as I looked over at the papers he had tossed along the waters edge which had now been scattered by both birds and breeze, I couldn't help but wonder about all that must have been churning in his mind. What were the worries or fears that pursued him, and which had shaped his experience that morning, and which continued to haunt him as his steps led him back into the sleepy little beach-side town? While I had been enjoying the sense of peace and renewal that seemed to have caught up with me that morning at the beach, it seemed apparent that it was a very different sense of things that shaped his morning.

Just a few days before in church, we had spent some time reflecting on the last verse of the 23rd Psalm, "Surely goodness and mercy will pursue me all the days of my life," and what it means to be pursued in this way. But for this man on this morning, whatever it was that was on his mind as he looked over his shoulder that morning, somehow I don't think he had the sense that what pursued him was either of those. And as I continued to look at the wadded piece of paper in my hand, pondering what I had seen of the experience of the person who had written upon it, although we had both been in the same geographical location that morning, in many ways we were in very different places. While I had been enjoying what it meant for what was pursing me to catch up, it seems that he was preoccupied with trying to keep ahead of whatever it was that he sensed was pursuing him. When fear and anxiety is what gives the spring to your step, the last thing in the world you want is to be caught. But when you realize that it is goodness and mercy that is on our heels, getting caught just might be the best thing that could happen to us.

While I really don't know much of anything about the nature of the worry or anxiety that seemed so central to the experience of the man I observed on the beach that morning, or exactly what it was that seemed to pursue and trouble him so much, I did find myself grateful for the realization of what (or perhaps Who) it is that continues to pursue me (and Who is in pursuit of him as well, even though he may not know it). I found myself wondering about how much energy I spend trying to get away from the worries or anxieties that at times seem to pursue me, when perhaps what I most need to do, is allow the One Who never tires of pursuing me with goodness and mercy to catch me!

Perhaps, the experience of being pursued is one that is more common to human experience than we sometimes realize. How we understand and respond to being pursued . . . and perhaps most importantly, to the One Who pursues us, makes all the difference in the world!

Really?

2010-10-11T10:35:00.000-07:00

Really?

It's been a long time since my last post. Not that there have not been things that have almost made it here from time to time, (many of which have accumulated as "drafts" but never quite got finished). Some of that was due to a hectic summer schedule where the normal rhythm of things was, often pleasantly, interrupted by various vacations, trips and events. But while those things contributed, they are probably not the most significant reason. I think much of the reason had to do with something, for lack of a better term, I might describe as "absurdity fatigue," and the resulting desire to simply disengage for awhile.

While I am not a great fan of Alice in Wonderland, there have been times when I feel like I am living in the midst of the story line.

However reasonable people might dialogue about the various ways our country might be run, or what political perspective is the best, what we have experienced in the last couple of years has been largely characterized by people standing in opposition to things for the sake of opposition (and hoped for political advantage), and a willingness to exploit anxiety, fear, and in some cases much more malignant sentiments, in order to . . . well . . . there doesn't seem to be much consensus on what the real point is . . . only that it is somehow good to be mad and want to make a change.   In rallies and gatherings, charisma, to use the term loosely, triumphs over informed substance, and people who in any other setting would be seen as "not all there," mean spirited, or in some cases simply dishonest, command airwaves and influence public opinion, seemingly, in direct proportion to their absurdity. There is a lot that can be learned from healthy public dialogue, but, seriously, is this the best we can do? Does no one feel embarrassed or maybe even a little ashamed? Really?

In church communities, I watch people who claim to be standing up for truth, deriding, and in some cases slandering, those who honestly desire to reconcile both scriptural and scientific data in a way that has integrity for both disciplines. It's not that the conversation is a problem. In fact it is a very needed and fruitful one when both sides are willing to listen honestly and non-defensively to each other. But, instead, what could be an opportunity for mutual learning and growth, becomes an arena for the rise of the orthodoxy police, and in at least a professional sense (though it often gets quite personal as well) - a renewed hunger for the experience of burning witches. This is only exacerbated by people in positions of influence making sweeping statements about things that a more careful or thorough understanding of which, would prevent. There is a lot that can be learned from healthy public dialogue, but, seriously, is this the best we can do? Does no one feel embarrassed or maybe even a little ashamed? Really?

What is further exasperating, is that in both of the examples (and there are probably many others), attempts at dialogue are often unsuccessful -- and instead become exercises in trying to talk to someone who is so intent on defending their ground that they are unwilling to consider, even for the sake of dialogue, any idea or data that differs from what have already (and often somewhat arbitrarily) decided is "right." And once you have determined that you are right, and even more that those who suggest anything different than what you have decided is the "enemy," then of course dialogue is unnecessary. We all know what you do with enemies. Under the banner of accountability, we fight them. If possible, we destroy them. And of course in war, the rules that might constrain behavior in less extreme situations can be suspended.

That is of course, until you listen to Jesus, who makes this outlandish suggestion that the best way to treat your "enemies" is to love and pray for them (which, ironically, often has the effect of re-framing the way you look at them, causing them to seem less like enemies that somehow should be given less consideration than yourself). It does not, necessarily, mean you surrender to their agendas, but rather that the nature of the interaction changes dramatically. And the good news is, that you don't have to wait for the "other side" to figure this out before you start practicing it.

And so it was that, recently, in the midst of a long prayerful walk on an exceptionally beautiful day (one set aside strictly for the purpose of listening more than talking), sitting on a rock overlooking a mountain side dotted with trees showing signs of new life, and clouds that wove themselves in breath-takingly beautiful patterns above them, that I was reminded that the absurdity which so often surrounds us is not what we are created for, and does not have to be what defines us. That however intense, intent, and frankly embarrassing things become in the communities in which we live, what God has called us to, and to share, is deeply meaningful, rich, and a continual reminder that (to borrow a phrase from Rob Bell) you don't have to live like this.

Following Jesus is much more about the way that we live, the kind of people we become, and how that leads us to live our lives in the world, than getting every detail of how we might explain things into conformity. If my life, the way I interact with those around me, does not reflect genuineness, authenticity, grace and God's way of looking at people, then no one, perhaps even God, is going to care much about how "right" I was or wasn't about the details. In the great parable of the judgment in Matthew 25, the issues clearly lie elsewhere than that.

Too much time in the land that feels like it belongs on the other side of the looking glass can leave one feeling like it is best to give up on talking altogether. Over the course of the past several months, I began to realize, perhaps largely out of some sort of internal fatigue, that I was simply beginning to disengage and withdraw. What I was reminded of on my walk, is that perhaps a better response is simply stop letting the other side of the looking glass set the agenda and define the conversation - and begin to live "in the truth" - to begin to really live once again. Not only might that lead to interesting (and perhaps less reactive) conversation at "tea parties," but perhaps to lives that are even more compelling than whatever we might say?

Listening In-between

2010-04-26T17:12:00.000-07:00

Listening In-between

(some reflections from a quiet afternoon)

Life is complicated. Anyone who tells you otherwise is not giving you the whole story.

On the one hand, there are moments when, like Peter, James and John on the Mount of Transfiguration with Jesus, we become fully awake and glimpse of bit of the reality that there is a larger story going on than simply our own seemingly individual one. In the 9th chapter of his gospel, Luke tells us that Jesus had invited these three disciples to go with Him up onto a mountain to spend some time in prayer (Luke 9:28 ff). The disciples are initially described as somewhat sleepy, that state in which we are present and perhaps even active, but not fully aware or engaged. But whatever their state of mind may have been, Luke says that as they prayed, things changed. In a moment of insight and clarity, they literally saw things in a light they never had before. It was an experience they did not want to let go of, as is evidenced by Peter's suggestion that they somehow find a way to capture and prolong what they were experiencing.

While we probably don't know all that took place there, at least part of what they saw was Jesus talking with Moses and Elijah about what was He was about to go through in Jerusalem, and perhaps how this would bring into focus and fulfill all that Moses and Elijah (the law and the prophets) had been about. In the glory of that moment the great stories that Moses and Elijah represented were seen in conversation with, and intertwined with, each other as a part of the one huge amazing story that was about to reach a climax. Even if the disciples did not understand all of the details, this must have been one of those moments when you sense you have at least glimpsed enough to sense that all the important pieces in life have fallen into place. No wonder that Peter wanted to preserve and cling to that moment as long as possible! Everything was now as it should be.

The glory of the experience, however, does not cooperate with Peter's desire. While he is still speaking, they are enveloped in a cloud, and as the vision fades God's voice speaks, "This is my Son, whom I have chosen; listen to Him." As the heightened experience fades, they find that they are simply left with Jesus.

The story however, does not end here. The next day, as they return from their time on the mountain they are met by a large crowd, concerned and frustrated because, in contrast to the one on the mountain, the story they had been glimpsing for the past day or so was not one of glory in which all the pieces had fallen into place. A very different story was playing out in the valley. This was not one of pieces coming together in wholeness, but one of a boy and his family being torn apart by destructive forces - in the midst of which, the disciples had been unable to bring relief. Everything was not as it should be, and even those who most wanted to help seemed powerless in the face of it.

While it is not clear to me exactly who or what Jesus is addressing when He expresses His exasperation over the persistence of the destructiveness that was at work in the boy's life ("O unbelieving and perverse generation . . . how long shall I stay with you and put up with you?" vs.41), what is perhaps the most significant is the last phrase ("bring your son here").

The boy is brought to Jesus, the evil is rebuked in His presence, and the boy is given back to his father. While the story is clear about what God's ultimate desire is for the boy (as is evidenced by Jesus' healing him), it also leaves us with the troubling realization that those who follow Jesus are not always as successful as they and others hope they will be. Even though you could argue that some form of healing can always take place, not all aspects of what is broken always gets fixed the way we wish it would.

When we look at these too scenes together, what surfaces for me is the realization that, for myself, and most people I know, life is lived mostly on the road between the mountain and the valley.

On the one hand, there are moments, often in the context of those times when we have intentionally withdrawn for a while for worship, reflection and prayer, in which things come into focus for us with rich and rewarding ways. Whether or not God shows up in the glorious and unexpected ways as He did on the mount of transfiguration, these are times when we are intentional about paying attention to God's reminder that we simply need to focus on listening to Jesus. These are not times in which we try to manufacture "mountain top experiences," but ones in which we focus on where the real glory is found - in simply being with, and being attentive to, Jesus. These are the moments when we allow our stories to be in conversation with the larger Story of which they are a part - and to ensure that the conversation continues when we are not on the mountain.

But still, there is the other end of he road . . . those places where the stories we encounter or find ourselves caught up in are not so renewing. Stories where other more destructive forces are also at work. And even though we should and do oppose them in the name of Jesus, as was the case with the disciples, we don't always get the results that we desire.

What we see as we read these two scenes together, is the reality of what life looks like in a world where the Kingdom that Jesus spoke of has both already arrived, and yet has not yet been fully realized. We live in that space in between - what theologians refer to as "the already and the not yet" - a place where things can be both glorious and exasperating.

Yet, despite the way that destructive forces and impulses continue to cling, we are invited to continue to live out the Story told on the mountain, knowing that it is our story, and everyone else's story as well. What matters the most is not the light show on the mountain when all is crystal clear, or the low moments in the valley when we feel so ineffective and powerless (and all we can do is simply point people to Jesus whatever the outcome might be), but our willingness to listen carefully and responsively not so much to the voice from the crowd, but to the voice from the cloud.

"This is my Son, Whom I have chosen; listen to Him."

Being faithful to the Story matters.

Two Groups

2010-02-01T18:57:00.000-08:00

Two Groups

During a recent retreat, I had the opportunity to spend some time with a few colleagues reflecting on the first fifteen verses of John 5 -- the story of Jesus healing a man by a pool at Bethesda.

As I thought about the story, it occurred to me that the setting would in many ways have been beautiful - Greco-Roman architecture with five covered colonnades surrounding a pool that had once been a site for the worship of the Greek god of medicine. The story also tells us that large numbers of disabled people gathered there awaiting the stirring of the water. The belief was that the first one into the pool when the water was stirred would be healed.

Admittedly, there is much about the group that gathered there that we do not know. Some may have been on their own and barely surviving. Others may have had others to help them, perhaps supplying food or assisting them in coming and going to the gathering place around the pool. Some may have had to learn to be fiercely independent to survive. Others may have become accustomed to having others wait upon them and assist them as they waited. One might also wonder, especially among those most desperate for healing, whether or not some would have resorted to aggression or even become ruthless in their pursuit of healing, while others resigned themselves to a place on the sidelines, in the realization of how unlikely it would be that they would ever be able to get into the water in time. This was a race that had only one winner.

It is in the midst of the group of people that we find Jesus, approaching a man who had been suffering with his condition for thirty eight years (what for many in that day was a lifetime) with a startling question, "Do you want to get well?"

You would think that the answer to the question would be obvious, but what was intriguing to me as I reflected on this story, is the extent to which I found myself resonating with the man's response. When the question is raised, instead of contemplating the possibilities of what healing might actually mean for him, he gravitates toward explanations of why it was not likely to happen to him --much of which focused on the reality that he was not in the midst of a community of people who were likely to put his interests ahead of their own. In fact, what he was in the midst of, was not so much a community of people who saw themselves as supporting and being there for each other, as a group that was bound together primarily by the realization that they all wanted the same thing - the group itself was somewhat optional, the goal was individual and personal.

The picture that began to emerge for me was that of a group of people gathered together, perhaps even working together to some extent, but motivated largely by self- interest. Now while that may be an over-characterization (in the sense that there may well have been many in and around the group that were much more altruistically motivated than the basic configuration of the situation would imply), unless human nature has changed drastically in the last 2,000 years, it is probably not an overly unfair one.

I found myself thinking about groups like this . . . of people gathered together, often in beautiful settings . . . bound loosely together by a sense of their need, and perhaps even in competition with each other as they seek healing, primarily, for themselves . . . and how in the midst of this situation, healing was not as frequent an occurrence as we would like. In such situations, it is not difficult to understand why one's first thoughts when confronted with the prospect of getting well, might turn first to the many reasons whey this is unlikely to happen.

It was not long after this that I found myself in a different passage of scripture -- one that presented an image of people together in community in which the contrast was so sharp as to be almost jarring. In 1 Corinthians 12, Paul describes the community of believers that Jesus creates through the presence of the Spirit with the metaphor of the body.

The body is a unit, though it is made up of many parts; and though all its parts are many, they form one body. So it is with Christ . . .
If the foot should say, "Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body," it would not for that reason cease to be part of th body . . . The eye cannot say to the hand, "I don't need you!" And the head cannot say to the feet, "I don't need you!" On the contrary, those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and the parts that we think are less honorable we treat with special honor . . . God has combined the members of the body and has given greater honor to the parts that lacked it, so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other. If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it. Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it . . .

Here is a picture of a group of people who are not gathered together in common self-interest, each looking out for themselves together, but a group of people gathered in common interest with a common purpose, each looking out for the interests of the other. Here the concern is not how do I get in ahead of someone else, or even the futility of trying because only the very few can win anyway, but the sense that we are all moving together as Jesus' body, seeking to live out His interests in the world. It is in the midst of a community like this that healing is not so much sought, as healing happens as we respond to Christ Who is the head.

Struck with the starkness of the contrast, I found myself contemplating the question, "So which community do I want to be a part of?" "Which community do I actually live in and belong to?" But what I finally realized, is that I was framing the question inappropriately. The reality is that I, perhaps I might even be so bold as to say we, belong to both in them. As C.S. Lewis puts it in one of his volumes in the Chronicles of Narnia series (and I am paraphrasing here) we are sons and daughters of Adam and Eve, and that is glory enough to lift the head of the lowliest servant, and shame enough to bow the head of the greatest monarch.

The good news, is that Jesus is very much in the midst of both communities. He walks among us asking if would like to get well, and works within us to help us become the fully functioning parts of His body - a body that longs to walk without a limp through our world.

Irony

2010-01-20T10:50:00.000-08:00

Irony

I recently found myself thinking once again about a quote from Calvin Miller's Book, The Singer, in which he writes,

"Humanity is fickle. They may dress for a morning coronation and never feel the need to change clothes to attend an execution in the afternoon. So Triumphal Sundays and Good Fridays always fit comfortably into the same April week."

This week I have been reflecting on how "comfortably" dissonant events seem to find resting places along side of each other. We took a day off of work to celebrate and remember how the voices of people who once spoke at self-sacrificial cost in a way that opened doors to those who had found them tightly shut before. On the heels of that celebration, voices of people spoke once again, but this time motivated more by frustrated self-interest and concern -- not so much over what others needed and did not have, but over what they feared they themselves might lose.

Just a few days before, in response to the devastation brought about by the earthquake in Haiti, huge numbers of people, for the most part with little rhetoric about how people bring trouble upon themselves, found they had resources to share that might bring much needed health care and disaster relief to those who had no resources, and who struggled to survive amid a mounting death toll. Yea for this! In other news, there seemed to be great reluctance of the part of many to consider any on-going additional costs that would likely result in many other unnecessary losses being prevented all-together. Here I am less likely to find it within myself to cheer.

Life is complicated. There are many sides to many issues. Yet, I find myself wondering during weeks like this about where that place is at which odd ironies transition from something less hippocratic into something more hypocritic. Having grown up in the midst of, and in trying to minister to, a generation of people who struggle with tendencies to want to turn away from the dissonance with a sense of futility, this week as served as somewhat of a model as to why this kind of ambivalence persists. What is more curious, and frankly a bit perplexing, is the way in which many seem to have accommodated to the tension, almost as if the sound of fingernails on the chalkboard has somehow become the background music for a way of life - while richer tones and melodies slip out of range. I don't want to develop a taste for that genre of music. Some things may, in the end, actually turn out to have been far less complicated that we imagined.

There is, however a Tune that continues to play in the midst of the others, and with which they often compete -- one which still can be heard when we pause and listen for it. The sense of some of the lyrics are captured, at least in part, by these words from Mother Theresa (reported to have been cared into the wall of her home for children in Calcutta):

People are often unreasonable, illogical and self-centered.
Forgive them anyway
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives,
Be kind anyway
If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies.
Succeed anyway
If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you,
Be honest and frank anyway
What you spend years building someone could destroy overnight
Build anyway
If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous
Be happy anyway
The good you do today, people may forget tomorrow
Do good anyway.
Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough
Give the world the best you have anyway.

During those weeks when the irony is most pronounced, these have been among the more helpful lyrics that allow the light to shine on the way forward.

Legacy

2009-10-20T07:06:00.000-07:00

Legacy

On the top of a hill overlooking the city of Encinitas is a quiet little park. From there you can see the ocean, feel the breeze, and find a place to sit and reflect as you take in the view. There is a bench there that has been provided in loving memory of Kathleen Preston. I don't know her story, or the stories of the lives her life touched in the 52 years that she lived. Clearly she had made an impact in the life of the person who had dedicated this bench in her honor, for whom she had been "light and love beyond eternity." This was more than simply a park accessory, this was (perhaps just one part of) a memorial to someone who had lived and loved and changed the lives of those around her. But this was not just a memorial to the life she had lived and shared, it was also a means by which she could continue to bless others - as is reflected in the inscription on the plaque "bless those who rest here."

Though I did not know her, as I sat on her bench doing some reflections of my own, I thought about the significance of her life, the impact she had had, and the continuing blessing her legacy provided through those who had known her by offering a place to find rest and blessing as they continued to honor and celebrate who she was. I was blessed by her, and by resting there.

Just the day before my wife and I sat in the living room of an old friend, also 52 years old, who in his own way was contemplating the issue of legacy. This was still fresh in my mind as I sat on Kathleen's bench. While we had not kept in touch as much as we would have liked over the years, we were being more intentional now. A couple of months ago he had been diagnosed with a serious health issue, which, according to those most familiar with this particular disease process, makes it unlikely that he will live for much more than a year. We hope and pray that he will be one of those who beats the statistics and continues to have a long and full life in spite of what he is struggling with now. There is hope. But there are also the questions that come with the contemplation of how you navigate the time you have left, particularly when it appears that your time here may be shorter than you had anticipated. His has been a life well lived, and has touched and impacted the lives of others in powerful and meaningful ways (mine included), and he feels good in his relationship with God through all of this. And yet, how do you begin the capture the impact, and celebrate the legacy of 52 years of life, and then live well however much time we have left? Those were some of the questions with which I sat on Kathleen's bench thinking about my friend.

The reason I was in the park and sitting on the bench in the first place, was that the pastoral staff had taken a couple of days to be together to rest, reflect on our ministry, and be open to where God might be wanting to take us in the weeks and months ahead. The passage of scripture that we were reflecting on during our time alone that afternoon was Matthew 11:27-30 (Message).

Jesus resumed talking to the people, but now tenderly "The Father has given me all these things to do and say This is a unique Father-Son operation, coming out of Father and Son intimacies and knowledge. No one knows the Son the way the Father does, nor the Father the way the Son does. But I'm not keeping it to myself; I'm ready to go over it line by line with anyone willing to listen. "Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me -- watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly."

At the very heart of Who Jesus was, and what He came to reveal and share -- the legacy He leaves -- is the invitation to pause long enough to come away, find rest, to recover our lives. . . To sit on benches like Katherine's and be blessed. . . To sit in the living rooms of people we care about, enjoying the lives we have to share with each other, however long any of us have to do that. . . And perhaps, for this 52 year old pastor, to be more attentive and intentional about learning the unforced rhythms of grace, learning to live more freely, lightly and fully, as I watch how He does it, and try to follow that lead. . . And that whatever legacy there might be when everything is said and done, that it might be one that reflects that kind of life.

There is a lot more to think about, sitting on this bench. What a blessing that it is here!

Holy Inefficiency

2009-09-27T19:13:00.000-07:00

Holy Inefficiency

Not an exclamation, just a concept. And perhaps an opportunity to muse for just a moment.

It's been almost a year and a half since I started this blog. In a way, it was in partial response to the perception of inefficiency. While the conversation out of which this grew was a bit "tongue in cheek" at the time, as is often the case, there was also an element of truth in it. Here is a quote from the original post:

This blog arises out of conversation with my colleagues. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say, as a way to reduce conversation with my colleagues. Maybe , on a more thoughtful level, as a reflection of the nature of what conversation in our culture has often become.

In response to some thoughts I was sharing, that the rest of them clearly did not think was contributing to an efficient use of our time, someone suggested that maybe what I needed to do was start a blog. It became clear that this was not merely a rhetorical statement, when one of them carried through on their offer to set it up for me, e-mailing the links and access information just a few days later, having thoughtfully selected the title "ken's diatribe" as the name of the blog. I got the hint. (The original blog was posted April 21, 2008)

I wonder how often and to what extent we offer sacrifices at the altar of efficiency? The machinery of the kingdom of God industry getting its necessary maintenance, and the less pressing issues of what all of this means, and probing of where God is at work in the process, or just sitting quietly in God's presence long enough to get a clue about about it . . . or just being part of the sometimes cumbersome journey of sorting that out . . . too often is left to other times, and "as time allows."

Fortunately, despite the appearance of this blog, there actually have been many times where my colleagues and I have spent significant time exploring the meaning of a text, or talking about the implications of what is happening in the lives of people we touch, and what that means for how we minister to them. But still, too often, we still seem to be haunted by the unspoken, probably unconscious assumption that this is more luxury than necessity. These are things we can get back to as time allows, but right now we need to . . .

Shane Hipps, in his book, Flickering Pixels: How Technology Shapes Your Faith, in some rather profound and provocative ways, discusses (among other things - all of which are well worth commenting on and exploring) how efficiency and intimacy are concepts that have a challenging time existing along side of each other. This brought to mind an insight shared by a former chaplain of the Senate with a friend of mine, as he summed up the essence of his job as:

"Being with people with no other agenda except to respond to the needs the Holy Spirit makes known."

That is worth pausing and contemplating awhile. As I did that, what came to mind was this quote from Richard Foster's "Celebration of Discipline,"

The Church Fathers spoke of otium sanctum, "Holy Leisure." It refers to a sense of balance in the life, an ability to be at peace through the activities of the day, an ability to rest and take time to enjoy beauty, an ability to pace ourselves. With our tendency to define people in terms of what they produce, we would do well to cultivate "holy leisure.". . with a determination that is ruthless to our date books. (pg 27).

As I look back over the last year and a half or so that, so far, as constituted the life of this blog, I'm not sure it has turned out to contribute to the practice of the art of holy leisure as much as I wish it might have (few technological innovations do). Perhaps I have not lived nearly as ruthlessly with my date book as I might have. But it has at least provided an opportunity to collect a few scattered thoughts from time to time, write them down, and thus at least preserve them from drifting away into that place where so many things go that I wish I had not completely lost track of.

But whether or not this blog always (or even efficiently) provides a vehicle for this to happen, I still am drawn toward, and am seeking to live in response to, the nudging of the Spirit to live more consciously and intentionally in a place of Holy Leisure . . . a life that is characterized by an unhurried sense of awareness and responsiveness . . . A way of life in which the agenda for which I was created is not lost track of in the midst of the agendas I create . . .

I've got a way to go, but I am looking forward to the journey.

An Altar in the World

2009-07-12T14:55:00.000-07:00

An Altar in the World

One of the books that I have recently had the opportunity to enjoy is Barbara Brown Taylor's An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith. Since I wound up reviewing this book for Spectrum, rather than comment on it too much here, I thought I would simply post the link where you can go to read the review and the conversation of others in regard to it and the book. Definitely a book well worth reading and savoring!

Spectrum Review of An Altar in the World

Listen to Barbara Taylor talk about the Book

Slow Learners

2009-06-06T21:50:00.000-07:00

Slow Learners

"Where have all the flowers gone, long time passing?
Where have all the flowers gone, long time ago?
Where have all the flowers gone?
Gone to young maids, everyone . . .
When will we ever learn, when will we ever learn?

Many times over the course of the past several decades, the words of this song that I first heard as a child in the 60's have come back to me. The question is still as urgent and poignant today as it was then. Sadly, it is also as easily dismissed. The question of course, however it might be expressed in words, is much older, with roots reaching back at least as far as to the first century and the hillsides of Galilee and Judea.

This last week provided an occasion for raising it once again, reflecting on our history, our hearts, and perhaps remembering once again what it is that we are called towards, and away from. In the words of Elie Wiesel, a survivor of the holocaust, at the conclusion of his tour of the concentration camp where he was once held prisoner, there is much to listen carefully to and to consider.

Click Here to see a transcript of Elie Wiesel's remarks.

Tea Time

2009-04-16T07:26:00.000-07:00

Tea Time?

Interesting, the occasions for which we find reasons to gather. Some grow out of deep, rich convictions and roots . . . others express what we are caught up in at the moment . . . others are tinged with an element of absurdity (as in the famous Tea Party to which Alice found herself invited) . . . and still others have meanings that lie below the surface to be mined, reflected upon, and are probably more transformative than we might otherwise at first suspect.

Last week, many churches celebrated a shared meal, first instituted in its current form on a Thursday evening just before Easter weekend. Motivations were somewhat mixed as the dinner party gathered, but by the end of the evening, the focus had shifted (although not enough for the events of the next 72 hours to be fully grasped, at least right away, but it was a significant start). Some would have found the gathering quite odd and impractical in many ways, others found a richness there that literally changed their lives.

Yesterday, many found reasons to gather in order to re-enact another kind of historical gathering, although some might differ about just how much continuity there was between the two events. Some found the event quite energizing as they gathered in protest, many commenting, curiously, about how much they enjoyed the dynamics of the this kind of expression. (Curious, because some of the same had been somewhat less than warm towards groups who gathered to express themselves in similar ways at other times for other causes).

Gathering and giving voice to the things we care about is a part of our culture and tradition, even if the tendency is to be more appreciative and protective of those sentiments that match ours than those we may disagree with (which is true of most people, whatever side of a particular issue they may find themselves on). Our voices are shaped by what we care about, and what we care about by what we voice. But as in that dinner party that was held nearly 2,000 years ago, to which we still receive invitations on a regular basis, what we bring to the table, and what happens around the table, sometimes catches us by surprise.

Greg Boyd in his book The Myth of a Christian Nation: How The Quest for Political Power is Destroying the Church, makes an interesting observation about one of those times when Jesus responded to a tax question:

Given how politicized his environment was, it is nothing short of amazing how thoroughly Jesus preserved the distinctness of the kingdom he came to bring. . . For example, at several points in his ministry some of Jesus' opponents tried to entrap him in one of the hottest political topics of the day -- the issue of paying taxes . . . In one instance, Jesus responded to the question . . . by holding up a coin and asking "Whose head is this, and whose title?" . . . To grasp the ironic brilliance of Jesus' response, it's helpful to know that the Jews of this time were deeply offended by currency that bore the image of the emperor . . . Only God can make an image of himself, and he did so when he made humans . . . Jesus ingeniously linked the issue . . . with . . . paying taxes. . . Why should we who are God's people fight with each other over how much of this we should keep or give back? . . . The thing people should rather be concerned with, Jesus is saying, is whether or not they are giving to God what bears his image and what therefore belongs wholly to him -- namely our very lives. Indeed, Jesus was ironically suggesting that an inappropriate preoccupation with what we should do with Caesar's image may reflect a heart that is insufficiently preoccupied with what should be done with God's image . . . In this way Jesus wisely used the kingdom-of-the-world issue with its limited and divisive kingdom-of-the-world options as a springboard to pose the kingdom-of-God question and the kingdom-of-God option. He was demonstrating, once again, that he hadn't come to resolve the ambiguous and controversial issues that characterize the kingdom of the world. He rather came to offer all a radical alternative way of doing life, answering a completely different set of questions concerned with living life under the reign of God. (pages 60-61).

I find the quote intriguing, the perspective refreshing, and the opportunity to return to the kind of dinner party that Jesus sent out invitations to some 2,000 years ago more compelling and challenging than ever. I am intrigued not only by what is served up on the table, but the way the Host relates to the guests, and the kind of transformation that begins to take place from the moment the first drops of water touch my feet, 'till the last bit of bread and wine is thoughtfully received, to the invitation to go and live in a way that is characterized by a way of life that is primarily concerned with doing for others what has been done for me, basin and towel in hand . . . being perhaps less concerned with protecting the place I hold at the table . . . and what kind of implications that might have about how I approach and invest myself in the other parties to which I am invited.

Homecoming

2009-03-04T09:05:00.000-08:00

Homecoming

It only took me thirty years to get around to it, but I finally managed to show up for a homecoming weekend at La Sierra University where I graduated (actually a couple of times - although it was known as Loma Linda University then). This is, by the way, a great school! .

Truth be told, however, I probably would not have made it back this time had they not asked me to do something, which in this case was teach the General Lesson Study on Sabbath morning. In addition to enjoying the part of the weekend I was there for, I was reminded again that I don't do very well at keeping in touch with people as the years go by - something I would like to do better.

The lesson study turned out to be on the topic of "The Integrity of the Prophetic Gift," and because a couple of people indicated an interest in getting a copy of the presentation, I am posting a link to a copy of a slightly (but certainly not adequately) edited transcript for those who might be interested. Transcripts, of course, tend to record what comes out of people's mouths, which is not always exactly the way you would say things if you were putting them on paper to be read. But with those limitations in mind, it is what it is. Nothing particularly profound or new here, but it is available for those interested. (transcript)

Organization

2009-02-21T19:56:00.000-08:00

Organization

Once topography is embraced (see previous post), the next task is often that of organization. It can't really be avoided. Sooner or later we will find ourselves adopting or shaping some sort of a paradigm which will guide the way we navigate the terrain the map describes. However, unless we are intentional and thoughtful about it (and sometimes even if we are) our tendency will be to simply slip into the default mode(s) offered by our culture. There may, however, be unintentional consequences that are far from neutral. Structures, models, paradigms, or just ways of being together, that on the surface may appear helpful and useful in terms of "getting things done," reflect sets of values and assumptions of their own that too often work against what it is that we may have been organizing to do in the first place.

The culture in which I live, and am most familiar, places a great deal of value on speed, efficiency and productivity. Produce more, faster, and for less is often the tune that plays quietly (and sometimes not so quietly) in the background, and we find ourselves moving to the un-relentless rhythm even after we no longer are consciously aware of the music. Subtly, over time, having blurred the distinction between a corporate entity and a relational community, we come to accept the conventional wisdom that people exist to serve the needs of organizations, rather than organizations to provide the framework in which people are given the support they need to flourish. Business leaders deal with people with the good of business in mind, rather than dealing with business with the good of the people in mind. Of course there are those who quickly retort that these two are not mutually exclusive, and in many respects they don't have to be, but much hinges on how one defines "good." - and perhaps how "good" might be understood depending on which model you begin with as the "default" setting.

In reflecting on the passage from the last post (Luke 6:12-19), in addition to the sense of topography it seems to reflect, it may also give us some clues as to how we go about structuring the way we travel.

Luke 6:12-19 (NIV)

One of those days Jesus went out to a mountianside to pray, and spend the night praying to God. When morning came, he called his disciples to him and chose twelve of them, who he also designated as apostles: Simon (whom he named Peter), his brother Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Matthew, Thomas, James son of Alphaeus, Simon who was called the Zealot, Judas son of James, and Judas Iscariot, who became a traitor.
He went down with them and stood on a level place. A large crowd of his disciples was there and a great number of people from all over Judea, from Jerusalem, and from the coast of Tyre and Sidon, who had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases. Those troubled by evil spirits were cured, and the people all tried to touch him, because power was coming from him and healing them all.

While it may sound like simply stating the obvious, what we see Jesus doing as He emerges from His time in prayer and begins the task of calling together His ministry team, is beginning by selecting people. Let me explain what I mean by that.

If we assume that Jesus was operating from the default setting that many in our culture do today, we might see Jesus doing something like this: Having spent the night in prayer mapping out his ministry structure and all the various skill sets and positions He would need to put a productive organization together, He then went about the task of selecting the people with the right qualifications to fill those positions. Create the job description, and then look for the most qualified people to fill the position. What is generally assumed is that what matters most is the smooth and efficient running of the organization, and that the "value" of those who are invited to come and be a part of this is determined by how well they contribute their unique contribution to the smooth running of the organization. Sit on a few search or personnel committees, and you will quickly get the feel for this kind of perspective.

But what if we assume that Jesus might not have been operating with this set of assumptions? What if His time in prayer was less about building an organizational structure that needed to be staffed, and more about focusing His attention in such a way that He becomes more aware of seeing others the way God sees them. What if the Kingdom He is trying to establish is less about efficiency and more about responsiveness? What if it is less about productivity and more about faithfulness? What if it is less about building and serving an organization, and more about creating relational connections that serve people and provide ways for them to flourish? What if it is less about finding people with the right skill set for what I want to build, and more about helping people discover the skill set they have been given, and allowing them to flourish? What if it even means making room for people who might very well fail, but who need the opportunity to respond anyway?

As I think about what I see Jesus doing here, and what He seems to be building over the time He is with these twelve people He has called, it seems to me that what we observe comes much closer to the second set of assumptions than does the first. He appears to call people not to predetermined positions, but to a way of living and being with each other.

Interestingly enough, it is a way of living and being with each other that we find being described as the passage continues. From His time in prayer, Jesus invites people to come and be with Him, and from there they move to a "level place" to go about the work of being with people, and helping them find healing and restoration from whatever it is that is diminishing their ability to live as whole people, in whatever form it manifested itself.

It is not that organizational structures or job descriptions are inherently evil in and of themselves, but rather that unless we have things turned the right way around, they can become problematic, and sometimes take on a life of their own that actually drains the life out of the people who wind up serving them, rather than allowing them to serve us.

I am reminded of a conversation I had with someone a while ago (who works in a different location than I do). As we talked about an issue that came up regarding an employee, when it was suggested that perhaps, if we to take the time to view the whole situation from God's perspective, according to the principles of God's Kingdom, that maybe sacrificing a little of our own convenience and allowing a little longer for a task to be completed in order to accommodate some significant family issues, the suggestion was summarily dismissed as a bunch of "theological crap" -- so bound are we to the notions that derive from culturally instilled values that place personal convenience and efficiency over the relational concerns of people who are trying to provide for both the financial and relational needs of their family in a world that makes both quite challenging. It is interesting that it is often the case in our culture that we can be more tolerant of large amounts of time being wasted by technology or entertainment (in a number of various forms), but much less so if it is a person that inconveniences us.

Default settings matter. Perspective matters. The order of things matter. Whether we wind up serving our structures, or whether we build the structures we need in order to help us serve, matters. Whether or not we get this, and allow this to get us, matters.

As I reflect on this passage, I come away not only with an appreciation for the topography that is reflected here, but also with some glimpses of what is going on among those who are traveling through the terrain. To quote a friend and mentor, Chuck Miller, "We need to be the people of God before we do the work of God."

Topography

2009-02-05T09:19:00.000-08:00

Topography

I think it was in elementary school that I was first introduced to a relief map - the state of California I think. It was fascinating to me to see not only lines and colors that represented roads, lakes and deserts, but to actually see and feel the difference in elevation and texture. I was amazed at how much more you could really see and understand when topography was incorporated into things. Later on I came to appreciate the feel for the landscape that a good topographical map (with the varying distances between the contour lines) can convey (although I must admit that sometimes I am still momentarily fooled by whether or not I am looking at up a steep mountain side or down a sheer cliff - but at least I know it is not flat meadow land). Even though a topographical map requires a bit more effort to read, the extra that it contributes is not only valuable, it is sometimes vital.

(This is not, by the way, to disparage those wonderful AAA road maps that are so helpful in guiding us through streets and freeways as we try to get from point "A" to point "B" and which I keep in the glove box of my car. But if you want any more depth to your journey, they won't be of much help in that regard).

All of which brings me to a passage of scripture that was shared with me by some fellow travelers this past week, and which, in a significant sense, is all about topography.

Luke 6:12-19 (NIV)

One of those days Jesus went out to a mountianside to pray, and spend the night praying to God. When morning came, he called his disciples to him and chose twelve of them, who he also designated as apostles: Simon (whom he named Peter), his brother Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Matthew, Thomas, James son of Alphaeus, Simon who was called the Zealot, Judas son of James, and Judas Iscariot, who became a traitor.
He went down with them and stood on a level place. A large crowd of his disciples was there and a great number of people from all over Judea, from Jerusalem, and from the coast of Tyre and Sidon, who had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases. Those troubled by evil spirits were cured, and the people all tried to touch him, because power was coming from him and healing them all.

There is topography here. The journey that Jesus lives moves from level place to mountain side and back to level place again. There is a pattern here -- a movement -- a rhythm that is too often missed, or sometimes even dismissed. One of the most fundamental mistakes, I believe, that the church is prone to, is trying to occupy one place or the other. This sometimes involves giving lip service to one while "digging in" in the other, rather than pursuing and embracing the rhythm. But this passage speaks of rhythm.

First we read not only that Jesus went to the mountain side to pray, but that he invested time and energy in this. On mountain sides you are aware of elevation - that there are things above and things below. It is a place of breathtaking views, and also a place that inspires a sense of humility as you realize you are a part of something much bigger, and in the service of Someone much larger.

Further, this passage speaks of time being invested there. This was not just a devotional and a short prayer at the beginning of getting down to business, nor was it a study session or opportunity for continuing education, but an intentional movement into a stance of giving undivided attention to God. This involved a degree of withdrawing from demands and distractions, letting all the busy voices that surround us grow still, and engaging in a time of prayerful focus - spending intentional, un-distracted time with God.

(And incidentally, a night in prayer is not a night of non-stop talking. Like all real conversation, prayer involves listening as well as speaking, reflecting, sometimes long moments of silence and just being together. It's time for letting things sink in, and simply enjoying an increased awareness of being in each other's presence). It is out of those intentional seasons of time when we are with God for the purpose of listening carefully, getting to know each other well, sharing what's on our hearts and becoming more aware of what is on God's heart - learning to see with God's eyes - that we are best able to re-engage life in the level places. (This is also a prerequsite for addressing the issues of leadership - but more about that in the next post).

Second, we read about Jesus coming back down to a level place. If mountain sides inspire us with a sense of who and what is above us, level places remind us of who and what is along side of us.

It is also interesting to notice that Jesus did not come down alone, nor did he come down isolated in his own protected community, but was in the midst of all kinds of people from all kinds of places (more about this later as well). We see Jesus engaged here in healing service for others who had very tangible, visible needs. His focus seems to be less on running or serving religious institutions, and more on being engaged in the lives of people in the midst of their greatest needs. In fact, as we read on in the gospels, this is central to his ministry and interactions with people.

Too often our church communities seem to be engaged in the task of ironing out the wrinkles in the relief map, to make it more like the AAA maps we carry in the glove compartments of our cars. The basic information is there, and the roads show, but the topography quickly gets lost. But without topography we miss much.

My more fundamentalist-evangelically inclined friends have a tendency to want to climb up to the mountainside and stay there, with occasional forays into the level places, either to establish little compounds of their own in which to live, or to stay just long enough for mission purposes and then return to the mountainside with whoever they can take with them. The theological language that is used here generally involves seeing our primary task as simply rescuing people from the penalty of being lost, or to "get people saved." So salvation is seen mainly as a personal thing between God and I. Things happening in the level places (things like social issues, human rights, justice, poverty, etc.) while worthwhile, are secondary.

Among my more progressive and liberal friends, while appreciative of mountainsides (even taking trips there on occasion) the focus is much more on the level places where we stand shoulder to shoulder with people. For them God's saving activity is best understood by bringing healing to people, their relationships with each other, and the world around them. Salvation is not something that is to be restricted to just a "God and Me" focus, but extends to the community in which we live and the world that they are a part of. So far, so good. But the tendency here, as with the proverbial baby and bathwater scenarios, too often is to see what happens on the mountain side in ways that are somewhat dismissive. They may get a worthwhile nod, but are seen as secondary.

Closer to the reality that this passage reflects is the realization that it is what we encounter in the level places that (should) awakens our need to ascend the mountain side. And that it is on the mountainside that we find the clarifying vision that allows us to move back to the level places having been embraced by a graciousness that not only transforms us personally, but that spills out in the way we interact with people in the level places. Attempts to iron out the map, or by emphasizing one place to the exclusion of the other, undermines the integrity of the journey itself.

This is true even if it simply takes the form
of minimizing one or the other
as ongoing areas of intentional engagement.

Staying genuinely engaged in the lives of people, which is a natural outflow of being on the mountain side in healthy ways, prevents our religious experience from slipping into a disengaging individualism. Making time on the mountain side ongoing and intentional prevents us from slipping into the stance of making those we serve our object of worship rather than allowing our service to flow out of a response to a God whose graciousness motivates and directs our service. Like breathing, we cannot afford to over focus on either inhaling or exhaling. Both are required in rhythm with each other in order for life to flourish. Inhaling clearly is primary and is of first importance, but both are vitally necessary for life to flourish.

I wonder what it might mean for the vitality of the body of Christ for my more socially conscious friends to inhale deeply of the spiritual devotional practices of the church that are designed to saturate blood cells with the oxygen of the awareness of God's personal presence and grace . . . and for my more fundamentalist friends to quit holding their breaths, and exhale, blowing away the toxic by-products that needlessly separate people from each other, and use the vitality that flows from God's grace to energize them in serving those to whom God has already extended his grace - but who may not know it yet?

I wonder what it might mean for the first to discover the importance of grace being something that is personally received and powerfully transforming, and for the second to fully appreciate that is indeed grace that is received, and allow it to flow out into the level places - where no one occupies a place higher than the other?

I wonder what it might mean for us to fully become the kind of people who live out the kinds of lives that Wayne Anderson (a cherished mentor and friend) often described in this way: "As we are saved by grace, so we live, serve, minister and lead by grace."?

Perhaps the Christian life is a life where topography matters.

Resonance

2009-01-20T15:25:00.000-08:00

Resonance

Generally speaking, this is not the kind of thing I comment on in this blog, but today is different.

Many times I have found myself troubled by the way some in the faith community allow their political or economic convictions to override the kinds of concerns and values that seem to be at the heart of Jesus' message about the Kingdom, and the kind of lives He calls us to live. As a pastor, I have often felt that I would get much less negative reaction were I to suggest that Jesus was really a Hindu than if I were to suggest that he probably would not be a member of a particular political party. As Gilkey's Shantung Compound so insightfully demonstrates, what our real object of Ultimate Concern is, is not always what we might say that it is, and this shows up most clearly when we are under stress or feel threatened.

Living as Christians, as a people whose primary citizenship is in God's Kingdom, in a world where nationalism can be such a powerful force can be a little tricky. This is particularly true during times when people are feeling at risk in significant ways, which can color and skew our perspective on things in ways that can cause us to place feeling secure ahead of the values that resonate with those of God's Kingdom. And, this is also why it is so important to remember that while we may appropriately take pride in our heritage, our country of origin, the good and decent values that we share - we cannot allow a sense of nationalism or patriotism to become a means by which we allow self-interest to become a force which makes us feel justified in treating others as somehow less privileged or entitled, or according to a different set of rules than those we want applied to ourselves.

While being Christian and being American are certainly not synonymous terms, there are significant places of resonance between values that are shared- freedom, human rights, equality, justice. And while there are also places of dissonance that are sometimes more difficult articulate, because we inevitably tend to see things through the colored glasses of the culture we are immersed in, the larger basic "golden rule" based issues are ones on which both believers and unbelievers could find common ground to stand.

In recent years, however, with the growing dissonance that has resulted from the sense that this common, shared ground has been eroding beneath our feet, it has been much more difficult to look the world in the eye, (not withstanding the contributions of those who selflessly serve at the risk of their own lives to protect that shared ground), and not feel like we have let them, and ourselves, down in significant ways.

But today, for the first time in a long time, it felt good to hear old familiar notes -- ones that there was reason to fear were being either forgotten or erased from the score -- struck up again. Today, to things that have long been needed to say "no" to, "no" was said. Things that we have need to say "yes" to, heard "yes." again. What began today is not the answer to all of the world's, problems, or our country's problems, or our individual problems. Christians know that better than anyone. No political party or leader, and certainly no nation, including this one, holds the ultimate keys to salvation or redemption. But in a significant way, today, light began to shine into some dark places places again, and dissonance began to give way to places of resonance. And wherever that happens in our world today, or any day, it is worth stopping, and noticing, and giving thanks for.

Aware

2009-01-19T12:43:00.000-08:00

Aware

Today I am aware that a good share of the time I am not. But to the extent that I am, it is generally a good thing.

Perhaps it is because we live in a world of sensory overload, that we become so good at filtering things out. Perhaps it is because we have allowed ourselves to be hoodwinked into thinking that multi-tasking is a virtue that the successful should cultivate, so we learn to dilute our ability to attend or focus on a few things (or just one thing) well, until it seems normal to us to live superficially with our attention disbursed over many things - much like how a stone skipping across the surface of the water may have the illusion that is experiencing the depths of a lake.

It is partially because I am aware that I often am not aware, that I so look forward to the Journey retreats that I get to participate in about 3 times a year. (See note a the bottom of this post). Our first day together always involves spending the major part of the morning and afternoon in unhurried alone time with God. This morning, before getting started with that, we gathered together as a group to reflect on the Psalms as guides to prayer - noting the richness and power of the poetry and its imagery, not so much to communicate information, but to engage our experience on deeper levels - to raise our awareness of the ways God connects with us, and we with God. We were reminded that poetry like this is not just "decorated language," but is something designed to reach in and resonate on levels that we find difficult to access in other ways.

And so begins today's journey for me. With the Psalms in hand, and a newly acquired book on the Celtic Way of Prayer that I had just come across this morning, I have been walking, reading, reflecting, praying and enjoying the un-rushed, unhurried time. And while I am sure there are many important aspects of awareness of which I need to be more aware (stuff for future posts, no doubt), for this particular morning, these are a few of the things that have caught my attention along the way:

First, as I was looking through the book, I was intrigued as I was reminded that central to Celtic Christian Spirituality is also the concept of the journey, (which shares a common metaphor with the retreat experience I am participating in). I am also reminded that, far from this being an image of directionless drifting with no meaningful purpose in mind, the journey metaphor recognizes that life is not the destination we move towards, but what we experience along the way. The process is the destination, and we need to embrace each step for what it is. This involves being attentive and living in awareness of the richness of what we are experiencing along the way - a huge part of which is a recognition of the way God is present and speaking with us, around us, and even within us as we travel.

Second, as I continue to browse through this book, I read about how a profound sense of awareness was something that was already deeply woven into the culture of the Celtic people even before they heard the story of Jesus and embraced Christianity. They already had a sense of the presence of divine power in their world, and had experienced the powerful, enriching, transforming impact that their close appreciative relationship with creation brought them. They correctly discerned the footprints and the sustaining power of the Creator in the midst of creation, even if they erred by mistaking the foot prints for the Person, and as a result failed to fully discern the nature and character of Artist whose work they so deeply appreciated. But even so, they were attentive and responsive to what they sensed around them in amazing ways.

As I thought about this, I was reminded of Paul's experience in Athens, recorded in Acts 17 where, when he found himself in the midst of a culture that had produced many temples to a variety of gods, instead of attacking their idolatry, he acknowledged, and perhaps even affirmed, their religious impulse, and then sought to re-direct it by entering into a conversation with them about the god they did not yet know. Perhaps spiritual responsiveness (awareness) is something we can experience even when our picture of the God is not yet fully formed, or we know that it is the Spirit that we are actually responding to?

Even now, as I am enjoying my walk through some beautiful mountain scenery, I do so with a realization that my level of perceptiveness and awareness is probably much less than than theirs would have been. And so I wonder, if, while we probably do well to notice what ancient Celtic culture may have gotten wrong, it would be sad indeed if we did not appreciate and learn from what they got right. In their attentiveness to the world around them, they discerned and appreciated much that we easily miss.

I also find myself wondering if some sadness is not also appropriate for the way that, over the years, (because some of the practices, customs or patterns of living that reflect a deep respect for nature can be traced back to a time when Christian ideas were either not yet known, or were not flourishing), some have concluded that they are somehow inherently inappropriate or evil -- rather than noticing how these things were transformed once the message of Jesus was received, and difference between art and Artist made clearer? Perhaps it is possible that we don't need to choose between appreciation for the Artist and sensibilities that honor the artwork as much as we may have thought, but only to place them in their proper relationship, preserving the richness and value of both? It makes me wonder . . .

I wonder if It is when we fail to do this, that we run a significant risk of ultimately diminishing the value and meaning of both?

I wonder why it is that when some hear an ancient Christian Celtic prayer that uses imagery that recognizes the power and presence of God in the created world, that we can be quicker to point out how the language shows the marks of a pre-Christian past, than we are to see how the sense of awareness this culture has cultivated has been transformed and expressed in response to the Christian God they have now come to understand and serve?

I wonder how much we, at times at least, suffer from misplaced suspicion that leads us to strain at gnats without noticing that may be choking on camels?

Perhaps the most obvious examples of where, on the one hand, our lack or awareness, or on the other hand, our over-reaction, shows up, is among those whose picture of God and awareness of God's presence in the "natural" world (or lack thereof) reflects a diminished way of seeing? This results in a perspective that discerns little more than crops to be harvested and raw materials to be used and exploited at will -- rather than a precious finely tuned gift that has been shared with us, and which needs to be handled with reverence and care, so that we neither mute the Voice that speaks there, or diminish our ability to see that the hand of the Artist Whose work, even though marred by the presence of sin, still communicates powerfully. Christian stewardship is much more than resource management, but has at its core a deep sense of awe, appreciation and reverence.

And so, as I continue to walk, pausing for awhile to listen to the wind in the trees, feel the sun on my face, noticing both sound and silences, and the intricate artistry displayed in both the large and small things that are alive and growing around me, I am reminded again how infrequently I pause long enough to be as aware as I might be, and how much more I see when I do.

Thumbing through the Psalms, I come across places where this group of Hebrew believers, in a way that expresses not only the cultural heritage that had shaped them, but also the God Whose presence and character had been revealed to them in a more personal way, give expression to their faith. Among them are these:

Psalm 19: 1-4 (NIV)
The heavens declare the glory of God
the skies proclaim the work of his hands
Day after day they pour forth speech;
night after night they display knowledge.
There is no speech or language
where their voice is not heard
Their voice goes out into all the earth,
their words to the end of the world.

Psalm 1:1-3 (NIV)
Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked
or stand in the way of sinners
or sit in the seat of mockers
But his delight is in the law of the LORD,
and on his law he meditates day and night.
He is like a tree planed by streams of water,
which yields its fruit in season
and whose leaf does not wither.
Whatever he does prospers.

Psalm 36 5-9 (NIV)
Your love, O LORD, reaches to the heavens,
your faithfulness to the skies.
Your righteousness is like the mighty mountains
your justice like the great deep
O LORD, you preserve both man and beast
How priceless is your unfailing love!
Both high and low among men find refuge in the shadow of your wings
They feast on the abundance of your house;
you give then drink from your river of delights.

Psalm 42 1,2, 7 (NIV)
As the deer pants for streams of water,
so my soul pants for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God
When can I go and meet with God? . . .
Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls;
all your waves and breakers have swept over me . . .
For with you is the fountain of life
in your light we see light

And then, from these Psalms that express such a close connection with nature as a place where God's presence and activity can be glimpsed, looking through the book on Celtic Christian prayer, I find selections like these: (taken from the book mentioned above and referenced below):

Bless O Lord the food we are about to eat and we pray you O God may it be good for our body and our soul and if there is any poor creature hungry or thirsty walking the road may God send him in to us so that we can share the good with him- just as He shares his gifts with all of us.

(And this prayer for cattle)
Pastures smooth, long, and spreading, Grassy meads aneath your feet, The friendship of God the Son to bring you home To the fields of the fountains . . . Closed be every pit to you, Smoothed be every knoll to you, Cosy every exposure to you, Beside the cold mountains.

(and this hymn)
Bless to me, O God The earth beneath my foot,
Bless to me, O God, The path whereon I go;
Bless to me, O God, The thing of my desire
Thou Evermore of evermore,
Bless Thou to me my rest.

Bless to me the thing Whereon is set my mind,
Bless to me the thing Whereon is set my love;
Bless to me the thing Whereon is set my hope;
O Thou King of kings Bless Thou to me mine eye!

It has been a good time for walking, reflecting, praying, and being just a bit more aware than I was when I began, particularly . . .

of the extent to which I too often live less aware than I should

of how much there is to notice (and enjoy) when I take the time to pause, listen, and pay attention

of the reality that those who are willing to pay attention, may actually be more responsive to the recognition of God's presence in the world, than some who may be Christians but live in ways that are largely unaware. (This may mean that there are great opportunities here to both learn a lot about what it means to live with greater awareness from those who do, and to share a clearer picture of the kind of God revealed by Jesus with those who may not know.)

and maybe even that, among those who fear "end time deceptions" of some sort, perhaps less worry ought to spent over those who seek to focus our attention on a greater awareness of God's gracious presence in the world and inviting us to live in ways that are both appropriate and responsive, and rather be more concerned about those forces than band together to dull those perceptions by offering a "beast like" (in the apocalyptic sense of the term) alternative that invites an entirely different kind of response.

And perhaps most of all, an increased appreciation for what Paul says when he speaks of "
The God who made the world and everything in it [as] the Lord of heaven and earth . . . [Who] did this so that men would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us. For in him we live and move and have our being." Acts 17:24, 27-28 (NIV)

NOTE ON THE JOURNEY RETREATS: These are a series of two day retreats, which are jointly sponsored by Southeastern California Conference and The Leadership Institute for pastors to have protected, unhurried time to spend alone with God, reflecting on our own spiritual formation, and on how healthy spirituality informs and intersects with ministry - a wonderful gift our Conference provides for us, the value of which I cannot adequately express here . . . but if you'd like to know a little more about it, you can read more here.

NOTE: For those interested, the book I am looking at today is "The Celtic Way of Prayer" by Esther De Waal.

Story

2009-01-03T11:03:00.000-08:00

Story

It has taken longer than I thought to emerge from under the pile of clutter referenced in my last post. Since then, a number of things have come to mind that I would have liked to explore here (and I may yet get back to them at some point), but even once the clutter was greatly reduced, there still remained enough to absorb emotional time and energy that nothing actually got posted here. And so, here at the end of a second short vacation stretch, feeling a bit more rested, and actually a bit intrigued, I have managed to wander back here once again.

What it is that has caught my attention is the power of story. This is certainly not a new idea, but every now and then, things happen that actually cause us to begin to appreciate just how true what we already know to be true actually is. This was brought into focus for me by the convergence of a couple things.

The first was a sermon assignment. We were doing an Advent sermon series, and the passage I was assigned to preach on was one verse (Matthew 2:12)

"And having been warned in a dream not to go back to Herod, they returned to their country by another route."

Short passages can be challenging to develop because they are . . . well . . . short . . . So in preparation for this sermon, I found myself reflecting a lot on the story of these Magi, what it might have meant for them to have made this journey in the first place, and what it might have meant for them to be directed by God to go back by another route. If you're interested in what actually emerged in sermon form, you can listen to it by clicking here - but my point has less to do with the message of the sermon itself than with what I think it reflected. Let me explain.

As I thought about the story of the Magi and the journey they were on, I began to notice some similarities to my own story, and as a result, wound of devoting a significant about of the sermon talking about some aspects of my own story against the backdrop of theirs (talking about my own experience of "seeing the star" in somewhat of a "secular" but certainly not "God devoid" context . . . the journey that ensued . . . and having glimpsed Who Jesus was, going home differently than the way I came).

What caught me a bit by surprise was the response to the sermon. There are always a few people who have nice things to say about a sermon (and, as you might expect, sometimes those who take issue with things as well), but this time the feedback was unique in a number of ways.
First, there was more than usual, some going out of their way to give it.
Second, what people spoke of most appreciatively was that I had shared my own story with them. Not only had the sermon had a few insights about the text, but more importantly, they felt like they had seen what I was talking about being lived out in the life of a real person they knew. Most mentioned that they felt like they had gotten to know me better through what was shared. One person, who normally does not comment on my preaching, mentioned at some length that what they really want to hear in a sermon is how what we believe really fits into our lives and impacts who we are, and how that is shared when we tell our stories.

While it is always nice when people (at least the ones that talk to you) walk away with more positive than negative feelings about a sermon, what was most interesting to me was that what they found the most helpful were not theological points that had been skillfully distilled out of the text, but rather a story that had been shared that they connected with.

What I find so intriguing here is the contrast this seems to provide from what I have taken to be some of the basic assumptions that seem to be woven into the fabric of modern life. One of these is the tendency to think that the way to fully understand and appreciate the significance of something is to break it down, take it apart, grasp the mechanisms that make it work, explain it, and then perhaps if we are skilled enough, learn how to manipulate or manage those things. The idea is that the essence of something is what we distill out of the packaging we find it in. So when we interact with something, or listen to a story, we attempt to extract what we think really matters from the packaging we find it in (the story). But what if the "packaging" was really the part we should have saved? (perhaps without throwing away the parts we distill out)

What I was repeatedly reminded of here by those who shared their responses to the sermon was that what was most meaningful to them was not what was distilled out of either the Biblical story or my own, but the stories themselves. Stories are not merely ways we illustrate the point we are trying to make, rather, in a larger sense, the story is the point we are trying to make. Or to put it another way, the points we draw from stories are there to illustrate the meaning of the story, not the other way around.

You have to kind of think about this for awhile before the full significance really begins to sink in . . . at least I have to.

The Second piece that began to converge here for me was the thrust of the reading I have been doing for the past couple of years about the significance of Christian Practices - at the heart of which is the conviction that what defines us as Christian believers may be much less about the theology we articulate and how well we can do it, but rather the patterns of living that we are committed to and actually live out. There is a lot more to be said about this, but, in short, the focus here is on the stories we actually live and share, not just what we say when we talk about them.

The Third piece was finally, and at first somewhat unenthusiastically, my entrance into the community of Facebook (an on-line community that claims to help you connect with and share with people in your life). Despite my resistance to one more "virtual" element in my life, and thinking that this might actually provide another way for connecting with people that I should be open to, I set up my profile and waited to see what would happen. To my surprise, I found quite a number of people who were willing to make connections - some of them people I had had no contact with in years. Interestingly enough, even though the connection was minimal, it felt good to know they were there and I had an avenue to somehow stay in touch.

One of the features of Facebook is that people tend to post the kinds of things they are doing at the moment, recent pictures, or even ideas or causes they care about. It is not a lot, but it provides a way to keep in touch with people - not so much on the basis of any profound thoughts or insights they share, but simply by staying in touch with their stories as they continue to unfold from day to day - with an opportunity to comment or chat along the way. What impresses me here, again, is that what people seem to be drawn to, is not so much the content that can be distilled out of the stories they see on Facebook, but simply connecting with the people and their stories as they share the rhythms and patterns of their lives. While there are significant things to learn and appreciate from what can be extracted from some of the things that are shared, it is the people and the stories that they are in the midst of that are primary. That's where the connecting seems to happen.

Certainly, the way we live is influenced and shaped by what we believe to be true. But equally as important is the realization that what we believe is given birth to and shaped by what we experience in the lives that we live. The content we "extract" is what illustrates the experience, not what defines it. Perhaps in the end, learning to live well is less a matter of distilling the meaning out of the experiences we have in life and describing them well, and more about engaging the people and their stories themselves and learning the dance steps that give us something to talk about and reflect upon?

Clutter

2008-11-24T07:56:00.000-08:00

Clutter

For the next couple of days I am on vacation, which provides an opportunity to break out of the usual patterns of living and attend to some of those things that otherwise suffer from lack of attention. (I also realize as I write this that that sounds more like switching tasks than taking a vacation, which may be an indication that the pathologies in my life are more deeply ingrained than I realized).

One of the first things I have done is undertake the task of clearing my desk. I am not exactly sure how it gets to be this way. I have done this before, and vowed to keep on top of it, but little by little things begin to encroach, and like water quietly seeping into a leaky boat, by the time I begin to realize that I'm not keeping ahead of it and major bailing is required, I am defaulting to slipping on a pair of water shoes and trying to make the best of it. Thus, when vacation comes, instead of taking the opportunity to relax a bit and enjoy a quiet peaceful cruise, a good share of the time is spent hauling the boat into dry dock and making repairs.

I have now cleared from my desk 46 books (all of which are in the process of being read), 10 journal articles, 3 notebooks, multiple stacks of various kinds of papers, notes, and items needing attention (or having received attention, have not yet found their way to the place where they need to be filed, if indeed such a place actually exists), and an odd assortment of other items too diverse to describe that have been placed on my desk by other members of the family who simply didn't know what else to do with them. I still have an odd little pile of things off to one side that I can't quite figure out what to do with, but for the most part, I have most everything attended to, filed, and the surface of my desk back. It is a good and freeing feeling.

What I find myself struggling with is that my desk too often is an apt reflection of my life. The problem is not so much any one thing that is on the desk, or even a lack of organizational skills (although I am sure additional skill in this area would be helpful), but rather something more deeply rooted and systemic than that. I don't think it's even, entirely, a matter of priorities, at least to the extent that priorities involve putting things in the right order . . . but rather a matter of too many things to order.

As difficult as it is to say in this culture (and actually be heard when saying it), clutter is, to some extent, simply a matter of too much stuff.

It would be much easier to deal with if clutter were simply a matter of taking out the trash or tidying up - where you are dealing with things like accumulated bits of dust, junk mail, or stuff that inadvertently gets tracked in. Far more difficult are the things that seem to need attention, that you are interested in, committed to, wanting to pursue or address, that seem to be valuable in some way, which you would like to file for future reference, etc. . . . but all of which require a certain about of time and emotional energy to deal with, which at the moment is already going toward something else. And so things get stacked on the desk (or some other nearby flat surface) until you can finish thinking about them, or get back to them, find the energy to tackle them, or figure out where to to put them. And then . . . soon . . . before you realize it . . . like in the parable of the sower, so much stuff has grown up that it blocks the sun and chokes out the life of the seeds that are trying to germinate. The major problem with the clutter that accumulates on my desk, is not so much that it is present, but rather what it crowds out, it's tendency to distract, and the energy it absorbs in the process.

And so as I sit here at my newly cleared desk, I think about what might be different this time? Not so much, what new organization technique do I need to employ to manage all the stuff that accumulates here, but rather, what are the patterns of life that need to be addressed and altered in order to step out of current that keeps washing me up on the same shore?

This is one of those moments where, once again, I am reminded of the patterns of living reflected in the life of Jesus, and which are encouraged by the Christian practices that have been preserved and engaged down through the centuries. Patterns and practices that have to do with

engagement and withdrawal
living out of stillness and rest, instead of allowing stillness and rest to be what we collapse into when exhausted
simplicity and generosity
the recognition that I have limits, and that it is perhaps better to connect with a few people (or do a few things) well, than a lot of people (or do a lot of things) superficially

and numerous other life patterns which have more to do with helping us to live a certain kind of life that brings healing and wholeness to those around us, than one that gets caught up in the patterns of the culture in which it finds itself (whether or not it can state it's doctrinal convictions accurately).

As I write this, a passage from Wayne Muller's book, Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal and Delight In Our Busy Lives, comes to mind which describes a bit of the problem we find ourselves in when we get stuck in the cultural patterns that keep us from actually living lives that reflect the rhythms and patterns of what God intends.

In the relentless busyness of modern life, we have lost the rhythm between work and rest. . . . Our culture invariably supposes that action and accomplishment are better than rest, that doing something -- anything -- is better than doing nothing. Because of our desire to succeed, to meet these ever-growing expectations, we do not rest. Because we do not rest, we lose our way. We miss the compass points that would show us where to go, we bypass the nourishment that would give us succor. We miss the quiet that would give us wisdom. We miss the joy and love born of effortless delight. Poisoned by this hypnotic belief that good things come only through unceasing determination and tireless effort, we can never truly rest. And for want of rest, our lives are in danger. . . In our drive for success we are seduced by the promises of more:: more money, more recognition, more satisfaction, more love, more information, more influence, more possessions, more security. Even when our intentions are noble and our efforts sincere -- even when we dedicate our lives to the service of others -- the corrosive pressure of frantic over-activity can nonetheless cause suffering in ourselves and others . . . work in the world rarely feels light, pleasant, or healing. Instead, as it all piles endlessly upon itself, the whole experience of being alive begins to melt into one enormous obligation. It becomes the standard greeting everywhere: I am so busy. . . . We say this to each other with no small degree of pride, as if our exhaustion were a trophy, our ability to withstand stress a mark of real character. The busier we are, the more important we seem . . . to be unavailable to our friends and family, to be unable to find time for the sunset (or even to know that the sun has set at all) . . . this has become the model of a successful life. (excerpts from pages 1-3)

Perhaps the tendency of my desk, like my life, to gravitate toward clutter is more symptom than disease. While there is something to be said about managing the acute symptoms that can make it difficult to function, dealing with the more chronic patterns of living that give rise to the symptoms may indeed be what makes the most sense in the long run, and is, interestingly, what I feel most drawn to when I take the time to slow down and listen carefully and reflectively. It may also be significant that the patterns that God has built into our lives through things like Sabbath keeping are designed to give us regular opportunities to do just that.

And so I wonder what it might mean if Adventists became known, not just as a group of people who can correctly identify the 7th day on a calendar, but also as those whose lives have been transformed by a different way of living altogether that Sabbath represents? But perhaps a better question might be, what it might be like if this particular Adventist became known for that? Being the change you would like to see in the world is maybe a good place to start. I wonder how it might impact my desk?

What's in your Wallet?

2008-10-28T08:07:00.001-07:00

What's In Your Wallet?

I recently ran across this video produced by the Friends Service Committee (AKA Quakers, for those of you who may recognize the older more traditional name). Whatever your views happen to be be on America's involvement in Iraq, or however you feel about the current political positions of any particular party or candidate (and this is not intended as an endorsement of any particular party or person) I thought what they had to share was worth reflecting upon for its own sake (whatever the solution that you feel is most appropriate might be), and so it is shared here.

Compass

2008-10-10T19:41:00.000-07:00

Compass

It's am amazing little device. Low tech in many ways, it still manages to connect with an invisible force much larger than itself, and as it consistently orients itself to it in the same way, becomes a very reliable way to determine how to place the map so we can see where we are and the direction we should go. While it is true that we have more sophisticated devices for navigating today that use satellites to help us find our global positions, should those, or our batteries, ever fail, we would still have compasses that would continue to faithfully point in the right direction. Yet, too often we can travel significant distances, sometimes at impressive speeds, before we realize that it has been awhile since we consulted our compass and checked our trajectories. I recently spent a couple of days at a retreat with a small community of other pastors who are committed to taking time on a regular basis to do just this -- to pause long enough to consult our compasses and notice the extent to which we have been following or have strayed from the path we have set out on. One of the things this time provided for me was an opportunity to reflect on the thoughts of a man who was and (even though he passed away a few years ago now) still is an influential force in my life. Here are a few excerpts from what I read, first penned in 1999, but which have since been reprinted by his children in a book that honors his legacy:

I'm very concerned about [our souls] . . . we seem to to be caught in the spell of a media-driven, techno-event culture that's dazzling the life out of us. We have a spectacular array of seminars, products, conventions, rallies, crusades, and programs that draw large crowds and make lots of noise -- and we wait expectantly for the next spectacular array of events . . . sadly . . .[opting] for more instead of deep. . .

We spend our time talking about how to relate to our new computer systems instead of talking about our relationships with Jesus. The modern . . . pastor operates like a CEO instead of a spiritual director, mentor, or fellow struggler. Numbers, activities, and programs dominate our agendas, and we soon discover that in today's institutional church, mission statements, strategies and results matter most. Efficiency and control rule. . .

Today's . . . culture is consumed with doing rather than being. So many of us know what it means to believe in Jesus -- but we don't know what it means to be with Jesus. We know how to talk about Jesus -- but we don't know how to listen to Jesus talk to us. . . [Mike Yaconelli, Getting Fired For The Glory of God (Zondervan, 2008), 19-21] .

While I was grateful that the ministry setting in which I work is not, at least for the most part, like the typical one described above, I was also aware that I was far from immune from the dynamics that still too easily find places and ways to sink down roots and draw me off course. As I was thinking about this, I picked up a second book, this one written by his son, Mark, and read this:

We minister among young people who are trained to no longer see the presence of God in the world. We minister among budding consumers, people who have been told, "You are your appetites.". . . We minister among kids whose worth is based on what Marcus Borg calls the three "As" of Western culture: Appearance, achievement, and affluence. [quoted from Marcus Borg, The Heart of Christianity (Harper San Francisco, 2003), 116] We minister among families and communities desperate for spiritual grounding. . . people today are in desperate need of . . . a way to stay in touch with the source of all life and energy . . . and the basic expression of our life in God is found in what the early monastics referred to as "holy leisure."

Holy leisure is not the idleness and laziness toward which Western society is so disdainful; nor is it the sort of grasping escapism promoted by the tourism industry. . . it is a receptivity and gratefulness to the mystery and wonder of being alive in the world. . . a spiritual attitude that seeks to behold the mystery of God's life and creation beneath the activities and roles we perform. It is an embodied trust in God. It is this holy leisure that we see in Jesus as he sleeps amid a stormy sea, teaches among resentful and antagonistic authorities, allows a repentant woman to wash his feet, or spends the night in solitude . . .

. . . Downtime is the holy leisure necessary to place ourselves at God's disposal. By downtime, I do not mean those moments when we escape, check out, or disengage from life. This kind of escape only increases our alienation and restlessness. I'm referring to a sort of inscape -- a sinking down into the mysterious reality of life, a releasing of the unnecessary drivenness and amusements that cover up reality. [Mark Yaconelli, Downtime: Helping Teenagers Pray (Zondervan, 2008), 19-25].

The time away provided an opportunity to take out the compass, notice where the needle was pointing, and orient my map so that it was once again the right way around, making it possible to distinguish a little more clearly between the trail I was looking for and the various rabbit trails that branched off in so many directions. One of the things I take away from these two days is a greater awareness of my need to not get so wrapped up in the journey that I neglect to provide for frequent and regular moments to consult the compass, check my bearing once again before I move on, and enjoy the view.

Connections

2008-10-02T22:03:00.000-07:00

Connections . . . what we can't see may be more significant than what we can

One of the (many) things about quantum physics that I find so amazing (i.e., the little about it that I can grasp) is the way in which the behavior of a particle in one location can have an impact on another particle in another location vast distances away with no obvious or apparent connection between the two. Yet, the evidence seems to suggest that things like this are indeed connected in ways that feeble minds like mine cannot seem to account for. It turns out the universe is far more complicated and inter-connected than many of us have imagined - reminding us that there is something bigger and more complex going on than we ever would have guessed. All of which is very interesting, intriguing, and awe-inspiring.

But then, I guess we should not be surprised to discover that physical reality might in some ways mirror those things that also catch us by surprise in the ways our relationships and interactions with people sometimes configure themselves. Here too, seemingly random and isolated events sometimes turn out to be connected in ways that we would never have imagined. All of which suggests that something bigger and more complex is going that we might have guessed in this area of our lives as well. Whether this is the outworking of some set of processes that we do not yet fully understand, or evidence of divine providence (or most likely both) is something intriguing to ponder!

Perhaps you've had those moments when you sense that you're in the midst of a much larger story where God is somehow at work, even though you might not be fully aware of just what God is up to, or exactly how the next scene will unfold or end; certain only that, for some reason, we get to be along for the ride. While I am not sure that attempts to describe this kind of thing ever really captures the significance of the impact this realization has when you're experiencing it, nevertheless, one of my most recent experiences of this went something like this:

It would have been strange enough all on it's own, if you were simply to consider the call I answered on my cell phone one evening as I was driving home. The call was from someone my wife works with, who I had met a few times, and who happened to know I was a pastor. Earlier that day, she had been talking to a neighbor, who shared with her that a friend of theirs was in a huge bind. They were planning on getting married the next day, but the person who was going to perform the ceremony had a change in plans at the last moment and was not going to be able to do it for them. Their wedding was less than 20 hours away, they had lost the person who was going to perform the ceremony, and had no idea what they were going to do.

When my wife's co-worker (we'll call her Jill) heard about this, she said, "Hey, I sort of know a pastor, maybe he could do the ceremony." Next thing I know Jill, having tracked me down through my wife, is on the other end of the phone explaining the situation and asking if I would be willing to to have a conversation with the groom (someone she didn't know either) about the possibility of performing their wedding, tomorrow afternoon.

What I was thinking was, "What? You can't be serious," but oddly enough what I heard myself saying was, "Well, I guess I could at least talk to him."

It didn't take Jill long to pass my phone number back through the odd chain of relational connections. Just a few moments later, my phone was ringing, and I found myself talking to a rather stressed out groom. Somewhere in the course of the conversation, I once again found myself saying, "Ok, let's see what we can do."

I met groom for the first time the next day right after church, and just a couple of hours before the wedding was to take place. Somewhere between 30-45 minutes later we had a game plan. And, just about 3 hours later, I was in a beautiful outdoor setting, surrounded by a group of people who had no more idea who I was than I them. I met the bride for the first time as she walked down the isle.

All things considered, everything actually went very well. The bride, groom, and their families were both very pleased and quite relieved. And, even though this was certainly not the way I generally go about preparing for and officiating at weddings, I walked away that afternoon with a clear sense that, as bizarre and random as things had seemed, God had somehow been in the midst of all that had happened over the course of the last 20 hours or so in a unique way.

Happy to have been able to help, and fully expecting that that would be the end of it, I was quite surprised when I was contacted just a couple of months later by someone who, quite a number of years ago, had been a part of the youth group I had pastored. As it turned out, she was a friend of bride and had been there at the wedding (even though I hadn't seen her there), and was now asking if I would officiate at her wedding. This was one of those quantum-like connections I could never have anticipated, and could never have been predicted from the seeming random nature of how I got involved in all this in the first place. Not only did I get to share in the celebration of her wedding, we had a chance to make connections again, and still stay in touch.

A few months later, the telephone answering system at the church transferred a call to my cell phone, which resulted in a conversation with an older man who was in need of some assistance. A short while later, I met him at the church to help him out with some things he needed. Several weeks later, under similar circumstances, I found myself meeting with him again. As we were loading a couple of items into his truck, he happened to mention in passing the name of his daughter who was coming to visit him. Something rang a bell. I asked about her husband's name, where they lived, how long they had been married . . . and finally said, "you know, I think I am the pastor that married them!" "I thought I had seen you somewhere before," he said, and we spent the next few moments re-living the story of their wedding.

It is difficult to describe my reaction to all of this, except to say that, for me, this was one of those awesome "quantum like" realization moments when you suddenly become aware that, not only do events seem to be connected in unexpected and unusual ways, but that you are in the midst of a much larger story that seems to be unfolding.

What were the chances that my wife's co-worker would happen to be at a neighbor's home at the moment they mentioned a friend whose wedding was in danger of not taking place?
Or at that moment she would remember that I was a pastor?
Or be able to put the groom and I in touch with each other with only hours to spare?

What are the chances that at this wedding, where I was surrounded by people I had not met before and who knew nothing of me, there would be someone I had lost contact with over the years?
Who would have guessed that, as a result of her seeing me at that wedding, I would wind up of officiating at hers, and renewing an old friendship?

What are the chances that out of all the churches in the area, when the bride's father needed some assistance, he happened to select the church at which I work?
Or out of all the various pastors on the telephone selection menu, his call got transferred to me?
Or that in the course of our conversation, he happened to mention his daughter's name, which was the key to our realizing that we had met before, and of making significant connections, not only with him, but with his daughter and husband once again?

Or for that matter, what are the chances that the place he happens to be living now is in a mobile home community where our church members are actively involved in getting to know the people there, working on various projects, and helping them do with a little help what they can no longer do for themselves?

What an odd web of circumstantial and relational connections to have been woven together in ways I could never have planned or imagined in a process that seems to be ongoing still!

Now I realize, particularly to those looking on, that this may not seem like much more than a string of odd coincidences. And yet, I have an almost palpable sense about this, as the story continues to unfold, that there is something much bigger and more complex going on here. Like the various particles of quantum physics, somehow the people involved here are inter-related and connected to each other in ways that I never would have anticipated or imagined, but which reinforces the sense that something more, perhaps Someone more, is involved here in a way that makes me want to take off my shoes out of the sense that somehow I may be standing on holy ground.

It's at moments like this that I am most aware that the things we can't see may well be bigger and more real than the things we can . . . and wonder just what we might see if the curtain were drawn back and we could get a good look at all that was really happening? The hints and glimpses that moments like these provide give us plenty to ponder.

Surprise

2008-09-05T23:00:00.000-07:00

Surprise

Surprise is in many ways a curious kind of experience. On the one hand, it describes what we experience when something completely unexpected happens. Yet, I believe that at the heart of the way of life that Jesus invites us into, is living in expectation of being surprised -- an odd kind of irony in which we live in a way that expects the unexpected.

I suppose, like anything else, there are pathological manifestations of living this way. Those who expect to be continually surprised by malignant forces that actively seek their harm might be described as paranoid. Similarly, those who operate with a robust sense of denial, and who insist on painting a happy face on every situation no matter how tragic, we might describe with a term like "pollyanna."

But having said all that, I have become convinced that at the heart of the way of life that God invites us to pursue is a sense of living in the expectation of surprise that springs neither out of fear or denial, but rather out of a realization of grace. These are moments when we become aware in some way, in the midst of whatever we might be experiencing at the moment (whether or not we are attentive to it, or even always able to perceive it) that we are indeed the recipients of grace. Learning to live in, and intentionally cultivate an awareness (perhaps even the expectation) of this, seems to be at the heart of way of life that Jesus invites us to pursue, and which He articulates so well in places like the Sermon on the Mount -- where He invites us to realize this not only for ourselves, but for others (all others) as well.

Many years later, Ignatius of Loyola would suggest a spiritual exercise (the prayer of examen) that flows out of, and cultivates, this sense of awareness. Ignatius suggested that we pause at the end of each day to prayerfully consider two questions:

"For what moments today am I most grateful?"
"For what moments today am I least grateful?"

Another form those questions might take are:

"Where today did I see grace surface or be reflected?"
"Where today did I see grace fail to be expressed or reflected?"

Dennis, Sheila and Matthew Lynn, in their little book, "Sleeping With Bread," suggest other ways to form these questions, among which are:

"When did I feel most alive today?"
"When did I feel life draining out of me?"

It was Ignatius' contention, to which I feel confident that Jesus would agree, that few things would be so personally and socially transformative, and would so effectively cultivate an awareness of the ways in which we are aware of , and responsive to, God's presence in our lives (and perhaps the ways in which we tend to mask or resist them) than taking time each day to prayerfully reflect back over the course of our day with those two questions in mind.

What might a life look like that intentionally, regularly, prayerfully considered those two questions?

*(Note: it occurs to me that the general flow of the posts in this blog, what I have described as "footnotes" tend to arise out of reflecting on some form of these same two questions. One of my unexpected surprises is the extent to which those questions have become more ingrained than I realized)

Identity

2008-08-24T21:48:00.000-07:00

Identity

What are the marks that we leave behind in people's lives that give evidence that we were there? Can we identified by the marks we leave? What kinds of things might we look for?

For the past several weeks through a sermon series at our church we have been exploring an issue of identity -- what it means to be a "Remnant" people -- something that has been central to the identity of Adventism and which finds its roots in Revelation 12:17 (a text that describes "the remnant" as those who obey God's commandments and hold to the testimony of Jesus [NIV]). I am intrigued by Julius Nam's suggestion in last week's sermon that the testimony of Jesus, and perhaps by implication the whole concept of "remnantness," is more verb than noun, a dynamic way of being rather than a static state. There is much here that resonates with me (and perhaps reflects a bit of the sense of things that I was trying to get at when trying to figure out what to say in the "about me" section on the right side of this blog page). Perhaps what actually defines us is less about a list of characteristics or qualifications, and more about the way we are and how we interact with others, with our world, or with God? Perhaps, as significant and important as they are, who we are, and perhaps the concept of "remnantness," is better defined less in terms of doctrinal statements or understandings and more in terms of "practices" (something we will explore more in future posts) and the way we are and how we live?

Other things all this gets me wondering, pondering, thinking about include . . .

While traditionally we have often linked the Gospel and letters of John and the Book of Revelation, I wonder why we have been slower to link Jesus' definition of the commandments of God from John "Loving each other as I have loved you" with what it means to identify a group of people as those who keep God's commandments and bear testimony to Jesus? As much as I appreciate and affirm the way the ten commandments reflect the characteristics of lives lived in response to Jesus, the life that Jesus models and describes through His life, ministry and teachings, infuses this with a depth and breadth that describes much more than a list of criteria. Rather, they express a way of living and being.

I am also intrigued about how this resonates with an earlier post which explored the ministry of John the Baptist, and the implications this might have for our understanding of the remnant. What Julius Nam suggested, using Moses interceding for his people as a model for understanding part of what lies at the heart of remnantness, is a way of thinking about the remnant that is reflected in a ministry that is not all about us, but rather focuses instead on God and others. At least part of what is so significant here is that it goes beyond the understanding of John's statement, "He must increase and I must decrease" as a powerful expression of self-forgetful humility and service (although it is certainly that) and suggests an even more fundamental shift.

Is it possible that the tendency to be primarily concerned about whether or not we have qualified for salvation, and then living a life that faithfully reflects "being saved"-- a concern that is focused on me, my standing before God, and how well I am doing -- might actually miss, or distort, what it means to be a follower of Jesus? I still remember an Academy principle saying, "My primary goal is to get kids into heaven." But what if the real focus were less about securing personal salvation, and more about inspiring and encouraging people to embrace the life of the Kingdom -- caring for the needs of others out of a genuine love for them, and this, not in order to get into the Kingdom, but in response to God's love and grace that assures me of a place there? Does it matter if my ultimate preoccupation is focused more in the direction of wanting to be able to stand without a mediator at the end of time, or in seeking ways to serve and mediate for others in ways that reflect the values of the God's Kingdom right up to the end of time? Does being God's remnant ultimately revolve around resolving my own, and helping others resolve their own, self concerns? Might it instead be about inviting others to become a part of something that focuses on loving God and others well in a way that is self-forgetful? The example of Moses, being willing to have his own name blotted out of God's book, certainly urges us to take this dimension of things seriously!

Actually, the "good news" is that we don't have to live in the tension between the two. Both the teachings of Paul and the life and ministry of Jesus repeatedly remind us of grace -- that because God loves us, we are embraced and accepted as a part of His kingdom so that we don't have to live with, or be motivated by, the anxiety that comes from not knowing if you have made it yet or qualify, thus freeing us from the need to be preoccupied with our own standing. Then, out of gratitude for the realization of all that it means to be included by God, because we are so loved, we are able to more fully enter into the life of the Kingdom by loving and caring for others out of the overflow of grace in our lives. Still imperfect and flawed, but embraced by the love and grace of a God Who continues to love us, we learn to extend the same love and grace to others, and in doing so become changed as we come to embody more and more the life of the Kingdom. One of the insights that flows out of an appreciation for "the great controversy" theme in Adventism, is the realization that the central issue is less about us and how good we are, and much more about helping people realize how good God is. Out of this emerges a people who work and pray for God's will to be realized "on earth as it is in heaven" . . . perhaps a people who "keep the commandments of God and bear testimony to Jesus," and who may well be largely unaware of the full significance of their lives and actions, so that when Jesus is depicted as inviting them into the Kingdom in the judgment they respond with, "When did we see you hungry, thirsty, or in need?

Interestingly enough, far from what some fear might happen to those who embrace grace and thus lose the motivation of anxiety, the remnant might very well be those people who are most interested in getting involved in spiritual disciplines, pursuing spiritual practices and serving others - not in order to qualify for a place in the Kingdom, but because they are so excited about what it means to be a part of the Kingdom (and so taken with the King) that they want to sign on and live it out, working for the realization of the Kingdom in any way they can, knowing that God is with them right up to the very end.

Far from a group of uncertain or even fearful people, disengaged and perhaps even seeking to isolate themselves from their world as they wait for the end of the world, the remnant might actually turn out to be a group of people who are being transformed by grace with their sleeves rolled up and deeply invested in the lives of people around them. Might the remnant be identified as those who are living out the life of the Kingdom as they work to help others taste grace, what it means to be along side of people who reflect the thrust of the commandments of God and the testimony of Jesus, and who catch a vision of what it means to be a part of the Kingdom right now?

That would be something to be known for!

Contrasts in Racing

2008-08-17T09:22:00.000-07:00

Contrasts in Racing

This particular Saturday evening found me somewhat preoccupied with races. In China a Romanian woman was clearly in the lead on her way to a gold medal in the women’s marathon. In Lake Forest, California, two other individuals were involved in a race which appears to be a bit closer, and which, in the end, may prove to be about as grueling as a marathon. I am drawn to both of these races, the first because I like to run (although the 100 -150 miles a month I run at 9-9 ½ minute miles hardly compares to those whose training involves 750+ miles per month and time well below 5 minute miles). The second, because, as Rick Warren stated so well in his introduction to the forum interviews, while I believe in the separation of church and state, I don’t believe that politics and faith can be or should be pursued in isolation from each other. How my faith is reflected and expressed in what I give support to matters deeply. However, from my perspective anyway, in the case of both these races the country or party the various runners represent is of much less interest to me than what I observe about them as they run.

The outcome of one race was decided that evening, the other remains to be.

In the case of the as yet unresolved race, one of the things I walk away with Saturday night with, in contrast to the sense of embarrassment that I too often feel when members of the evangelical community decide to engage the political process, was a sense of being proud of the way the evening was crafted and conducted. I am grateful to Rick Warren for modeling how conversations like these can be civil, open and respectful. How refreshing for the church to finally take the lead instead of simply contributing to the problem! What's more, something else that I come away with is a sense of being deeply impressed with the remarkable contrast listening in on this conversation provided between the candidates. While I am sure many have conclusions and impression different from my own, there were a number of contrasts that resonated with many of the themes that have surfaced for me in this blog. Others may or may not agree, but the places where I felt points of connection or resonance include these:

Style of Interaction. I found myself drawn more toward thoughtful, nuanced dialogue in which you sense that the other person has really heard and understood not only the question but it’s complexity (and is willing to hear and entertain competing perspectives before deciding), than the kind of dialogue where answers are swift and forth coming often before the question has even been fully stated. One reflects a more open, invitational engagement, the other a more agenda driven interaction. Generally speaking, I usually feel more confident about a physician who finishes listening to and trying to understand my symptoms before they prescribe the treatment.
The Problem of Evil. The ability of someone to recognize that evil is not primarily a matter of us vrs them, but something that is more pervasive and invasive than that, and therefore requires both insight and humility when we deal with it seems pretty foundational to me. While we do take strong stands in confronting and dealing with evil it in whatever form it takes, being able to see and respond to more than just one manifestation, and having the willingness and humility to be honest and responsive to ways we may contribute to it is pretty important. Part of this may be reflected not only in our ability to recognize that we too have our own moral failings, but our willingness to understand the reasons for them and what it takes to move beyond them is also significant. When we locate evil as primarily outside of ourselves we may be the most vulnerable to it.
Sacrifice and courage. Interesting interplay between different expressions of sacrifice and courage. On the one hand, the ability to endure pain and physical torture at the hand of an enemy out of loyalty to others and a code of conduct . . . on the other, the willingness to sacrifice and do the hard work of caring for the needs of “the least of these” and living responsibly (socially and environmentally) within our means even if it costs us a little more financially to do so, so that our children to not have to carry the consequences of our neglect. There was the kind of courage (that both candidates would support) that says regardless of how those who style themselves as our enemies may conduct themselves, we will not conduct ourselves in that way (use of torture, for example). In subtler sorts of ways, one wonders if perhaps courage also involves not resorting to mockery as a form of argument? Perhaps there are many sides to courage, including the kind of courage in which we continue to be responsible for protecting the environment and the planet we live on even in the face of difficult economic times, and do the difficult work of finding clean and lasting long term solutions even if it means sacrificing a bit of comfort, convenience and maybe even the scorn of some in the short term - for the sake of my children and their children?

It is interesting to think about what it means for faith to engage politics, how it should influence the way we think about issues of leadership and what that looks like, how we think about evil and our enemies, what courage really means, what it means to really sacrifice for the good of others, perhaps even how we would feel (hypothetically of course) about figures like John the Baptist or Jesus running for office, or whether or not we would more likely gravitate toward a zealot for a favored candidate? As I mentioned earlier in my reflections on Ralph Ledbetter, sometimes our “location” influences our thinking more than we might realize.

Wherever we find ourselves in the matrix of political ideas and perspectives, one thing the dialogue of Saturday evening does is to invite us to be more serious about asking the question of where God is in all of this. Asking the question, “What would Jesus Do” (as trivialized, over simplified and commercialized as that phrase has become in recent years) is still a legitimate question. When we look at the world through God’s eyes, try to see the way God sees, and spend some significant time looking into the eyes of God with honesty and humility, I suspect we might find our perspectives shifting more than we might ever imagine.

It was Paul that first tapped Olympic imagery to describe the real race we are called to run in [1 Cor 9:24 ff; 1 Tim 6:12; ]. The author of Hebrews reminds us that “since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out before us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God [Heb 12:1-2(NIV)]. Paul returns to the imagery again in Phil 3, as he talks about running the race in humility and hope.

All things considered, perhaps Saturday night was not such a bad time to be caught up for a moment in the dynamics of the races that surround us, as we reflect on the ones we find ourselves in.

Ralph Revisited

2008-08-10T20:06:00.000-07:00

Ralph Revisited

Vacations give us opportunities to break out of the familiar routines and rhythms that can so dominate our lives, and enjoy less rushed and more relaxed patterns . . . altering just a bit the way we see and approach how we go about our days. We often come back feeling more rested, renewed, and perhaps (at least momentarily) wiser about the need to incorporate some of those more restful patterns into our lives once vacation is over. It's amazing how different things can look with a change in perspective. (The kind of change in perspective that vacations can bring is a topic worth pursuing all on its own).

It was while I was thinking about this (having just returned from a restful, but way too short, vacation) that I found myself in a brief conversation with a friend who had been thinking about what I had shared in a post on this blog back in June (entitled "Epitaphs & Blind Spots") about Ralph Ledbetter. Recalling how I had talked about how the placement of his tombstone seemed to have reflected a deep seated prejudice that even many years after the Civil War was over still excluded him from the circle (if this does not sound familiar to you, you may need to re-read the old post in order for the rest of this to make sense). My friend, however, suggested that perhaps there was another way to look at what had happened (this from the perspective of someone who had grown up in that part of the country).

What if, he suggested, the designation of "Slave" on his tombstone was not there to somehow designate him as less worthy than the other Confederate officers buried in that graveyard, but rather to draw attention to the significance and uniqueness of his dedication and sacrifice?

What if placing his grave marker outside of the circle was not a matter of excluding him from the circle of others, but to highlight his uniqueness in such a way that his contribution would not be lost sight of. Perhaps the placement was so that the attention of others would be drawn to it?
What if it was not a matter of exclusion, but one of setting apart in honor?

The thought had never occurred to me. Whichever of these two scenarios you may find the more persuasive, what struck me was how simply changing the perspective from which this was seen could have such a powerful impact on how it was understood.

Of course, neither one of us happen to know any of the other details of Ralph Ledbetter's story (although now I am more curious than ever), and both of us realize that we made certain assumptions based on our own experiences and understandings of the south and what we saw in this graveyard. But perhaps just as important as determining which interpretation of the data is closer to the truth (perhaps even more important) is the recognition of how much the assumptions we brought with us influenced and shaped the way we understood what we were seeing.

(This, by the way, in case you were wondering, was a friendly conversation), but also one which left me with a few things too ponder further . . . things like:

The Power of Location. The realization that "where" we are (in much more than a geographical sense) impacts what we see and how we understand. This is not a new or original idea, but my awareness of it was heightened just a little bit more.

The Sacrifice of Understanding. I wonder to what extent many of our attempts to establish who is right (even when the points we are trying to make, defend or promote are good ones) are carried out at the expense of genuinely understanding those who see things differently than we do?

The Relational Implications. Perhaps one of the least appreciated reasons that relationships between people (and groups of people as small as families and as large as countries) remain tense, conflicted, hostile or broken may have far less to do with failing to recognize who is right and who is wrong, and far more to do with failures in the areas of graciousness and humility. It is here that our blind spots can be the largest, and our resistance to recognizing the significance of our location (or even admitting that we have one) so deeply ingrained. And yet, when we consider the kind of healing that could happen if we were willing to live in a greater awareness of our own agendas or presuppositions (which might very well be either unconscious, untested, or both) and a willingness to genuinely consider how things might look from the perspectives of others, our own resistance to do this is all the more bewildering. It brings to mind Jesus' lament, "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed together your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing! [Luke 13:34 (NIV)]

Perhaps one way to more fully understand Ralph Ledbetter's story and it's implications would begin with the realization that there are many more stories that need to be heard. Not just the stories of those who knew Ralph, or those who decided on the inscription and the placement of the marker, but also the countless other stories that surrounded his and help to shape the various ways we see and understand. Of course this does not ensure that we will always agree, or that we may not still need to take strong stands for what we believe to be true. But perhaps what is does mean is that, while it may not be entirely possible to fully identify all of our presuppositions or the ways they have shaped or influenced our perceptions, our willingness to at least be aware of their significance might go a long way towards making us more gracious and humble listeners. And perhaps in the process, it might lead us toward greater understanding and healing.

Perhaps the implications of Ralph's story, and our attempts to make sense of it, stretch further that I, or for that matter he, ever would have guessed!

More voices in the Wilderness

2008-07-17T23:05:00.001-07:00

More Voices in the Wilderness

This past week I had the pleasure of transitioning from writing a bit about what it means to be "a voice calling out in the wilderness" to finding myself in the midst of an always awe-inspiring wilderness with 15 other very human voices, and one other Voice that spoke more quietly but no less powerfully, and in whom we "live and move and have our being." (Acts 17:28).

Each year about this time my friend Jerry and I take a group of young people (and usually a couple of others a little older) backpacking for about 5 days through the Sierras -- starting in Tuolumne Meadows, and making our way to Yosemite Valley, covering somewhere between 24 and 32 miles (depending on whether or not you count a side trip to the top of Half-Dome and back).

While the experience of backpacking through Yosemite National Park is rich and rewarding in its own right, one of the things that distinguishes this trip from other backpacking trips is that the backpacking itself is actually secondary to the purpose of the trip.

Instead of seeing how much ground we can cover in as short a time as possible, we limit our mileage most days to about 5 miles or so, and try to keep the trip from feeling too pushed or rushed. This means that we usually arrive at our next campsite shortly after lunch, leaving lots of "down time" to actually enjoy where we are as well as the people we are with.

On some days, we stop along the way for about an hour, set our packs aside, and enjoy some quiet alone time with God (which provides an opportunity to read, reflect, journal, pray, or just be still and listen).

Each evening we gather together to talk about the day, sharing the kinds of things that surfaced for us during our quiet times or in the midst of the other things we noticed along the way. Over the years I have increasingly come to appreciate the way that God speaks both through the quiet reflective moments when alone, and through listening to what others have to share.

Some of the things I heard this week as I listened to this particular configuration of voices were:

We are not human doings, we are human beings -- loved and created in God's image. We often feel alone, but it is not because we are not surrounded by God's presence, or even the willingness of others to be in relationship with us, but often rather because of our own distractedness and drivenness which tends to isolate us from others, or at least keep our encounters fairly superficial.

Amazement that for one week we lived with only what we could carry with us, and not only did we survive, we experienced a sense of satisfaction and joy. Accumulating, possessing, managing and craving more "stuff" seemed to somehow have faded into the background, and it felt good to have it there.

We got to know people we did not know well, or perhaps even at all, and discovered that we really liked them and enjoyed being together.

We noticed how quickly we developed a sense of community and connection with other backpackers that we met along the way. We discovered that, regardless of what country we came from, our age, or any number of factors that might distinguish us or make us somehow different from each other, because we shared the same experience and were committed to the same kind of journey, that we had much to talk about and share . . . and we did so with surprising energy and eagerness, often walking away encouraged and inspired from our encounters.

We discovered the sense of satisfaction that comes from sharing a little water with those we met who had run out, or giving directions to those who were traveling but were unsure of their direction or the trail they were on. Sharing with someone about how to get to a place where we had been, and learning from them about where we were going was both helpful and meaningful.

Perhaps, most importantly, we discovered that, if we were willing to be intentional about paying attention, there is a larger, quieter, gentler, more powerful Voice that speaks in the background and sometimes through so many of the other voices that too often we miss when we are in other settings . . . A Voice that goes way beyond conveying information to something more like deepening an awareness.

And finally we heard from each other a sense of longing for the voices, and the Voice not to be stilled, drowned out, minimized or quieted when we returned to the patterns of life that are saturated with many other voices speaking with other intents and agendas.

An Unplanned Encounter with A Voice in the Wilderness

2008-07-05T18:24:00.000-07:00

An Unplanned Encounter with A Voice in the Wilderness

Life is often what happens in-between the things you were expecting. One of those was an unexpected request to do a short commentary piece for Spectrum's Sabbath School Lesson Commentary, which wound up consuming those bits of time I tend to set aside for this blog, which resulted in the lack of posts for the last couple of weeks. However, since moments like this are indeed a part of the ebb and flow of life that I try to reflect on a bit here in Footnotes, I decided I would post it here as well (without the benefit of the editor who will, I am sure, work it over a bit before it appears on Spectrum's blog in a week or two), since that's "where I've been" for the last week or so in my more free and reflective moments.

I'll be back to the more usual (or unusual, as the case may be) stuff when I return from a week of backpacking in the Sierras. In between then and now, here are some reflections on the ministry of John the Baptist and how it might speak to the ministry of our church:

“A voice of one calling . . . prepare the way for the LORD . . .’” I wonder if we were asked to come up with a couple of key phrases that would express our sense of identity and mission, if this is the kind of language we would gravitate towards?

Phil Cooke describes “what . . . people think of when they think of you, your product or your organization” as a “brand.”[1] He then goes on to quote Wally Olins, the Chairman of Saffron Brand Consultants:

. . . in a world that is bewildering in terms of competitive clamor, in which rational choice has become almost impossible, brands represent clarity, reassurance, consistency, status, membership-everything that enables human beings to help define themselves. Brands represent identity.[2]

It makes you wonder what is represented by, or reflected in, the “John the Baptist” brand? What is communicated by an identity that is described simply as “a voice”? What is reflected by a mission statement that is not about establishing and protecting our own interests?

As I think about Isaiah’s description of John’s ministry, my mind drifts back to the mid 70's, when as a young person still quite new to Adventism, I used to listen to the Voice of Prophecy on the radio. Each broadcast would begin with the King’s Heralds singing , “Lift up the trumpet and loud let it ring, Jesus is Coming Again.” And then at the appropriate moment, their voices would fade into the background just long enough for HMS Richards Jr. to deliver the line that described their ministry as “a voice calling out in the wilderness of these modern times, ‘Prepare the way of the Lord.’” It was a clear attempt to link the identity and mission of their ministry (and the Adventist Church in general) with that of John the Baptist. What is less clear, is whether or not the “John the Baptist brand” has always been at the heart of our concerns about preserving them.

But what if it were? If we were to thoughtfully consider what it might mean, both personally and corporately, for us to assume the “John the Baptist” brand, where might that take us?

As counterintuitive as it might seem, perhaps one of the first steps in exploring that question would be to ponder what it might mean not to be the center of our own brand. We glimpse a bit of what this might look like as we watch John responding to those who are pressing him to define and frame his ministry in terms that were mostly all about him.

Now this was John’s testimony when the Jews of Jerusalem sent priests and Levites to ask him who he was. ²⁰He did not fail to confess, but confessed freely, “I am not the Christ.” ²¹ They asked him, “Then who are you? Are you Elijah?” He said, I am not.” “Are you the Prophet?” He answered, “No.” ²² Finally they said, “Who are you? Give us an answer to take back to those who sent us. What do you say about yourself?” ²³ John replied in the words of Isaiah the prophet, “I am the voice of one calling in the desert, make straight the way for the Lord.”[3]

It is important that we not allow the unassuming nature of his response to mask its significance. What John seems to grasp (even if all of those who responded to his message did not) is that his ministry is not an end in itself. His mission was not to establish of group of people who would have a unique “John the Baptist” identity. Rather, his mission and identity were wrapped up in the task of pointing others to Jesus and preparing them to embrace a Kingdom that was bigger than the movement he was leading. However much those who followed him appreciated, or were shaped and blessed by his ministry, he would have been the first to point out that tying their primary identity to him or the movement itself, instead of the Jesus to Whom it pointed, would be a mistake.

You yourselves can testify that I said, I am not the Christ but am sent ahead of him. ²⁹ The bride belongs to the bridegroom. The friend who attends the bridegroom waits and listens for him, and is full of joy when he hears the bridegroom’s voice. That joy is mine, and it is now completed. ³⁰ He must become greater; I must become less.[4]

What might it mean for Adventism to see itself as less the entity that people are called to join, and more as the friend of the bridegroom? Would taking this seriously provide us, individually and corporately, with a more modest vision of the “remnant,” perhaps as those scattered bits and pieces that might appear to simply be left over, but which find their identity in knowing they are a part of a bolt of cloth that is much bigger than themselves? Something to ponder!

In addition to how John’s message is framed, is the uniqueness of his content. For example, John invites his hearers (Jews and Gentiles alike) to carefully consider if the ways in which the way they are living their lives are in sync with the way of life that God is calling them to. According to John, this new Kingdom was one in which people would be defined less by nationality, pedigree, or even theological purity, and more by the justice and genuineness of the way they live and interacted with each other. Now that the Kingdom of God is on the verge of being established, they have the opportunity to change course, to repent, and embrace to life of the Kingdom.

Second, he invited people to celebrate and express their decision to do so through what appears to be the rather new and innovative (and in the context of the ministry of both John and Jesus, unique) practice of baptism.

Since the first century culture in general seemed to have no shortage of baptismal imagery from which to draw, it’s probably not unreasonable to assume that people would have some familiarity with it. Water had been ritually used in Babylon by the cult of Enki, and in Egypt for removing blemishes from newborn children and from the dead in preparation for the afterlife. Other religions used baptismal like practices as initiation rites, which also carried the connotations of purification, regeneration, transformation, the reception of a special knowledge, etc.[5] Sometime during the time of the exile, Jews also appear to have developed a practice closely associated with purification rites for converts to Judaism, that of proselyte baptism.[6]

It appears then that both John and Jesus adapted known ideas and thought patterns, infusing them with a unique and distinctly Christian meaning, when then invited people to be baptized, perhaps as a way to help people understand and celebrate what it meant to become a part of the Kingdom in a way that was meaningful in their context. While there is a clear call to disengage from a way of living that runs contrary to the life of the Kingdom (repent), there is also a willingness to engage the thought patterns found in the culture, and through adapting, changing and infusing them with new meaning, provide ways for people to more fully understand and embrace the message of the Kingdom.[7] The voice that cries out in the wilderness is one that has both the ring of genuineness and authenticity to it, and yet also a willingness to be innovative in finding meaningful ways to redirect and infuse cultural patterns and ideas with the values and the life of the Kingdom.

But perhaps one of the most troubling aspects of the John the Baptist brand, is that while many respond, it is not everywhere well received. John is arrested, struggles with his own questions about the meaning of what is happening, and ultimately is executed, raising questions in minds of some about his ministry. However, when speaking about the significance of John’s ministry in the days just prior to John’s death, Jesus declares that “Among those born of women there has not risen anyone greater than John the Baptist,” reminding us that we need to be careful about how we measure significance or success.[8] Whether or not the movement John started continued to survive and flourish with its own unique identity intact, was not nearly as important as whether or not it had accomplished the purpose for which it began.

These are just some of the questions reflecting on what it might mean for us to take the “John the Baptist brand” seriously, in both its individual and corporate expressions. For those who might still consider themselves a part of that voice calling out in the wilderness of these modern times, ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, they are worth pondering!

^{^[1]} Phil Cooke, Branding Faith: Why Some churches and Nonprofits Impact Culture and Others Don’t, (Ventura, California: Gospel Light, 2007) 11.

^{^[2]} Cooke, Branding Faith, 38.

^{^[3]} John 1:19-23. (NIV)

^{^[4]} John 3:28-30 (NIV)

^{^[5]} Encyclopedia of Religion, 2^nd ed., s.v. “Baptism,” by Michel Meslin, 779-780.

^{^[6]} See Wayne A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul (London: Yale University Press, 1983), 153.

^{^[7]} The writings of Paul also reflect ways in which cultural imagery continued to be used to expand and explain the meaning of baptism. One example is the concept of being clothed in Christ (Galatians 3:27) which may draw from the toga virilis ceremony. See J. Albert Harrill, “Coming of Age and Putting on Christ: The Toga Virilis Ceremony, Its Paraenesis, and Paul’s Interpretation of Baptism in Galatians, “ Novum Testamentum 44, no.3, (2002): 253-256.

^{^[8]}Matthew 11:11 (NIV)

Epitaphs & Blind Spots

2008-06-20T19:03:00.000-07:00

Epitaphs and Blind Spots

While it is probably more the exception than the rule for someone to actually have much more than their name and the dates of their birth and death inscribed on their grave markers, still it is intriguing to reflect on what we think others might inscribe there if they were so inclined. Just as interesting is what we would want to put there if it were up to us.

Last summer, as our family visited a number of historical sites on the east coast, some of the most interesting and compelling places we visited were cemeteries and monuments where careful and thoughtful attention was given to remembering and reflecting on the significance of the people and events that were tied to those places. These were created with the anticipation that many people over long periods of time would come and visit these sites, absorb their significance, and in some way go away changed.

However, one of those that spoke to me the most profoundly was one that I suspect was put in place without that kind of anticipation. As far as I know, it is neither well known, nor is it on anyone’s “must see” list.

As part of our trip, we spent a few days with my sister and brother-in-law at their home in Hermitage, Tennessee, a small town just a few miles from Nashville, and near a number of interesting historical sites from the Civil War era.

One afternoon while we were visiting some of these places, my brother-in-law told us that he wanted to take us to see something that we would not likely find mentioned in any of the tourist brochures. Intrigued with what he might have in mind, we traveled with him to a small Confederate cemetery, attached to a old church, and next to where a facility had once stood that served as a kind of retirement home for Confederate soldiers.
In the cemetery there was a large monument to the soldiers buried there. Around it, headstones were arranged in a unique pattern that formed concentric circles, the pattern of which you can see in the picture to the right.

My brother-in-law didn't say much at first, as we stood there, taking it all in. Finally he asked if there was anything about what we were seeing that captured our attention. Maybe it was the intense afternoon heat, but, to be honest, we didn’t notice anything at first. But then, he drew our attention to something that might otherwise have slipped by us. One lone headstone, standing by itself (left side of the picture), clearly outside of the circles.

Our curiosity having now been aroused, we walked over to take a closer look. What we read on the grave marker was a name, Ralph Ledbetter, and then markings that indicated that he was in from the Confederate First Infantry Division from Tennessee and the date of his birth and his death. But what figured most prominently on the headstone, enclosed in parentheses, but as an inscription that was anything but parenthetical, the word “Slave.”

It took a few moments for the significance of what we were seeing to begin to sink in, but as it did, it was literally stunning. A year later it is still sinking in. While the grave maker gave few of the details of this man’s story, what can be surmised from the little we know may be something very close to this:

Here is man who was a slave. At best would have been regarded as beloved property by those he served. Perhaps it was out of a sense of loyalty, or maybe even devotion to those who owned him, that he was willing to set aside an interest in his own freedom to actually fight along side of other confederate soldiers in their cause. It is intriguing to think about what may have motivated him to do as he did. But what I found myself wondering about even more, was not so much what was going on inside of the man who was buried here, as what was going on inside of those who buried him?

As a slave fighting on the side of the Confederacy, (whatever his reasons for doing so may have been), in some very significant ways, the sacrifice he was making was as much, or greater, than any of those around him. Yet, when it came time for him to be buried, his grave stands alone, outside of the circle, and clearly labeled in a manner that makes his status, or lack of status, clear.

What was perhaps most troubling of all, was the date on the grave marker. You could almost understand it, if he had died in battle during the Civil war when some of these issues were still in dispute, but the date of his death is 1939. That's 74 years after the Civil War was over! Despite what had been won, settled and proclaimed, at least in the minds of those who buried him and inscribed his head stone, clearly, some things had still not been fully realized. 74 years later, he is still outside the circle.

It is true that some slaves actually had very warm and close relationships with plantation owners (as appears to have been the case with Andrew Jackson), and whose graves had special places of honor on the estate, even if they were still clearly distinctly apart from other family . . . and some might argue that perhaps the fact that he was allowed to be buried there at all in the same cemetery with other officers may indicate some movement in that direction. Perhaps. But it seems to me, especially 74 years after the fact, that in a nation that declares that all people are created equal, and in a region that is supposed to be known for it’s “southern hospitality” and is considered to be part of “the Bible belt,” this is a rather emaciated kind of recognition at best. It is indeed sad if this represents the best we could do.

I have wondered about Ralph Ledbetter, the way his life was commemorated, and the implications of all of that, a lot since then. What I have wondered about even more are those who buried him. Not his family or friends, if indeed there were any living at the end of his 98 years, but the larger community that helped create and sustain the context in which this kind of statement could be made and accepted. What is it that can become so deeply rooted in us, that almost a whole lifetime later, such blind spots as these can still exist?

A lot of years have passed since 1939 when Ralph Ledbetter was buried. We have come a long way since then in terms of the issues that are reflected in his epitaph, although there is still a ways to go even on that road, even in this country, even yet. But the ripple effects of what is reflected here continue to be felt in many other contexts and with many other issues. What I find myself wondering about in the wake of this are things like:

Where the blind spots in my own life might be that would allow me to place a lower value or estimate on any person or group of people, that might result in my feeling justified in designating them as deserving less than I would ask for for myself? .
What the forces in my life might be that would motivate me to make, or feel justified in making, these kinds of judgments about people? Fear? Insecurity? Personal or economic advantage? A perceived threat from what someone thinks or believes? Ignorance? .
Are there places in my life where I am willing to apply a different set of rules, values, or standards when dealing with some than with others? (On a national level, the question often raised is, do those who are not "us" deserve to be treated as well, with all the same rights and dignity, that we would insist on for ourselves, or do we ignore or own values when it appears to be in our interest to do so?) The question here is, are there ways in which this also can happen on a personal level? .
What cautions, insights, or bits of wisdom do we find as we reflect on the experience of the early church in places like Acts 10 & 11 where even committed followers of Jesus still struggled with their own cultural and theological issues that had so long resulted in the division of their world between Jews and Gentiles? As we watch the Spirit addressing the issues there, what insights do we get about how the Spirit may be speaking to us today?

I wonder if Ralph Ledbetter ever anticipated the impact he might have?

In case you're interested - to see better pictures of the cemetery referenced above click here

Fatherhood

2008-06-12T12:36:00.000-07:00

Fatherhood

It is probably just a coincidence that, as I write this, Father's day is just about upon us. And to be honest, I hadn't really planned on exploring the topic much here, as a part of this blog, at this moment, not because it wouldn't be a fun thing to do, it just hadn't occurred to me (though if you want to read some great reflections on the journey of fatherhood, you should check out Mike Bennie's blog, "Who's Your Daddy").

Never-the-less, for the last week or so, I have found my mind wandering back to a relatively short but rich conversation that took place for just a few minutes between church services with a new father. It was with evident joy that he was sharing with me just a little of what it meant for him to welcome another little girl into their home. While there is nothing particularly unusual about the excitement of sharing the good news about the arrival of a new life into the world, this conversation was unique in a number of ways.

For one thing, after many long years of struggle with paperwork and red tape, this was now the second time that they had been successful in adopting a child. I don't know when I have seen any parent happier, more excited or proud. In fact, he could hardly restrain himself from talking to anyone who would listen about what it meant for him to be a father once again, with a kind of authenticity and genuine delight that could not help but overflow and sweep you along with it!

But aside from the genuine joy of those first moments of parenthood, which can be pretty heady stuff in itself, there was something more here. This is a father whose own story had been one of a man who for a significant number of years had lost his way, but who, with the help of a twelve step group and some other significant people, had experienced truly amazing grace and healing. So much so, that he now lives with such an awareness of God's love and graciousness, that he can hardly contain it, or keep it from spilling over into every aspect of his life.

As we talked, it was with tears welling up in his eyes, that he spoke about what it meant for him, in response to the incredible graciousness that he had experienced from God, to be able to take in little ones who otherwise would have had no home, into his, and make them a part of his family. He felt that he had experienced so much rich and genuine love from God, he simply could not imagine doing anything else. I wish I could find the words to express the depth and genuineness of what was shared . . . All of which was moving enough on its own, but there was more.

As we talked, he shared yet one more longing in his heart. He wants to adopt at least one more child (perhaps more, but at least one), but this time not toddler, but a junior high or high school child. Understanding how much more difficult it is for older children, particularly those who have gotten a difficult start in life and may have issues to resolve, to find good homes. He spoke of how devastating it must be for them when they don't, and yet how joyful it must be when a good placement is made . . . and the knowledge that the only thing that stands in the way of that happening is people who are willing to take them in. He knows the cost. He knows the challenge. But he also knows what his heart is prompting him to do, and that his head is exciting about following. Perhaps more importantly, he has a strong sense of God's heart. And because he lives in such a consciousness of God's graciousness and blessing, seeing the huge need, and knowing that he not only has the opportunity and ability to do this, but also the desire, he simply can't image doing anything else.

I walk away from that conversation enriched, challenged, and grateful. Not only for an amazing glimpse into the heart of a genuinely loving father, but also for the rich testimony of a life transformed by grace. This father has found himself so embraced by the love and graciousness of God as his Father, that he simply cannot contain it all. It is almost as if he can't really help but let it flow out to others. And It is not that he is unaware of the challenges to be faced, hard work to be done, tears along with with moments of joy to anticipate - parenting, as anyone knows who has taken up the mantle is not for the faint of heart. But there is a sense of something more here, which for him, makes this whole journey, with all of its challenges and moments of exhaustion, like flying a kite on a breezy day.

Living in a vivid awareness of grace. Allowing that to change us.

In the midst of all of this, I find myself thinking about the Father Who is the model for this father's love, and my own need to live more in awareness of that Father's parenting, both for it's own sake (or for His own sake), and so, perhaps, in some way, I might find myself parenting more consistently out of that overflow as well.

And so, as an expression of a few intentional steps in that direction, I have taken Henri Nouwen's book, The Return of The Prodigal Son, down from it's place on my shelf, and am looking forward to exploring those images more intentionally once again, grateful for the glimpses of grace which surround us.

Happy Father's Day!

Immigration

2008-06-04T06:56:00.000-07:00

Immigration

Visiting Ellis Island last summer with my family provided an opportunity to reflect on what it must have been like to find oneself as a stranger in a strange land, as I walked the halls where so many people had hopefully and fearfully gathered, waiting to be "processed." To be sure, for many, the most immediate issues that outweighed all others were simply those of survival. If you were even allowed into the country, would you be able to get established and "make it"? For those who did, there would be other questions to wrestle with. What were the things that mattered most, that were the core of who you were as a person, that you would cling to, cherish and preserve as you entered this new country? What were the non-negotiables? What would you leave behind as you adapted to your new surroundings and became part of a new community?

Still thinking a bit about the "patriotism" post, I was struck again this week by the way scripture describes the experience of God's people as strangers and aliens (immigrants) in this world with their primary citizenship in another place. In spite of the cultural forces that seek to diminish and suppress other senses of identity (the "become just like us or go home" kind of mentality), Christians, like immigrants, are given the unique task of becoming fully engaged citizens in the world in which they live, while yet preserving, maintaining, and primarily living out of, an identity that is from elsewhere. While Jesus proclaimed that the Kingdom of God had arrived and is indeed among us (as the hymn proclaims, "This is My Father's world"), He was also clear that it was not "of" this world -- a paradox that can leave immigrants feeling very much "a part of things" at one moment, and yet somewhat alone and not really understood the next. For children of immigrants who are born in a new country, and who are raised with the interesting mix of values and perspectives that come both from what has been preserved and newly embraced, the task of sorting may feel different on some levels, but is no less complex.

The context in which I was in touch with my "inner immigrant" this week came in the middle of a conversation with other pastors about, of all things, how finances are allocated in the organizational structure of which our church is a part. As people talked about where cuts could be made in order to be sure the things that mattered the most were properly financed, I was struck by the kinds of things that were considered to be peripheral or somewhat optional (or at least not central), and the things that were not (say a 2-3% cost of living increase). Where I most experienced my "immigrant moment" as someone suggested that one those items to consider that could be cut, along with things like excess postage and printing costs, were a series of retreat experiences that have become known as "The Journey." (This was actually more of a passing comment that a direct proposal, and I mention it mainly because of the thought process it initiated in me, rather than because it was in itself a position being advocated)

(By way of explanation, for those who don't know what "The Journey" refers to -- it is a series of retreats which focus on providing time and space for pastors to intentionally attend to their own spiritual life and how that is expressed in ministry. For further comments on the significance of this process, check out this link (you will need to download it to view the PDF file). . . in fact, you will probably not understand why I found this significant without reading the short articles the link will take you to). What struck such an unusually odd chord in me, was that one of the major (and relativley inexpensive ways) that our church structure intentionally provides resources that directly support the essiential core of what ministry is all about was, at least momentarily in the course of conversation, in the same bin with excess postage.

It felt for a moment somewhat like what I imagine it might be like for an immigrant standing on the shores of a strange land. And, aside from (well, maybe also because of) my personal connection with and investment in the Journey process and what it represents, (again with the caveat that no one was speaking against it here), what struck me was how easily various cultural and ecconomic forces can order and direct our thoughts, energy, focus and resources. In varying degrees of contrast, Immigrants sometimes find themselves ordering things in ways that don't seem to be fully congruent with, or understood by, the conventional wisdom of the culture they are immersed in.

Actually my point in all of this really doesn't have much to do with the particulars of the conversation that stimulated my reflections, but rather has more to do with how it reminded me that, even in the midst of religious vocations (pastors are far from immune to this), the way we order things matters, and does in fact have more far reaching implications that we sometimes appreciate. All of which brought to mind this quote from Eugene Peterson's book Under The Unpredictable Plant:

Spiritual leadership vocations in America are badly undercapitalized . . . The conditions in which we must acquire a spirituality for our vocation -- an interior adequate to the exterior -- are, it must be admitted, not friendly. Our vocations are bounded on one side by consumer appetites, on the other by a marketing mind-set. Pastoral vocation is interpreted from the congregational side as the work of meeting people's religious needs on demand at the best possible price and from the clerical side as satisfying those same needs quickly and efficiently. These conditions quickly reduce the pastoral vocation to religious economics, pull it into relentless competitiveness, and deliver it into the hand of public relations and marketing experts.
It is no more difficult to pursue the pastoral vocation than any other. Vocations in homemaking, science, agriculture, education, and business when embraced with bibilically informed commitments are likewise demanding and require an equivalent spirituality. But each requires its own specific attention. What is essential for pastors is that we focus on our particular "pestilence that stalks at noonday." In our eagerness to be sympathetic to others and meet their needs, to equip them with a spirituality adequate to their discipleship, we must not fail to take with full seriousness our [own] . . . page 3-4

It is remarkably easy to not keep what should be central, central . . . to take for granted what needs faithful intentionality . . . to be seduced by our culture into shifting our focus . . . to make room for Baal next to Yahweh . . . and to not even be aware when we do this . .. which should keep us both humble and gracious.

There are also those moments of clarity, even when walking through the structures we have built to house this thing we call church, that I feel like I have arrived on the shores of a strange land . . .where I may indeed have a place and a purpose . . . and where I may enjoy many new and old, rich and meaningful, relationships . . . but still, for lots of reasons (some more positive than others) I can still feel quite out of place. This keeps us yearning for what is yet to come, and helps motivate us to continue to work towards realizing it more fully now.

Strangers, aliens, immigrants . . . Interesting metaphors scripture uses to seek to capture the experience of what it is like, trying to live the life of the Kingdom while still being fully engaged in the life of our world.

Patriotism

2008-05-29T22:54:00.000-07:00

Patriotism

I have been wondering about this a lot lately. Actually, I've been wondering about it for a very long time, but perhaps even more so in the last couple of years. Several times I have considered pursuing this a bit in this blog, and then in the end decided not to. But with Memorial Day weekend just behind us, I find myself thinking about it again . . . and I want to try to be responsive to what God seems to be surfacing in my journey. Maybe it's an unconscious or subtle form of a death wish.

"Patriotism," according to Webster is, "love and loyal or zealous support of one's own country, especially in all matters involving other countries; nationalism." It's a word that comes up a lot these days in the political dialog that dominates so much of our news coverage.

To be honest, at least the way the word is generally being used, it tends to elicit more in the way of reaction than reflection. So much so, that even the suggestion that we probe the meaning of the word will, in some quarters, at best, set off a strong reaction that may result in an avalanche of stories of people in the armed services making great sacrifices for which we are not nearly as grateful as we should be (which of course is true enough in itself) . . . and on the more "at worst" end of the spectrum, the sense that even the act of raising questions is itself an "unpatriotic" act. It's touchy territory, and like the proverbial elephant in the room, it often seems to be best left alone, whether or not it is housebroken.

So then, with discretion being the better part of valor, this is probably a good place to stop. But if I were to pursue this further, some of the questions I might be led to ponder would be:

What does patriotism look like for a Christian? Or to break the question down further, to what extent is nationalism an appropriate posture for a Christian to take? When two countries are in disagreement with each other, should the Christians in one country side against the Christians in the other country for nationalistic reasons, or should they seek unity on a deeper level, assuming that the things that unite them are greater than the things that divide them? When the issues involved are more about control, comfort, convenience or even political perspective, should they take sides, or even arms, against each other? Would refusing to do so, and insisting on working together to find other solutions instead, be unpatriotic?
When Christians reflect on those passages of scripture that remind us that our primary citizenship is in heaven, and that Christians are strangers, or aliens (perhaps even immigrants) in this world, does this imply that being a patriot as a Christian means being loyal or zealous in support of the principles of God's Kingdom (or government, if you want to use a more contemporary term)?
Given the qualities taught and embodied by Jesus in regard to what Kingdom life is all about, what does Christian patriotism look like from this perspective? Given the clear thrust of the gospel that insists on dissolving the dividing lines of economic status, gender, race and nation, would participating in efforts that work to make these divisions even more sharp actually be unpatriotic acts from the standpoint of God's Kingdom? Is it possible to find one's national patriotism in conflict, or even in direct opposition to, the patriotism of God's Kingdom? What are the implications of this?
If we make reference to Romans 13 in justification of Christians supporting the actions of their country during times of conflict (sometimes taking the form of slogans like "My Country Right or Wrong" or "My Country, Love it or Leave it"), what do you say to those who live in the country on the other side of the conflict who also might make reference to Romans 13?
Is it possible, from a Christian perspective, to love, be loyal to, be supportive of one's country and what it stands for . . . and yet be opposed to actions taken by that country that seem to be in opposition to the core values that the love, loyalty and support are rooted in? Is it more patriotic to go along with what one to believes undermines these things for the sake of safety, profit or even survival . . . or to be willing to stand in opposition to these things, even if it means vulnerability, sacrifice or loss?

What seems so odd, disconcerting, even frightening to me, is the extent to which these kinds of questions seem to have gone, not only unconsidered by many in the Christian community today, but also the extent to which they are unwelcome. If I were to ask questions, this would lead me to these additional ones:

How does this happen among those who have rejected a way of life based on Rome's vision of the power of the cross in favor of Jesus' vision of the power of the cross?
Are the ideas of generosity, grace, loving one's enemies, Jesus' teaching in the Sermon on the Mount, etc. simply fluffy hyperbole unsuitable for the real world, or were they intended to be taken seriously, even if doing so means taking up one's cross and following?
Is it possible for my love for, and pride in, my own country to be expressed in a way that allows others to have the same sentiments for theirs, and for these to be equally respected? It is possible for my sense of specialness and choseness not to override or negate someone else's sense of the same?
Is it possible for political ideology to make us blind or deaf to the voice of the Spirit? Is it possible to be open enough to the voice of the Spirit for our political ideologies to be critiqued?

Those are among the questions I would ask if I were to pursue the topic of patriotism, and what that means for those who seek to follow Jesus. Meantime, the elephant* does take up an enormous amount of space, and sometimes is a bit rough on the furniture (not to mention those we share our homes with).

Considering these questions brought to mind an old song by Ken Medema, . If you are wanting to ponder how love for God and country can go together, going to this link is not a bad place to start:

One Christian group that does ponder questions like this is Sojourners
Another interesting idea is the Global Marshall Plan proposed by Tikkun

(*incidently, the "elephant" in question is simply the proverbial one, not one that is meant to designate any political entity. If you would rather have a donkey in the room, or some other animal, it's fine with me)

The Applause of God

2008-05-22T22:27:00.001-07:00

The Applause of God

Between the pace at which we live and the number of things which clutter our lives, it can be quite challenging to set aside and protect time and space in which we can enter into quieter, more renewing rhythms. In an attempt to encourage people to do just that, our church has set aside 30 minutes each Wednesday evening from 7:00 to 7:30 which we call "Time & Space." Those who come, gather together in a quiet, candlelit room. The first few minutes are an opportunity to shift gears, listen to a little music, and if it is helpful, jot down a list of the various things that are on your mind, so you can set them aside for the next few minutes and not have to worry that you are going to forget something. Following this, we reflect together on the passage of scripture that was central to the sermon from the previous Sabbath (or one closely related to it). We read it aloud three times, first simply to listen to the story and notice what draws our attention. The second time, to be aware of what the passage stirs in us, or as someone has said, "to allow the text to read us." The final time, we listen for what this passage may be inviting us to do in response to what we have heard. Some journal during this time. Others might fashion a piece of clay. Some share a little of what they have heard in the passage. Others simply enjoy being silent.

However, It looked like this last week was going to be different. As we arrived to what is usually a softly lit room with reflective music playing in the background, this time other less tranquil sounds were intruding into the time and space in ways that somewhat overpowered the usual atmosphere.

Not far away in another part of the church facility a sports awards banquet was going on, with all of the cheering, applause and accompanying sounds that one might expect at such an event. Don't misunderstand, it was a great event in itself, and perfectly appropriate (no complaints here), but it was also one that I assumed was going to make it difficult for us to do what we had gathered for.

And so, as we listened together to music and the reading of scripture, taking quiet moments to prayerfully reflect on both, we did so in the midst of the seemingly dissonant punctuations of cheering and applause. So, it was with somewhat of sense of resignation, that I went ahead anyway and led the small group through the evening exercise, finally coming to the end where people have an opportunity, if they wish, to share a little of what had surfaced for them.

Given all that was going on around us, I was not anticipating much when one young woman began to share. She began by talking about how the scripture we had read seemed to fit with much of what she had been experiencing over the past couple of weeks. She spoke of her struggle to make some difficult but healthy choices in areas of her life that were in need of healing. While she knew she was doing the right thing, it was hard because there was so little affirmation or understanding in the midst of the troubled relationships she was dealing with. In fact, there was much that was the opposite. She then went on to say that, as she was thinking and praying about all this, feeling isolated and sad about all that was happening, the sounds of applause and cheering kept inserting themselves into her train of thought, until it finally began to dawn upon her that, perhaps, was what God was trying to communicate to her. She began to sense that in the midst of all she was struggling with in her attempts to do the right thing, God was applauding and cheering for her! It was as if God was applauding through the tears He shared with her, and cheering her on!

I don't know if I was more moved by the depth of what had come into focus for her, or my surprise at God's amazing ability to speak powerfully through the very thing that seemed to me to be drowning out His voice. It was one of those moments when you sensed it was time to take your shoes off, because you were standing on holy ground.

And you know, I wonder if it was not with just a bit of a twinkle in God's eye, and perhaps a bit of a smile that, to a group of people who were trying to listen for the still small voice, God decided to surprise them by breaking out with a cheer and applause. You have to love a God like that!

Not only did I leave that evening awed by the way that God shows up at times in ways that we least expect with exactly what we need, but also with the rich image of a God Who cheers and applauds for us. I'm not sure many of us live in that kind of realization too much of the time.

All of this brought back to mind a section from Max Lucado's book, The Applause of Heaven, where he comments on what had happened when his editor, Carol, was reading a portion of the manuscript out loud to some of those working on the book,

. . . She read a portion of the book that describes our final journey into the city of God. She read some thoughts I wrote about God's hunger to have His children home, about how he longs to welcome us and may even applaud when we enter the gates.
After Carol read this section, she noticed one of the men was brushing away a tear. He explained his emotion by saying, "It's hard for me to imagine God applauding for me."
Can you relate?
I can. Certain things about God are easy to imagine. I can imagine him creating the world and suspending the stars. I can envision him as almighty, all-powerful, and in control. I can fathom a God who knows me, who made me, and I can even fathom a God who hears me. But . . . A God who cheers for me? (pages xiii-xiv).

God graced us with such a glimpse that evening.

Let Not Your Heart Be Troubled

2008-05-16T08:13:00.000-07:00

Let Not Your Hearts Be Troubled . . .
Easier said than done?

(I'm not sure why this has been on my mind this past week, but one of the advantages (?) of a blog is that it gives it somewhere to go)

What is so ironic about these words of Jesus from John 14, those like them in the Sermon on the Mount, and the similar refrain that is echoed in the writings of those who followed Him,

"Do not be anxious about anything . . ." (Philippians 4) . . . "For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith -- and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God -- not by works, so that no one can boast" (Ephesians 2), etc.,

is that while we believe them to be true, we often find it difficult to live as though they were. As odd as it sounds, it would seem that a troubled heart is sometimes a difficult thing to relinquish. For all the discomfort it generates, anxiety sort of works for us . . . or at least we sometimes think it does . . . and at times, we have a hard time letting it go.

Maybe one of the reasons we like to hang on to it, is that it is such an effective motivator. When we are worried that we may not have enough, anxiety can drive us to seek ways to acquire more or protect what we have. When we feel insecure, or sense that our performance is not being evaluated favorably, anxiety pushes us to work harder, to produce more, to appease the gods. An administrator once told me that they discovered if they could keep those who work for them just a little off balance, the low grade anxiety would kept them more compliant and productive. And what parent has not discovered that anxiety can be a powerful tool in shaping behavior, at least for the short term? Some (pointing as evidence to the lives of those who claim to be saved by grace, and yet live far from exemplary lives) fear that without anxiety, people will not be motivated to do the right thing. Certainly, there is no question that anxiety gets results. There is however, plenty to question in the actual results it gets and the dividends it pays.

But perhaps even more sobering is the capacity anxiety has for distorting our responses. In the events that followed 911, we saw how anxiety arose and was exploited, when ideas and practices which under any other set of circumstances we would have rejected, once they were wrapped in the flag and labeled an expression of patriotism, became acceptable to a surprising number of people.

But in less obvious or dramatic ways, where we most often engage in patterns of living that are more rooted in anxiety than grace, are on those more subtle levels where it comes in under the radar. There it either remains undetected, or if detected, not only does not raise much of an alarm, but may even be seen as necessary. I recently heard the leader of an organization that serves Christian youth comment on the lives of those who served as role models for the young people they were leading. They said, that even though you could argue that the loads they were carrying and the lifestyles they were modeling were unhealthy, you just have to understand that that is the way is has to be. In this case, anxiety over competitive market forces was overriding the realization that what we model is what we most effectively pass on to those we are leading. Often times, whatever cards we may be holding in our hands, anxiety is trump.

So, part of what what makes anxiety based patterns so difficult to part with is the perception that they work. And yet, the kind of motivation it provides, whether with the intensity of an amphetamine, or something in a more subtle caffeine-like form, despite the illusion that is created (which actually undermines the very thing it tries to mimic) . . . when it comes to the quality of life that Jesus invites us to embrace, anxiety is no more effective than are stimulants in promoting good health.

In contrast, the life that Jesus offers finds its center not in reacting to anxiety but in responding to grace. While it may be described as a narrow, less frequently traveled path, it is so, not because it is inaccessible or exclusive, but because it seems so counterintuitive to us to let go of the wider anxiety embracing path. What Jesus invites us to enter, however, is a life that moves with different rhythms. Among other things,

This path takes shape around the realization that all of life, from Creation to Redemption is a gift from God, that it is ours for the receiving, and nothing but our refusal to accept it can separate us from it..
It is a path that is directed more by the signposts of generosity than the bill boards of consumption. People on this path are less concerned about whether or not others might have more of something than they do, which in turn frees them to be more concerned about those who are in need, and be willing to do something about it.
Similarly, it's a path on which, because I am not preoccupied with whether or not I meet the qualifications or am still accepted, from that sense of assurance, I am now free to expend my mental and emotional energies in loving and caring for others.
What's more, it is a path on which I can find peace. Whether I have little or much, I can live with a sense of abundance rather than scarcity. I can do this because I know that even if I suffer, I do so not as someone who is abandoned and has no hope, but as a child of God, who knows that God is with me in my suffering. This allows me to live generously with the interests of others at least equal to my own, rather than protectively out of concern for my own self interest.
And as a result, it is a way of life that, as time goes on, is characterized more and more by the fruit of the Spirit rather than the concerns of the anxious.

For me, what I regard as my conversion experience, occurred at the moment when I first tasted the difference, and everything changed. As a teenager who had become interested in the church, and who had read enough religious material over the course of many months to have significantly raised my anxiety level in regard to whether or not God found me acceptable, the realization of grace was profound beyond words. I still remember the moment, some 35 years or so ago, when, while laying on my bed reading from a little book called Steps to Christ, that it hit me with clarity for the first time --personally, unexpectedly, profoundly, and wonderfully. I don't know exactly how to describe the sense of peace that seemed to take hold of me at that moment, but a huge part of what happened was that the motivation of anxiety gave way to something far more powerful and freeing, that of grace.

Since then, things have not always been as clear as they were at that moment. What I have learned along the way, is that continuing to live in the realization of that discovery is somewhat like walking along the top of a straight but narrow wall (Although the wall is also wide enough to provide as much space as you would ever need to do what you would ever want to do in life [metaphors are not perfect]). The view is great. The experience is both exhilarating and freeing. The journey is rewarding. The problem is keeping one's balance. Side winds or other forces beyond our control, obstructions or distractions from within or without, moments when we lose our bearings, and/or fear that the wall itself might just be something we imagined -- all these can crop up at times and in combinations that throw us off balance, and we slip out of gracious and into anxious patterns.

What is also becoming more and more clear to me over time, it that it is at moments like those that I need to be intentional about a couple of things.

One is, as cliche as it may sound, is taking God's outstretched hand, either to regain my balance so that I don't fall, or to help me back up on the wall when I do. (Chances are good that I lost my balance in the first place because I let go, perhaps because I had become more tunned into the messages of the "gods" than to the voice of God)
The second is keeping my eyes focused ahead of me on Jesus, and on the full realization of God's Kingdom and what that is all about. It is when I am, in self interest, looking down at my own feet, or focusing my attention on kingdoms that operate according to different agendas, that I am more likely to lose my balance or simply step off the wall.

But, analogies aside (for whatever they may be worth), more and more I am realizing the need to be more aware of the underlying patterns are that I am living out of, and which are directing my life. I need to be intentional about asking myself:

Do I tend to live responsively out of a sense of grace and abundance, or reactively out of a sense of scarcity and anxiety?

Where are patterns of grace flourishing the most, and how can I be intentional about nurturing those?

Where have more anxiety driven patterns taken root, and am I willing to allow God the space and time necessary in the midst of my "own agendas" so I can listen better and allow God to root them out?

. . . Those are the questions I'm asking these days.

2008-05-13T06:33:00.000-07:00

Technical Note:

I have made a slight change in the title of the blog, from "Footnotes" to "KensFootnotes." Why would I do this? Actually I like the old title better. But the reason is simply to make it easier for people who would like to find it to do so. Now instead of having to remember the blogger address, all you have to do is enter "kensfootnotes.com" into your browser, and it will take you there. Do not put the "www.", in front of the name, just "kensfootnotes.com" or if you wish http://kensfootnotes.com - most browsers assume the http:// and will take you there even if you don't enter it, but if it doesn't work, you can put it in. (The domain name "Footnotes.com" was already taken, and that is the reason for the change).

Of course, if you have already bookmarked it the other way, or for some other reason would rather use the blogger address, that will still work. In fact, that is the address that will appear at the top of the page when you reach it still.

It's Time Again

2008-05-11T11:11:00.002-07:00

It's Time Again

While it was not my intent to pursue the issue of time in a second consecutive post, since then, it has felt like the issue of time has been pursuing me. At least my awareness has been heightened a bit.

They day after my last post, I was sitting in a meeting with various representatives from the Adventist churches in our area, who had gathered to listen to denominational leaders share reports on progress that had been made over the past several years and possible directions for the future, and where the various representatives could give feedback and suggestions to the church administrators. It was during the meeting that the issue of time surfaced again in two ways that caught my attention.

The first was in a somewhat less than helpful comment, made in response to a report about budget constraints and how that impacts the way in which pastors are allocated to churches. The comment was, that from what they had observed, what pastors do should only take about 20 hours or so a week, and therefore most pastors could be assigned two churches. This would cut down on the total number of pastors needed and make sure that each church had a pastor assigned to them.

What was troubling (and frankly a bit disheartening) about that comment, was not so much the suggestion that pastors could or should be assigned to more than one church (which is a fairly common practice in many places), but rather in what appeared to be the assumptions that were behind the suggestion about how time was, or should be used. The comment was that 20 hours was all that was really needed to get a sermon ready and take care of the few other details that might come up. Weddings, funerals, and other extras like that, it was suggested, could be taken care of by people working at the conference office. Apparently, all the other things that pastors might be involved in during the week were either not known, or not deemed to be significant to this person's version of the "bottom line." What this perspective simply did not account for were those aspects of the pastoring that are not visible by large numbers of people and which are largely relational. And, as tempting as it might be to elaborate further on how wide of the mark these comments fell in terms of understanding pastoral ministry, what struck me were the assumptions made about the kinds of things that time should be invested in, and by implication, what things were considered less important.

A second comment that caught my attention was not made at a microphone, and simply had to do with the agenda for the evening meeting. Someone sitting nearby suggested that we could get down to business more quickly and efficiently if we cut out the devotional, particularly because lay people are busy and don't have time for this. The sentiment was understandable, particularly in a context where for many this meeting may have felt like one more thing being added to the end of an already busy day, and who were hoping to get home at a decent hour. And yet, as I pondered this a bit, I wondered if this too revealed some conscious or unconscious assumptions about what constitutes a good productive use of time, and what does not . . . and of course that productive, efficient uses of time (here measured by getting through the items of business on the agenda as quickly as possible) are "better."

While both comments were more different than alike in most ways, what struck me was that the one thing they shared was the way they seem to have been shaped by assumptions about time that have impacted and found a place to root in our lives, and which in many ways keep us stuck. I began to wonder if, more than we realize, the categories of efficiency and productivity, especially when understood in the context of visible, measurable outcomes, have become the default settings in how we tend to assign value to things, people or activities. It's not that there is anything wrong with asking whether or not we are making good use of our time, but rather that I'm not sure we always fully realize what it is that is shaping the way we decide what "good" use is.

What if those 20 hours of sermon preparation and those few other things that one person might observe a pastor "doing" (setting aside for the moment the very narrow and limited scope of the observation itself) were, when it comes to what God is really doing in the lives of the people in a particular congregation, not the most important things a pastor does each week? What implications would that have for the allocation of pastors, and how time might be best used?

What if people representing various churches who gather together for the purpose of evaluating and fine tuning denominational machinery, as important as that is, saw that task, while necessary, as secondary to the need to pause and remind themselves about who they are, why they gather together in the first place, and what they are really about? What if devotional time provided an opportunity to do just that? How might that impact the way the rest of the agenda was processed? Is it possible that what we really don't have time for are agendas that are processed without this? Of course that might mean that we give as much time and attention to preparing the devotional as we do the agenda.

What might it mean in countless other settings if we were to admit, affirm, give permission for, and be intentional about, the relational non-measurable aspects of our lives as actually being of equal or greater significance than the things we can produce and measure? What if we actually had the courage to live that way? What if it was more than conceding the point, and actually changing how we live? I am convinced that most of us "get this" in our heads, but have a hard time living it out, because there are so few places in our world that encourage this, and a great many things that reinforce the opposite. We may know "the truth," but we sense that we may be evaluated by those who either do not, or make their decisions as if they did not.

One of the things I have so much enjoyed about having a treadmill at home, is the freedom to exercise daily without concern about weather, and at those odd times when my schedule allows for it, particularly when running outside would be problematic. But the truth is, that aside from the issues of weather or darkness, it also frees me from the watchful eyes of those who see one of their pastors running, say between 2:00 and 3:00 in the afternoon, and immediately assume that he is not working. It doesn't matter that by 2:00 I may already have been working for about 7 or 8 hours that day, or that there may be another 3 to 5 hours that follow. It doesn't even matter that I may not pay much attention to that kind of an evaluation anyway. But simply living in the midst of a community of people who actually might slip into that way of thinking, at least now and then, does have some impact, even if small - which is why those thoughts don't cross my mind at 2:00 when I am on the treadmill, and they might at 2:00 jogging through my neighborhood. While seemingly insignificant in and of itself, the cumulative impact of lots of little messages scattered all around us, and coming at us from all sorts of different directions, may on subtle levels influence us more than we might realize.

All of which reminds me again of the importance of being more intentional about being intentional about how I use my time. Not so I can produce more, but perhaps so I can be more present to the moment, to the people around me, and maybe even to the God Who speaks much more clearly when I have made room for those moments in life when I am free to listen without any agenda beyond simply being there. It is somewhat ironic that in order to do this, I may have to plan into my agenda, time and space to set my agenda aside.

It is also somewhat unrealistic to think I will be as successful as I might be, if I do not also intentionally put myself in those places and among those people who help to reinforce a different way of thinking about and experiencing time. Being together in community with like minded people matters. A friend of mine was telling me just this last week, that when they joined a health club, they found that when they went with a friend (in this case their spouse) not only did their regular attendance improve, but they experienced the benefits to a much greater degree than when they were trying to do this on their own. Regular time set aside . . . the encouragement and accountability of sharing with a friend . . . a fuller richer life . . . makes good sense when you think about . . . and makes much more when you actually do it.

Time on My Hands

2008-05-07T22:30:00.000-07:00

Time on My Hands

Not long ago, someone who had just noticed the first couple of posts on this blog, commented to me, "Hey, I saw your blog." "Oh really?" I responded. "Yeah," he said, "And my first thought was, 'This guy has way too much time on his hands.'"

Although the comment was (I think) intended to be somewhat "tongue in cheek," it brought to mind a number of the often subtle (but sometimes not so subtle) assumptions about time and how it should best be used that have become deeply ingrained in the lifestyles of many, maybe most, of the people I know. Among these are:

Busyness is a virtue. We have this love/hate relationship with being busy. As Wayne Muller so insightfully points out in his book Sabbath,
". . . I am so busy. We say this to one another with no small degree of pride, as if our exhaustion were a trophy, our ability to withstand stress a mark of real character. The busier we are, the more important we seem to ourselves and, we imagine, to others. To be unavailable to our friends and family, to be unable to find time for the sunset (or even to know that the sun has set at all), too whiz through our obligations without time for a single, mindful breath, this has become the model of a successful life."(Page 2-3).
Productivity is the point. That's not to say that productivity is not a point, simply that it is not the point, and certainly not the most important point. My good friend Clarence Schilt often spoke of how, when talking with people during those last hours of their life, what he never heard them say was, "I wish I had been away from home more, had acquired more stuff, or been busier." The issues were most often relational ones.
You are what you do. This is the subtle assumption that often lies behind one of the first questions we ask people when we are becoming acquainted, "So, what do you do?" Rarely do we ask about significant people in their lives, or the things that give their lives depth and meaning. As a result we tend to define people, primarily, in terms of their profession rather than their person. This may seem harmless enough at first, except that once our core identity begins to shift in that direction, there is often a tendency to begin to measure our significance not so much in terms of who we are, but how well we seem to be performing, producing, or meeting the expectations of the role or vocation we find ourselves in. From there, it is a small step to assigning value based on outcomes, and before we know what has happened, something that was once a gracious expression of who we are, becomes an anxious reflection of trying to be good enough. And so we become busy. (Have you seen the bumper sticker, "Jesus is coming soon - look busy!"?). This, by the way, is why Sabbath (one day a week where those distinctions are laid aside in celebration of a different kind of identity that is based on the realization that God is the Creator, and we are not) is such an important gift to our world.
Faster is better. Those of us who have lived through a significant segment of the evolution of computer technology, can still remember when waiting a minute or two for a program to process a request or a document to print seemed remarkably fast . . . and so can still appreciate the irony in the feelings of impatience that can arise when when a web page takes more than a second or two to load. What is increasingly unnerving to me, is the realization that the generations that follow mine no longer feel the irony - fast and faster is what they expect, and is the only reality they know. Again, the trouble is not so much that computers are fast and productive, but that this way of thinking about time, like a slow (ironically) acting poison, bleeds into the relational aspects of life. Meaningful, enduring relationships are neither fast or efficient, and when we yield to the steady, subtle pressure of our culture to think of them in those terms, we can find ourselves thinking of or relating to people as objects to be managed rather than people to come to know.

There is of course much more that could be said about the phenomena of the collapse of space and time that is taking place in our world today, and the implications it has for our relationships with each other and our spiritual lives. (In fact, as a part of his doctoral work, Paul Jensen [one of the founders of The Leadership Instititue {http://tli.cc/}] has done some very insightful work on this topic that is worth checking into). But what is so insidious about it, is the way in which the changes that it brings about come in under the radar for most of us. In all kinds of obvious and subtle ways (of which the comments of my friend are only one example), like a slow and steady dripping faucet, a more relational experience of time is slowly eroded away to be replaced with something faster, more efficient, more productive, and less meaningful.

One of the things that spiritual practices like Sabbath keeping, hospitality, honoring the body, prayer, meditation, journaling, gathering together as families or in larger communities, etc. have in common is their commitment to being intentional about setting aside and protecting relational space and time so we can better resist the forces that can so easily change our trajectories, or capture us in their orbits. "Way too much time on our hands" may be exactly what we need.

2008-05-02T10:04:00.000-07:00

A Tale of Two Retreats

As tempting as it is to begin with, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, “ I will forego the temptation, largely because the times were mostly good. They were, however, unique, which I probably felt a bit more this year because they happened back to back.

The first was our annual church retreat at Pine Springs Ranch where a large segment of our church family gathers for a weekend which is noted for being stuffed full of speakers, music, and things to do together. Full is the operative word here. Not one featured speaker, but at least two. Many guest musicians. And that is just the main adult programing. There are also separate things going on for Youth and Children, and of course, child care. Lots of things to experience and think about. Lots of conversations between events in lodge hallways, or over meals in a cafeteria bursting at the seams, or over ice cream on Saturday night. Some might even skip a meeting here and there to spend a little more time in conversation or go for a walk.

All this I know mostly by hearsay, because the entirety of my weekend is spent immersed in the children’s program, where we spend the weekend exploring the world and issues of the Bible and its people from Creation in year one of the cycle to the Acts of the Apostles in year 7. (This year we were getting acquainted with the people of the exile, Ezekiel, Jeremiah, Nehemiah, Ezra, Daniel, and others as we discovered that when going through tough times, “the Joy of the LORD is my strength.”). Here too the weekend is busy – children re-enacting stories, working on projects, learning and singing songs, playing games, and decorating bags in which they carry with them the things they acquire along the way. All of this taking place with the help of a number of adults who understand that the weekend is not about creating a successful event, but helping kids catch a glimpse of an incredibly gracious God Who loves them.

It is a fun weekend that moves along at a brisk pace. Lot’s of good things to experience, opportunities to connect with people in a beautiful setting, to gain some insights, be challenged, be inspired, to laugh, and just enjoy being together. It is a good example of what Joseph Myers describes in his book Organic Community, as people interact in what he calls public and social space (with a few moments here and there, for some, who may interact in what he calls more personal and intimate space). All of which is, by the way, a normal and a good thing.

But then, just a few hours after the last suitcase and piece of sound equipment is loaded into their respective vehicles to make their way down the hill and back to the life that was momentarily left behind, another group begins to arrive, and a very different kind of retreat begins.

This group is smaller, and the feeling tones less busy and rushed. There are no invited musicians, but there is music and singing. There is no featured speaker to help bolster attendance. In fact most of the people leading out are the same ones who have doing so for many years – trusted, valued mentors . . . or else those among the group themselves who have gathered. This group meets not annually, but three times a year in retreat (some for 15 years or more now), and many in smaller groups from time to time in between retreats.

How does one describe what this retreat looks like? Perhaps you might begin by saying it is less about seeing how much good stuff can be pushed into the available time and space, and more about creating time and space so good stuff can happen.

It begins with an evening of gathering to worship by singing, reflecting on a passage of scripture together, praying, but mostly just being together. In fact, most of the evening is spent in conversation in smaller sub groups as people listen to each other’s stories, catch up on what has been happening in their lives since the last retreat time, and where the growing edges are now.

The next day begins with gathering again for worship and reflection, followed by an extended time, usually 3-5 hours, spent in silence and alone with God. Some find places next to a quiet lake, along a mountain trail, or simply in the quiet of a lodge room. But wherever it is, it is an opportunity to lay other agendas aside and simply be attentive to what God’s agenda might be. Late in the afternoon, and often over dinner, people have the opportunity to talk together in smaller groups about what may have surfaced for them during that time. Later in the evening, people gather again to sing, reflect on scripture, share communion, or simply to pray for each other. Sometimes there is prepared “content” that is shared, other times simply participating together is enough for the evening.

The next day provides an opportunity for continued reflection, more focused study together on an agreed area of interest or focus that helps us think more carefully about how God’s agenda can be implemented in our lives, opportunities for spiritual direction, additional study, or for us to pursue some of our own concerns in the afternoon. The closing evening meeting provides time for further reflection, closure, and considering what the next steps are in my life that I will be taking in response to what has been surfacing over the past couple days. This second retreat takes place in what Myers would describe, not so much as public space, but in more social, personal and intimate spaces. While there are shared similarities with the first kind of retreat mentioned, this way of retreating is different, and is also a healthy and good thing. For many of us, it is also much more rare.

I share these contrasting experiential textures from my week, not for the purpose of arguing for one over the other. In fact, I would not want to give up either (even if there are adjustments that could be made here and there). Both, in some significant ways, represent something important that we would not want to let slip away from us. But there are, I think, some things that emerge in the contrasts that, I at least, find intriguing.

The ministry of Jesus models a rhythm that involves being immersed in both. To use the categories Myers suggests, there were public gatherings at times. Perhaps more often, there were meals shared in social settings, for which He was sometimes criticized (eating with publicans and sinners). But there was also much intentional, personal interaction with people (and especially His disciples), as well as intimate time, which characterized not only how He lived and interacted with people, but which was also the place from which He took His cues and set the agenda for what would happen in those more personal, social and public settings. (You'll have to get Myer's book and read it to catch the full import of those terms)

The first retreat, like the feeding of the 5.000, was exciting, meaningful and memorable. The second, perhaps like the time spent immediately after the feeding of the 5,000, was more reflective, refreshing and transformative.

In the first I found myself stepping up my pace, and walking away feeling good about what we had experienced together. In the second, I found myself slowing and changing my pace, and walking away rested and renewed. (Interestingly, something else I noticed . . . on my way home, I even found myself driving a bit more slowly . . . and attentively . . . with the radio off, and not missed for a moment.)

In the first, I never really break my stride. In the second, I come back, and at least for awhile, find myself walking differently, seeing differently, being different.

I am not suggesting that we give up either, I don't think we should, but I do have a sense of what I am more and more drawn toward.

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

2008-04-29T14:33:00.000-07:00

Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner?

[NOTE: to preserve privacy and anonymity, identifying information may be altered, and I will refer to the person as "she" or "her" simply to make the writing easier, not necessarily to indicate the actual gender of the person.]

When I got the phone call, I had no idea it was me that was coming to dinner. Later that day, when I arrived at the extended care home to visit her, I still did not know. I was going to see an elderly member of our church who, for a variety of reasons, I had not seen for several years. On this morning, however, I learned from a couple who had faithfully stayed in touch with her over the years, that she had been quite ill, that things were not going well for her, and perhaps I should stop by and see her.

Shortly after I arrived, I was directed to the room, only to discover that I had arrived at dinner time. She sat, somewhat awkwardly propped up in her bed, eyes open but not really focused, her care provider feeding her dinner. I greeted her, told her who I was and asked if she remembered me. There was no visible response as she continued to accept food, one spoonful at a time from the nurse at her side. Not really sure what to do next, I heard the nurse saying to me, "Would you like to feed her dinner, then you two can talk awhile?" The question was completely unanticipated, and I heard myself saying, "Sure, that would be great." Apparently assuming I knew what to do, the nurse then left the room.

So it was that I found myself sitting by her beside, spoon in hand, with no clear idea of what I was supposed to do next. What do you say to someone who cannot respond, may not remember who you are, and who may not even know you are there? So I did the only thing I could think of. I took a spoonful of the casserole she was eating, raised it to her mouth and fed it to her, much as I had done with my own children so many years before. She accepted the spoonful, chewed it slowly and waited for another. And so the process went on, one spoonful at a time, as I talked about things I remembered from when she had been involved in church, the sunlight coming through the window, the staff that cared for her there . . . pausing now and then to remind her to swallow, or to carefully wipe lips that had become chapped from many other times of being fed. At the moment, I was literally living from one spoonful to the next, not really knowing what I should do or say.

And so, as she ate, sometimes I would talk, sometimes I would simply be silent (concentrating on the task at hand), mostly we were just there together. It was when the entree was gone, I saw the little tub of vanilla ice cream on the corner of her tray. I informed her my discovery, removed the lid, and as the first spoonful of ice cream slipped into her mouth, although I cannot tell you exactly how she communicated it, I noticed the change. Somehow there was an increased sense of enjoyment, perhaps even delight, and a greater interest in each bite. She could not speak, or even focus in my direction, but she was enjoying the ice cream. It was a satisfying moment for both of us.

And as we sat and shared the time together over dinner, I found myself thinking about how not so many years ago, this same person had been independent, free to move about as she wished, how she had laughed with the young people she so much enjoyed being with, had felt the breeze in her hair and the sunlight on her face. I wondered about what this must be like for her now with her body failing her, and dependent on others for the necessities of life. What did she know? If she could speak, what would she want to say? How was she coping? Was she at peace? Did she know that she was cared for and not alone? What if I were where she was, how would it be for me? What would I most need or want? What would be helpful to me? I did not have clear answers to any of those questions.

Later, as I drove home, I thought about how we struggle with admitting limitations, experiencing dependency, or knowing how to deal with suffering. None of these are things we would chose for ourselves. And as I have continued to think about this in the wake of this visit, there is another picture that has begun to emerge for me. It is one of One Who knew no limitations or dependency, with arms willingly outstretched and nailed to rough wooden beams, thirsty and dependent upon the kindness of those who were participating in His execution for even so much as a moist sponge to be placed against parched, chapped lips. It’s a picture of a God Who willingly enters into human suffering on levels I cannot begin to grasp, and who assures us that He is present with us in ours. I wonder if she senses this? Does she know that on a very profound level that she is not alone?

But there is more. Matthew 25 reminds us that it is in the suffering or marginalized, those that might be regarded by some as "the least of these," ("footnotes" if you will, in the larger story going on around them) that Jesus is uniquely present, sharing in their experience with them. And that in being there for them, we are interacting with Him as well. "In as much as you have done this for the least of these . . ."

I don’t know what she knows, how she feels, or what she is aware of. What is most visible to me is the much that has been lost to her. But to the One Who cares about her the most, she is not lost, nor is she alone. And while I don’t know how often she get’s vanilla ice cream, I know of one night that she did, and she enjoyed it, and that I got to be a part of that . . . and that in an odd sort of way, for a little while that evening, over dinner, I had stumbled upon holy ground. The same ground that is occupied every day by those who give such tireless, loving care to those who find themselves in situations like these. For me, it was an unexpected grace, and I walk away not quite the same as before I went, with much to think about. I have no new answers as to why we suffer, or even what that experience is like for those who do. But perhaps what I do have is a greater awareness of how God is with us in the midst of it, and maybe, just a little bit of a clue as to the difference it makes when we are there as well, whether we are the one suffering or not.

Additional Note: For what it’s worth, the song that kept coming to mind as I was thinking about this was David Wilcox’s, "All the Roots Grow Deeper When it’s Dry." If you wish, you can check out the lyrics at www.lyricstime.com/david-wilcox-all-the-roots-grow-deeper-when-it-s-dry-lyrics.html - or better yet, go to itunes or your favorite Mp3 site and purchase the song.

What is your name?

2008-04-23T06:30:00.000-07:00

What is your name?

When Alex asked, oddly enough, I was somewhat at a loss for words.

We were standing on a small stretch of beach with the San Diego skyline in the background, on what was one of those picture perfect evenings. The Mesa Grande Chorale was performing that weekend with similar groups from San Diego and La Sierra Academies. Having spent the afternoon practicing for the next day’s worship service, we were gathered here by the ocean to welcome the Sabbath. I was along, mainly, because I was needed to drive the bus. But this evening, I also had the opportunity to share a few thoughts for worship.

So, sitting on the sand, we thought together for a few moments about another much older beach scene with a much different skyline, where Jesus and His disciples had once come ashore only to be greeted by at least one, maybe two, men who were struggling with some pretty significant issues. Luke describes him (Luke 8) as demon-possessed, unable to be restrained, and living in isolation among tombs.

As we thought about the story, we noticed the horrible conflict that raged within this man. He comes to Jesus because on some level he is seeking help, and yet when Jesus first speaks to him, his response is to plead with Jesus to leave him alone. Clearly there are conflicting agendas raging within this man. Then Jesus asks the question, “What is your name?” Not “what are you called?” or “What do you answer to” as names tend to be in our culture today – simply nice sounding labels -- but in the full Biblical understanding of what a name is – something that represents who you are at the core of your being. It’s as if Jesus asks him, “So, who are you, really?”

The response? “Legion,” he replied, “for we are many.”

We talked for a few moments about how, albeit on a much less dramatic level, we find ourselves so caught in the same crazy making dynamic, often being “named” or “defined” by the various roles we play, people we try to be, expectations we try to meet, that we lose track of who we really are. As my friend and mentor Chuck Miller often puts it, we cease being human beings and instead become human doings. And when someone asks us the question, “What is your name?” or “Who are you really?” . . . in our more honest moments we might find ourselves responding, “Legion, for we are many.”

We then talked for a few moments about how Jesus gave this man the gift of sending away all those other things that had sought to define him, and which masqueraded as his identity, and gave him back his name. The wonderful discovery that if we were to stop doing all the things that we think give us value, or trying to live up to all the expectations that we think make us acceptable, or attempting to internalize all the various identities we think we need to survive, that there is still someone there – someone who has a name -- that is the gift Jesus gave back to the man that night. The scriptures tell us that when the people of the village came and found the man sitting there at Jesus feet, he was in his right mind again.

I invited them to think about when the last time it was that they actually stopped long enough to consider how they might respond if Jesus asked them, “What is your name?” Or when the last time it was that they took the time to ask each other?

We prayed. We welcomed the Sabbath hours. And as we took a half hour or so to simply enjoy the peaceful beauty of the surroundings, it was then that Alex walked over to where I was standing looking at the lights on the skyline across the water, and asked, “So, pastor Ken, what is your name?”

Ironically, having just talked about all this, the question was as unanticipated as it was moving. Suddenly being acutely aware that having prepared the worship was not the same as having an answer, and realizing I wasn’t entirely sure I knew the answer, after what seemed like a very long silence, I finally said something like, “That is a very good question, thank you for asking.” We were both quiet for awhile after that – as I quietly struggled a bit with simply being a person, and the recipient of a very thoughtful question, rather than a pastor who should have been able to give a well thought out neatly packaged answer. It was actually good to be a person.

His question was a gift. I’m still thinking about it, and will be, I hope, for quite some time . . .how I tend to answer that question . . . how I would like to . . . I hope Alex will continue to develop a way of life that continues to ask that question.

Why This, Why Now?

2008-04-21T09:25:00.000-07:00

Why This,

Why Now?

I’m not entirely sure the world needs another blog. But then, there is no particular reason to think anyone is going to notice this one anyway, which sort of puts the whole thing in perspective.

This blog arises out of conversation with my colleagues. Perhaps, it would be more accurate to say, as a way to reduce conversation with my colleagues. Maybe, on a more thoughtful level, as a reflection of the nature of what conversation in our culture has often become.

In response to some thoughts I was sharing, that the rest of them clearly did not think was contributing to an efficient use of our time, someone suggested that maybe what I needed to do was start a blog. It became clear that this was not merely a rhetorical statement, when one of them carried through on their offer to set it up for me, e-mailing the links and access information just a few days later, having thoughtfully selected the title “ken’s diatribe” as the name of the blog. I got the hint.

Don’t misunderstand. I love the people I work with, and truly feel blessed to be a part of a great staff, so this is not a restless statement of discontent in that regard. In fact, I think they tolerate working with me quite well. But as I have reflected further, which could (and some might argue should) become another of those passing moments from which nothing really comes, I found myself wondering if, maybe, I should pause just a moment before dismissing it out of hand and hurrying on.

And so the blog. I have changed the title from “diatribe” to something I hope is more fitting, “footnotes.” I think footnotes better captures both what I think this blog might turn out to be, and perhaps in some ways, a bit about who I am.

For most people, footnotes are simply those odd collections of smaller print on the bottom of the page that wind up making books longer, and which are generally ignored. If something peaks your interest, and you really want to pursue something further, you can look there, but chances are good that most don’t. Pursuing footnotes often interrupts the flow of the text, causing people to pause a moment, and so does not encourage an efficient use of time.

What are Footnotes?

Sometimes just a reference to where something comes from.
Other times, it is almost as if the author pauses for a moment of extra conversation with the reader.
Sometimes you can find great stuff hidden there.
Other times, they are more technical than helpful, and perhaps only of interest to the author.
They can also be a place where, if attentive, you can catch a glimpse of the author as you see what else is of interest to them.

So what this blog offers are simply footnotes, my footnotes, on the larger story I am a part of.

As with most footnotes, they are probably of more interest to the writer than to the reader . . . in fact, who would ever pick up a book that was only footnotes to read anyway? . . . so it may only be of interest to the writer.

Also, because footnotes have no particular story of their own, but simply comment on the larger story they are a part of, these will follow where that larger unfolding story goes, through days or weeks that may produce much comment, and others that may produce little or none.

Further, these footnotes are an attempt to recapture a bit of the lost practice of conversation – those rare moments when people find themselves talking together without one eye on their watch, or overly concerned about whether or not they are staying on topic, but simply trying to be present to whatever is happening at the moment, and perhaps what God might be surfacing. That’s not to say that all topics are explicitly religious topics, but rather to speak to the realization that all of the stories we live happen in the context of an ever larger Story that is too significant to be ignored.

And finally, I come to this realizing that in many ways my life is exactly this, a footnote to a larger story. What I think, who I am, who I relate to, those whose lives are constantly impacting mine, whatever it is that constitutes who I am apart from any other productive usefulness I may or may not have to some other agenda, is simply that -- a footnote. It may appear in some documents, and be completely absent from others. In a practical sense, for many, the larger story can be read quite well without reference to it. And even for those who might be inclined to pursue this particular footnote, sometimes it may amount to little more than a reference, a break in the flow of the larger story line, perhaps even a detraction from a more “efficient” life.

However, maybe it is possible that, perhaps, there is something there that may open a doorway into pursuing something a bit further, or catching a glimpse of something more? Maybe it will be an opportunity to experience just for a moment (because the internet can really offer little else) not just additional data processing, but a taste of “virtual” conversation again?

And one more thing, (never believe it when someone says, “finally,” because even that may have a footnote), why should I be doing this? I don’t know. The nice thing about footnotes, is that they are optional. Who knows what value they have? But, if they are not there, they can’t be pursued. So, in the end, maybe it is better to put them there and have them ignored (perhaps for good reasons) than to fail to put them there at all . . . in which case no one could pursue them even if they wished to. In the end, I opted for the later. We’ll see what happens.