New Year

I am grateful for the near arrival of the new year and the sense of fresh beginnings that comes with it.  I realize that the new year is a contrived thing.  It is, after all, just the tick of a clock.   Still, I find myself thinking of new goals and new possibilities for the new year.  It is, I believe, a profound spiritual truth that we do not have to continue to be what we have been, to do what we have been doing, or to think as we have been thinking.  There is the possibility of newness and fresh creativity in this present moment!

A Personal Credo at Christmastime

I believe in the one who was wrapped in rags and laid in a manger.  Because of him,  I believe that God is love and there is real hope for this world.  I believe that the manger foretells the sort of life he was to live--pressed out of the places you might expect to find one who reigns ("no room") and welcomed in the places frequented by the poor, the blind, the crippled and the lame.  I believe that his life was an unbroken narrative of protest and praise:  protest against every power, attitude, spirit, and act that diminishes the beauty of human beings; and praise because of the power of God which he himself embodied and that is at work in the world to bring renewal and healing.  I believe that the manger foretells the cross.  These two are bookends around his life, one a symbol of his humble birth, the other a reminder of his lowly death.  I believe that all that is worst about our world is disclosed by that cross: it is nothing less than the revelation of our world's violent resistance to justice, mercy and love.  And I believe that what is best in our world is revealed by that cross: the crucified one transforms hatred into love, judgment into grace, despair into hope.  On one side of the cross we hear the worst: "Crucify him!" and on the other side of the cross we hear the best, "Father, forgive them..."  I believe that today all humans must decide on which side of that cross they will stand.  Because of the manger and the cross, those two bookends of the life, I believe what John wrote, "For God so loved the world..."   I believe that death could not hold him, that the power of God which he made known in humble love is the power that holds the future.  I believe that the power of resurrection is at work in our world today, bringing renewal and hope.  I believe that there is a community of believers, men, women and children, in whom his Spirit dwells and who are the 'firstfruits' of God's renewal work--and that they must let their lights shine, no matter how dark the day!   And I believe that one day, one beautiful day, the last sigh of sorrow will have been uttered,the last war will have been fought, the last tear will have been cried, and the kind of love that his whole life revealed will bind us together.  Shalom.  I believe in the one who was wrapped in rags and laid in a manger.  Because of him,  I believe that God is love and there is real hope for this world. 

Advent and Disappointment

"This year, give them what they want for Christmas."

Each year I marvel, at least once, at the audacity of the advertisers during the Christmas season. The loser this year, in my estimation, is the commercial that compels us to give our loved ones what they want, followed by visual images of (mostly) children laughing and smiling as they open their presents.  The narrator of this particular commercial manages to sprinkle in the word "joy" about a half-dozen times.  Apparently, the only thing that is required of us who would bring joy to our loved ones is to buy them the stuff they want this year.

I admit it, I'm offended.  I'm offended that the profound and powerful word "joy" has been so easily co-opted by an industry that stands to gain much if we believe their story.  I'm offended that the visual images portrayed on the commercials raise expectations to an impossible level.   I'm offended by the very notion that joy and more stuff are somehow intrinsically related.  (What is the message here to those who cannot afford all that stuff?)  I'm offended that many unsuspecting souls who believe the story of the advertisers will spend themselves into oblivion.  In short, I'm offended that a word with rich and powerful resonance in the Christian story--joy-- is used in manipulative ways for self-serving ends.

The story of Advent grants a necessary and honest critique of the idealized American Christmas.  If the dreamy Christmas the advertisers want to give us (and we are so quick to believe) is one of realized joy, the story of Advent speaks of joy that comes.  That's an extraordinarily important difference.  The idealized version of Christmas promises joy here and now, if you simply meet the right requirements.  Advent reminds us that we can expect visitations of joy here and again as hints and promises of the joy that is to come.  The first Advent of Jesus opens our hearts and minds to the visitation of joy, to be sure.  Our encounter with the love of God, poured out in Jesus, cannot help but bring with it occasions of deep and profound delight.  But just as the healing ministry of Jesus was a promise and sign of that healing which will come to our world on that great and beautiful day, so our experiences of joy today point to the "everlasting joy" that will be upon our heads (Isaiah 35:10) at the next Advent of the the Christ.

I go on a bit long in this blog today because I believe that our Americanized version of Christmas sets us up for disappointment, while the Advent story gives us resources for becoming courageous in the midst of disappointment.  The one says"you can have it all now"--and fails to deliver, while the other reminds that here in the time in which we are living between the first and the second Advent we can expect much heartache and pain, but the delightful visits of joy are portents of the everlasting joy that will come when, at last, the will of God is done on earth as it is in heaven.  Advent invites me to live hopefully, to pray unceasingly and to work fearlessly toward that day.

O Holy NIght

Every year on Christmas eve our congregation sings the hymn.  We sang it in the church I grew up in, too--or perhaps I should say that it was sung on our behalf.  Every year, Christmas eve, Mrs. Dobbins came to the front of the darkened sanctuary, the pianist played the introduction and everyone knew what was coming.  It never grew old, at least not to me. Her powerful soprano voice lifted our congregation up and beyond the rafters:

O Holy Night!  The stars are brightly shining,

It is the night of our dear Saviour's birth.

For me personally, there is no text that speaks more powerfully to the meaning of Advent.  The next line describes the personal impact of the first arrival of Jesus.  Notice, the author appeared to believe that it is our value as human beings that is illumined by the arrival of Jesus.  

Long lay the world in sin and error pining.

 Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.

The next line lays out the hope we embrace in the second Advent, the return of Jesus.  The birth of Jesus lifts the eyes to the horizon:

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

A later verse captures the new possibilities in our living as a result of the first and second Advent of Christ.  Here it becomes clear that the author believed that all who believe in God through Jesus are granted a new vocation:

Truly He taught us to love one another.

His law is love and His gospel is peace.

Chains shall he break, for the slave is our brother.

And in His name all oppression shall cease.

The following is the entire text of this magnificent hymn, as I've found it at this site: http://www.carols.org.uk/ba32-o-holy-night.htm   (Bear in mind that this is a translation, so there may be minor discrepancies with the version with which you are most familiar.)  Read it through. These words leave me almost speechless.   I'd love to hear where they impact you.

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!

Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
O'er the world a star is sweetly gleaming,
Now come the wisemen from out of the Orient land.
The King of kings lay thus lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friends.
He knows our need, our weakness is no stranger,
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!

Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
His power and glory ever more proclaim!

Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
His power and glory ever more proclaim!

O Holy Night Lyrics Christmas Carol Lyrics  

The Great Disconnect

In a New World we shall sing;

Not, as we once believed,

A wispy home far away,

But here, on this firm rock.

I heard about a pastor who, many years ago, interviewed members of his congregation.  He asked each participant, "What do you think God is doing on Sunday?"  He then asked the same question regarding the remaining days of the week.  As the interviews unfolded, the pastor began to notice a trend.  Many members of the congregation were able to communicate what they believed God was up to on Sunday (meeting with the church gathered in worship) and sometimes on Wednesday (meeting with those gathered for Wednesday night prayer meeting), but were hard-pressed to describe what God might be doing on the remaining days of the week.

That story is a rather rough example of what I call "The Great Disconnect."  I'm not just thinking here of people who don't take their religion very seriously, the so called "church hypocrites."  I'm speaking of many of us for whom faith is a passionate concern.  Many seem to find it difficult to connect spirituality with the earthy endeavors of every day.  The 'great disconnect' can sing passionately and enthusiastically on Sunday, and then have no sense at all of how faith is connected to the rest of life.  I don't say this condescendingly or judgmentally.  It is too often my own experience.  How does paying the bills, emptying the trash, changing diapers, fixing the leaky faucet, etc. connect with a sacred adventure?

It is precisely because of this great disconnect that the theme of worship during the season of Advent is, I believe, particularly important.  Our worship during Advent is organized around the theme of hope for this world.  As you read the Advent Scripture readings, I trust that you'll listen to how earthy they are.  The hope that we embrace during Advent is hope for this world.  In the passage we'll be looking at this coming Sunday, Isaiah describes that day when "the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea."  How exactly, we might ask, does the water cover the sea?  The water is the sea.  Exactly.  The knowledge of the Lord will cover the earth like that.

Remember that this is a vision of hope for this earth.   If the end of all things is a renewed heaven and a renewed earth, then we don't have two different realities--an earthy reality and a heavenly one.  We rather have this hope that one day the knowledge of God will so overlap and penetrate the earth that God's will shall be done on earth as it is in heaven.  Today, each day, Sunday through Saturday, we pray and labor toward that end. 

Advent Hope

This coming Sunday, November 28, is (incredibly) the first Sunday of Advent.  Each year at this time, my thinking naturally turns to the theme of hope.  (One of the many things I appreciate about the church calendar is that it brings the church, again and again, to themes of the sacred journey that are absolutely crucial.  Here, in the weeks leading to the celebration of the birth of Jesus, we naturally turn to the theme of hope.)

In a delightful book called A Door Set Open, Grounding Change in Mission and Hope, author Peter Steinke contends that we today must be prepared to do battle against three great temptations: denial, despair and magic.  Denial is the lure to close our eyes to the realities of living in a fallen world, to pretend that all is well when we know full well that it is not.  Denial fails to see the need for change (whether personal or corporate), even when the need is compelling.  Despair is, in some ways, the opposite of denial.  It sees the overwhelming realities of living in a fallen world and is suffocated by them.  Despair is the loss of courage in the face of challenge.  Magic is the belief that there are remedies and secret formulas that offer a quick fix for what ails us.  "Sorcerers," Steinke writes, "have a habit of showing up in down times (pg 40)."

Steinke contends (and I agree) that denial, despair and magical thinking are working overtime these days.  What is desperately needed is a renewed grounding of our lives in hope.  While magic looks for a quick fix to our personal trials and to the enormous challenges of our world, hope is rooted in the slow, patient power of God.  Hope remembers that God is the one who makes something out of nothing.  Hope remembers the God who brings the gift of life to the womb of the barren Sarai, the gift of freedom to the enslaved children of Israel, the gift of return to the exiled Jews, the gift of new life to disciples who are bereft of their crucified Lord.  Advent hope invites us to organize our thinking and our worship around the promise that the one who comes to us on Christmas morning will indeed finish the good work which he started.

Invictus

This week I watched a wonderful movie, Invictus, starring Morgan Freeman as Nelson Mandela and Matt Damon as the captain of the South African rugby team.  This is a powerful story, beautifully told.  According to the film, one of Mandela's sources of inspiration during his 27 years in prison was the short poem Invicutus by the English poet William Ernest Henley.  I hear this poem as a call to courage and to be true to one's  self.  I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

The Perfectionist

I'm beginning to wonder, is there any greater obstacle to embracing life as a sacred adventure than the perfectionist within?

The perfectionist is confident for a season, setting out on the journey with an almost arrogant certainty, but at the first hint of his weakness or failure he laments, “I can’t do it.  I’m not able.  I’m not worthy or gifted or smart or committed or tenacious.  Look, look at my pathetic track record!”

It is the perfectionist in her perfectionism who is the problem, not her gifts or track record or unworthiness.  At the first hint of her weakness, she is doomed.  If only she could draw back, playfully of course, and welcome her own failures:  “Of course I’m not able or worthy or gifted or smart,” she might say laughingly.  “I will rejoice all the more in my weaknesses, for in my weaknesses another is made strong!”

When he loses nerve (because he sees his failure or weakness), the perfectionist is quickly overwhelmed.  He hears the stories of those doing good work and he is buried by his sense of inadequacy, becomes more despairing because of his weakness, pulls back more fervently into the ruts of functioning in which he feels most proficient, or finds ways to judge those who are more 'successful.'   If only he can learn to laugh at himself and act upon that which his clearest and most prayerful thinking compels him to do.  Laugh and act, silly perfectionist!

How might the journey look different if the perfectionist can learn the way of surrender to the empowering Spirit rather than the way of willfulness (i.e., trying harder)?

The Jesus Prayer

All of us need some 'tools' along the sacred journey--the hiking boots that guard against the cold, the compass that guides our direction, the map that keeps us on the way.  One of the 'tools' that I've found to be very helpful at various times is "The Jesus Prayer."  This simple prayer is ancient.  It comes from the Eastern Orthodox Church.  While much of our praying tends to be directed 'out'--we bring our praise and petition to God out there (and appropriately so), the Jesus Prayer is directed 'in.'  It is a descending down into the presence of Christ within us.  The purpose of this prayer is to help us embrace and rest in the one who is the source of life. 

This last Sunday I spoke about our 'programs for happiness,' a phrase I've borrowed from Thomas Keating.  Our programs for happiness are the many ways we attempt to meet our needs for security, affection and control.   In a sense, we all become addicted to our programs for happiness and our tendency is to try harder and harder to get our needs met.  Last Sunday I described this as 'willful' living.  An alternative to 'willful' living is 'surrendered' living.  Here, rather than trying harder and harder (even using religious means) to meet our deepest needs, we surrender to the source of life, Christ himself abiding in and with us. The Jesus Prayer is a simple tool to help us surrender to Christ, the source of life.

The actual practice of "The Jesus Prayer" is uncomplicated.  I might suggest that you begin by assuming a comfortable posture in a reasonably quiet place.  You may wish to close your eyes in order to shut out distractions.  Then, in rhythm with your breathing, whisper these words:

Lord Jesus Christ

Son of God

Have Mercy on Me

A Sinner

Repeat these words over and over again, and as you do, allow yourself to descend into the presence of Christ with you.  As you continue, you may want to simplify the prayer even more, returning to the single word, "Jesus."  If you should become distracted, your mind flitting from thing to thing, just return very gently to the prayer.  

You will no-doubt recognize that this prayer is taken from the prayer of the tax collector in Jesus' beautiful parable about the tax collector and the Pharisee in Luke 18:9-14.  This is not a 'worm prayer,' where we crawl before God like worthless worms.  It is rather a humble prayer in which we open our hearts and lives to unconditional love.

One of the beauties of "The Jesus Prayer" is that it can be offered any time, day or night.  (I suggest that you keep your eyes open if you're driving the car, though.)  When you become aware that you're anxious, or for some reason you're not thinking clearly, you can return to this prayer, offer it over and over under your breath, and 'sink' into the presence of Christ.  This is what I like to call a 'recess prayer.'  In the many recesses during the day, those moments when you're walking from the car to the grocery store, when you've finished one item on the 'to-do' list and are preparing for the next, or during the drive to or from work, you can employ the Jesus Prayer as part of your communion with God.

The Jesus Prayer is a wonderful tool for the sacred adventure.  I'd love for you to give it a try and then share your experience with the rest of us.

One quick note about this blog:  I originally indicated that it would be my intention to write and send this blog on Monday.  I'm finding that almost impossible, so from here on (until I change my mind!) I'll make every effort to write on Tuesday.  

Question of the Week

How would you describe adventurous living?  How do you distinguish adventurous living from reckless living?  Please log on and share your thoughts.

Thinking.... Now There's a Thought

I've long been amazed at what can happen when groups can enter that creative space called 'brainstorming.'  On many occasions, I've been part of groups that get stuck with a decision or an idea.  Somehow, the group begins to brainstorm.  One idea begets another.  Group members become free to lob out their ideas, regardless of how silly they might be.  Very often laughter is part of the process; it becomes playful, creative and, very often, effective.

I believe there's a sort of a 'personal brainstorming' that's a required discipline for folks who would live adventurously.  The personal space--I like the word 'solitude'--helps me to step outside of the expectations of others, the noise of the crowd, the 'tyranny of the urgent,' to think, really think, about my life, my direction, my deep longings, what I really want.  I like the story about the journalist whose editor required her to do a human interest piece.  Uncertain what to do, she sought out people who would be willing to answer three questions.  Her first question was, "What do you want?"  Folks would often give casual, surface kinds of answers.  She then asked her second question: "What do you want?"  Responses often became more thoughtful, more genuine.  She would then ask, for the third time, "What do you want?"  She reported that her threefold repetition of the question often had the effect of helping people get in touch with their deep longings and their creative ideas for their lives.

I wonder what might happen if a few of us could create space in our lives to think prayerfully about them.  Perhaps we would become more aware of a sense of calling, vocation, life goals that are worthy of our best efforts.  Perhaps we would find the strength to pursue those dreams, even when the desire for comfort, approval or even the expectations of others would pull us back.  If, as I believe, God is a generative God, creating possibility, inspiring creativity and imagination, creating space for prayerful thought might just be one of the most important things you or I could do this week, or any other.

An Open Future

One of my pet peeves is when I hear people say of one who has died, "It must have been her time."   I understand that there is some comfort in that thought.  After all, if I believe that God has numbered my days, or the days of my loved ones, so that even the day and the time of death is pre-determined, something of the fear-factor of life is diminished.  I can make my decisions, even risky ones, and say, "Well, I guess if it's my time, it's my time." 

What troubles me about the 'it must have been her time' mindset is that it assumes that the future is already determined, set in stone and nothing will change it.  Again, I understand how that thought can bring comfort.  The problem, in my view, is that this mindset robs us of one of the richest and most beautiful gifts of Christian spirituality, namely, that we are partners with God in shaping the future.  This is seen again and again in the stories of the Bible.  One of my favorites is the story of Jonah, where Jonah reluctantly agrees to go preach the message of God's judgment of the people of Nineveh.  When the inhabitants of that great city repent of their evil ways, we are told that "God changed his mind (!!!)" about the judgment God had announced.  The pagan people of Nineveh turned their lives toward God in such a way that they changed the future!

I believe that the future is open, and that gives a great sense of meaning and responsibility for how I live out my days.  I believe that we can face the future with hope.  Jesus proclaimed that the time of God's reign has drawn near.  His resurrection signals to us that the power of life has swallowed up the power of death.  God's renewal power is let loose in the world, even now, even in this moment as I write, and you read.   In very broad strokes, it seems to me, we can say that God's work of renewal will win the day.  We can imagine that day even now.  Indeed, I believe we must imagine that day even now.   The book of Revelation says that on that day God will say, "Behold, I make all things new"--the completion of God's renewal project!

That said, I believe that the the hopeful future  is only painted in broad strokes.  Much is left to be determined.  We are partners with God in the shaping of the future.  Our decisions really matter.  If we wish, we can, individually and collectively, resist the power of renewal all the way to the grave.  We can hasten our death or prolong it by the choices we make.  We can live before we die, or not.  The most horrific events in human history do not happen because God has willed them (think of the Holocaust, the contemporary tragedy in Darfur), but because humans, individually and collectively, resist God's renewing power unto the worst imaginable ends.  On the other hand, we can partner with God, give ourselves to God's resurrection power, join ourselves to God's healing project, and contribute to the beauty which God is begetting in the creation.  Such, it seems to me, is the calling of the sacred adventure.

Ten Things.... Adventurous People

I'm working on a list of ten things I think adventurous people must be able to do.  Here's a first draft.  I'd love to hear your 'ten things' as well.

1.  Laugh at yourself.
2.  Love deeply
3.  Risk failing
4.  Be decisive
5. Change your mind
6.  Disappoint others (by being true to yourself)
7.  Imagine a better world
8.  Live prayerfully
9.  Work hard
10.  Let go

God's Adventure

Does the title of this week's blog--"God's Adventure"--strike you at all as strange?  It seems to me that many people  embrace an idea of a god who is anything but adventurous.  Their god is a rule-giver, a guardian of the status-quo, the distant judge.  This vision of god impresses me as being more controlling than adventurous. When I contrast the rule-giver/guardian/distant judge vision with the life and ministry of Jesus, it helps me to appreciate why his life was so revolutionary.  Jesus came proclaiming that the kingdom of God--the time of God's reign-- has drawn near.  On the cross (as through his entire ministry) he embodied God's vulnerability.  In resurrection, the work of renewal was let loose right here in this world.  All of this has the aroma of adventure!

It should not be supposed that God's adventure is captured only in the ministry of Jesus--far from it!  Think of the adventure that is involved in creation itself, in God's call of a nation named Israel , in the guidance granted mercifully to them in the gift of the law.  Think of the adventure of God as it is expressed in Isaiah 43:

Forget the former thing;

Do not dwell on the past.

See, I am doing a new thing!

Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.

In the story of Scripture, I see a narrative of an adventurous God--a narrative in which God becomes vulnerable to our world's pain and leads us forward in hope.  This, it seems to me, is the ground of our call to live our lives as a sacred adventure.  We worship an adventurous creator who calls us to live adventurously.

The Sacred... And Jazz

First, a disclaimer.  I know next to nothing about jazz.  I am not a musician.  I can't describe with any precision what makes jazz different from other forms of music.  All I can say with any certainty is that, well, I like it.  Miles Davis.  John Coltrane.  Good stuff. 

I'm thinking about jazz today because I just read the responses to the last post and it strikes me that jazz might be a metaphor for the coming together of the sacred and playfulness that each of us was trying to describe.  What is apparent to me, a lay listener, is that good jazz performers are exceedingly serious about their art.  A piece by Lionel Loueke is playing softly in the background as I write (thanks to Pandora) and I cannot help but be aware that years of preparation and practice stand behind this piece. It is carefully crafted.  It's quite clear that every musician knows the score.  And yet, at the very same time, the music darts and moves in ways that compel me to suspect that it is astonishingly impromptu and free.

I want to compose a life-in-community that is like that: serious, in the sense that it really matters, it's important, it's sacred; and playful in the sense that it is creative, free and always open to the gift of the present moment.  And I want to be part of faith community that is like that: serious in that we "know the score" of our Scriptures and we seek to live within the story it tells because it really matters, it's important, it's sacred;  and playful in that we give ourselves to the wind of the Spirit, who blows this way and that and takes us to places that our five-year strategies could not have imagined.  Perhaps there is more of art than precision to the sacred adventure.

Sacred Playfulness

"Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin."
                          Luke 15:9

 I thought long and hard about what I wanted to name this blog before I settled on "The Sacred Adventure."  Although I like this theme very much, I was a bit concerned with the word "sacred."  For many, this word seems to evoke ideas of something that is very serious.  Describe something as a "sacred task" and the impression is given that it is something about which you absolutely must not fail, something to which you must give your most serious attention.  For many, the practice of religion is profoundly serious.

The parable of the lost coin, one of the most familiar of the parables of Jesus, suggests to me a different possibility.  After her ardent search, the woman in the parable exclaims to her friends and neighbors, "Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin!'   I believe the faith of Christians embraces, at its very center, the joy of God in finding us.  I also believe that where this is so, we are free to be a great deal more playful in our response to God, to one another, to the world.    I don't mean to suggest for even one second that our faith is frivolous. I do mean to say that when we enter into the joy of God over finding us, we are free to become more creative, to brainstorm new possibilities for our lives, to dream new dreams.

I have observed the phenomenon at work many times in groups of people:  When a group, whether a family, a committee, a Bible study, a class or a church is overly serious, it sees very few possibilities.  What was done yesterday must be done today and tomorrow.   The group is stuck in its own ruts.  When persons in a group become more playful, on the other hand, the process of brainstorming is let loose, imagination is generated, the group is free to look out and beyond to new horizons, new possibilities, a new day.  What if God's action upon us is a generative action, a power that frees us to be more creative, playful and imaginative?  It seems to me that such a thing is no stretch to children who participate in God's joy over finding them.

New Dreams

"We need new dreams tonight."
             U2, from their 1987 single, "In God's Country"

Welcome to the Sacred Adventure: A Blog Exploring Christian Spirituality and Adventurous Living.  Because this is my first post under this title, I'm going to ask you to set aside five to ten minutes to read this post in its entirety.  This will probably be the longest blog entry I will make.  I think you'll understand as you read along why I need a little extra space today.

This blog will explore something that has become a deep concern of mine, best expressed, I believe, in a question:  What is required of us to live our lives as a sacred adventure?

The last two words in the preceding question are carefully chosen.  The word "sacred" suggests to me something that is rooted, filled with mystery, and profoundly important.  "Adventure" implies a journey, fraught with risk, requiring courage and discernment.  Together, these two words--sacred and adventure--speak to what I think our lives can be and are called to be.  As the title of the blog suggests, I will be drawing (deeply, I hope) from the well of Christian spirituality as the primary source for my thinking and writing.  This is not to suggest, however, that this blog will always (or even usually) be overtly religious.  I hope to draw from the world of sport and entertainment, from the writings of poets and novelists, from my journal writings and the Comics page, and, yes, from the lyrics of rock music.  I hope this blog will be playful, curious and thoughtful.  I also hope that it will be a conversation.  I believe that the sacred adventure can only be undertaken in community.  That's where you fit in!  I hope that you will lob your thoughts into the discussion from time to time, ask your questions, stir the waters--and let's see where this conversation might take us. 

My plan will be to post a blog each Monday morning.  Then, as the week progresses, I'll attempt to respond (as I'm able) to some of what you've written.  Some Mondays I may write longer posts, at other times very brief ones and sometimes I'll just ask a question.  I'll try to mix it up and keep things interesting.

Allow me to begin my sharing a recent experience.  Several months ago, while running the dirt trail not far from my house and listening to my I Pod, I heard the five words quoted at the top of this post from U2's song "in God's Country."  I had heard these words dozens of times before, but somehow this day I heard them.  "We need new dreams tonight."  What happened to me next was strange and unsettling.  As those five words registered in my mind, I heard another sound, something emerging from within me, a sound that I can only describe as a groan.  It was as involuntary and immediate as a knee-jerk, and it nearly stopped me in my tracks.  Those five simple words had connected with a longing in me, a longing I did not even know I had until that moment.  The groan seemed to say, "Yes!  We do need new dreams tonight!  I need new dreams tonight.  I need new dreams for my life, for my relationships, for the world in which I live.  My dreams are old and boring and limp, like a balloon, emptied of air.  I need new dreams to empower me to love more deeply and live more vibrantly.  Yes, yes, we do need, I do need new dreams tonight!"  All of that, and much more, expressed as a groan.

The experience was disturbing.  I'm a 51 year old man, a husband and a father, the pastor of a faith community in central Michigan, a self-described follower of Jesus.  The pursuit of Christian spirituality has been a passionate and consistent theme of my life for more that three decades.  I came to faith at a time when it was often said that "Jesus is the answer."  In those early days of my journey, I believed that to embrace faith was to say good-bye to longing, and to embrace contentment.  And yet here I was, thirty-plus years later, wending along the dirt road between the corn fields behind my house, hearing a groan emerge from my soul that expressed my longing for more.

The U2 moment that I've just described has brought into sharp focus some ideas I've been considering for several years.  While I'll be the first to say that a life centered in God does, very often in my experience, grant a sense of being deeply and profoundly at home, I believe there is another side of Christian spirituality, often overlooked and under-thought:  God is also the source of longing, of yearning, of groaning.  The Apostle Paul suggests as much in Romans and Galatians.  To be united with God is to embrace God's joy, but it is also to embrace God's suffering, God's groaning for the world.  Could it be that the groan I encountered between the cornfields was simply an encounter with the love of God?

I decided to recount this story in this, the first Sacred Adventure blog, because I suspect that living our lives as a sacred adventure begins with longing.  It begins with a longing that our lives might somehow be different and better, that our relationships can be truer, that our world can be more whole.  I don't think there has been nearly enough said in our churches about the importance of this longing, this groan.  (I have heard many groans in churches, usually during the sermon, but that's a different thing altogether.)  I fear that in our efforts to point people to Christian faith as "what works," we have given the impression that Jesus is like the aspirin you take to calm the headache.  He fixes all, so that we can get on with our better lives.  But could it be that Jesus the risen one also wishes to evoke in us his groan, his groan that compels us to live differently, to protest all that is sickening and ugly about our world, his groan that compels us to long for more.  My hunch is that there can be no sacred adventure unless we have the courage and freedom to listen to the groan, and then, dream new dreams.

New Blog

I'm taking a temporary vacation from this blog.  Please check back on September 6th when I'll be launching a new blog called, "The Sacred Adventure."

A Franciscan Benediction

May God bless you with discomfort
at easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships,
so that you may live deep within your heart.

May God bless you with anger
at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people
so that you may work for justice, freedom, and peace.

May God bless you with tears
to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war,
so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and turn their pain into joy.

And may God bless you with enough foolishness
to believe that you can make a difference in the world,
so that you can do what others claim cannot be done to bring justice
and kindness to all our children and the poor. Amen.

If, Rudyard Kipling

One of my all-time favorite poems. I'd love to hear your thoughts...

IF

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!
--Rudyard Kipling

Broken Jesus Everywhere

One of the reasons I believe that the season of worship called 'Lent' is vitally important is that during Lent we must confront our own idolatrous ideas about God. In Lent, we pay special attention to the cross. To some, that may sound sadistic. I can understand why they might feel that way. But for me, the cross of Jesus confronts my tendencies to form God in my own image. Or, more accurately, the cross of Jesus confronts my propensity to form God as what I would be if I had all power and glory. I would crush my opponents and coerce their obedience. I would enforce my will and insist on lock-step submission. I would be the ultimate winner. What we meet in the person of Jesus is quite different: he comes in love, suffers among us, works with persuasion rather than coercion, shares our common lot, bears the world's anger on his shoulders, submits to the powers-that-be, and, incredibly, he dies. It is here, at the cross, that Paul the Apostle said that we see "the wisdom and power of God."

In the Gospel of Mark, the final week of Jesus' life encompasses approximately 33% of the Gospel. While most of the stories of Jesus' life and ministry are told quickly and with little attention to detail, the movement of Jesus toward the cross in the final week is told slowly, carefully, with great attention to detail. In fact, the Gospel of Mark has a great deal more to say about the crucifixion of Jesus than it does about his resurrection. One gets the impression that Mark (and Matthew, Luke and John, for that matter) is trying to make a point here.

Why is all of this so important? I believe that we live today in a culture that is obsessed with power. We live in a nation that is, arguably, the most powerful nation in history. We pride ourselves in a military that is larger, better equipped and more--here's that word again--powerful than any other on the planet. We brag of powerful financial markets and our powerful influence in the world. We admire powerful people, like those who have the authority to say, "You're fired." Is it possible that our obsession with power belies a deep idolatry at work among us--that we have fashioned idols that look more like Caesar than like the God disclosed by Jesus? Is it possible that this is a profoundly different way than the way of Jesus, who came not with an army but with a towel, not with a sword but with a cross? And is it possible that our character will be formed by that which we worship?

I desperately need Lent, this time of contemplating 'broken Jesus everywhere.' I believe that the world desperately needs a church that is willing to be formed by the God we meet at the cross.

A New Thing

"Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert (Isaiah 43:18-19)."

When Isaiah prophesies that God is doing a new thing, he is not suggesting that what has come before is unimportant. The Bible consistently reminds God's people to remember the stories of God's faithfulness throughout the ages. Memory is a crucial dimension of faith. But the memory of God's faithfulness is also what equips us to embrace the "creative transformation," as some theologians have called it, in this present moment. We remember God's creative work in the past in order to embrace it in the present moment. God is acting, right now, in this moment, to do something new, to cause springs to break forth in the desert and rivers to run freely through the wilderness. The beauty of that for me is that I don't have to go on doing what I've always done, living in the ruts that have held me up 'til now. There is some way, small or large, that I can step forth as one raised from the dead and live differently, even in this present moment. For me, the greatest disappointment of all is not a human being who has done some bad things in their life. The greatest shame is a human being who is not growing. May God forever strike from my lips the words, "That's just the way I am."

Decisions, God's Will and Jazz

Many people find it difficult to make decisions because they are so concerned to do God's will that they are frozen into indecision. Because it is important to them to line their lives up with God's purposes, they ponder and pray over important decisions and then... they worry: what if I don't get God's will right? It is ironic to me that the community of Jesus, people who have encountered amazing grace, are sometimes frozen into indecision because they are afraid they'll miss God's plan. It seems to me that quite the opposite can be true. Because we are the recipients of grace, we can be free to make courageous decisions precisely because we are aware that nothing can separate us from the love of God, not even a less than best choice. I do believe (passionately so) that we should make decisions a matter of discernment and prayer. But what if God's guidance to us is less like micromanaging our lives and more like, well, jazz. Have you ever noticed the freedom that jazz performers have when they work through a certain piece of music, how there is flexibility to go this way and that, to improvise and experiment, all within a song that they know very well? The point is, they know the music and what the song is supposed to do, but they have great flexibility within the song to try different things. I think the gospel's work in our lives might be something like that. Yes, we absolutely have guidance in the gospel--there is a 'song' that we're called to play. "Love the Lord your God and your neighbor as yourself" is a great place to start. But within that guidance there is tremendous freedom to work it out, to try different things, to make passionate and courageous decisions about the living of our lives, all within the grand design of God's beautiful song. Perhaps something like this is what Paul had in mind when he wrote, "It is for freedom that Christ set us free."

Confessions of an Older Son

This last weekend, I was privileged to take part in a retreat along with 15 others from our congregation where my good friend Arthur Kelly took us into the story of the prodigal son in Luke 15. For me personally, the weekend was good and troubling. Good, because the relational connections were very rich and the food and laughter were potent medicine. Troubling, because our reflections on Luke 15 led me to an unanticipated place. During our meditation on the story, I found myself relating to the older brother, the one who refused to come to the party that had been thrown for the younger son who had returned home. You will recall that the father threw an outrageous party when the prodigal returned, complete with music and dancing and a splendid banquet. But the older brother sulked and complained, "I've been about your business all these years and you've never thrown a party for me..." I was moved to discomfort, while reflecting on the story, by an emerging awareness of the jealousy that lurks in me--a jealousy that limits my capacity to celebrate with and for others who are at the center of the party. Jealousy is a bitter root, a poison in the well. For me, this is not a theoretical reflection, but a personal confession. That said, I was also deeply moved during the retreat by the words of the father to the older son. "My son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours." I hear those words as a powerful invitation of grace, not only to returning prodigals but also to 'older' sons.

What I'm Taking Up for Lent

Christians around the globe have entered the reflective season of Lent, the period of 40 days (excluding Sundays) leading to Easter. The Lenten season invites us to slow down and journey with Jesus toward his cross. More, it invites us to ponder the mystery that the Christian way is a way of death and resurrection. "I have been crucified with Christ," wrote the Apostle Paul, "nevertheless I live. Yet it is not I, but Christ who lives in me."

Many people want to ask, "What are you giving up for Lent this year?" That's not a bad question, but I'd like to pose a different one. What are you taking up during Lent this year? What meaningful, important, faithful practice--perhaps something that you have taken up in the past, but has gotten pressed out along the way--will you take up during Lent this year?

Here's my answer: A few years ago I became very interested in a strategy and methodology for working with many of the world's poor called 'micro-finance.' Micro-Finance is a way of providing low-interest loans to help men and women start small businesses to support themselves and their families. Millions around the globe have been empowered by means of micro-finance. Initially, I read a great deal about micro-finance , even introduced a micro-finance project in conjunction with Horizon International to our congregation . At one point, I began to research micro-finance projects that are being done in the US--and whether or not it would be possible to introduce it here (where jobs are badly needed!) in Central Michigan. Alas, I allowed my interest in micro-finance to be pushed to the edge. So, for Lent, I'm picking it up again. I'll be researching (mostly on the web) what's been happening with micro-finance around the globe, as well as the possibilities for using it here at home.

That's what I'm taking up during Lent. What about you?

If You Say So

I think I've heard more feedback from last Sunday's sermon than any I've delivered for awhile. (Feedback sometimes comes in the form of questions, at other times as comments, pro or con, and at other times as rotten tomatoes lofted at my car). I spoke about the obedience of Simon Peter in Luke 5, and the importance of the fact that his obedience was to the word of Jesus. I suggested that 'obedience' can be badly corrupted in churches (or anywhere else), when leaders (such as me) demand that church members do what the leaders say, or they will be disobeying God. I suggested that each person's task is to follow the freeing, life-giving word of Jesus.

My goal in this sermon was to reiterate that each and every one of us must do the hard work of discerning a vision for our lives, that all of us must learn to listen to the word of Jesus (the word that gives life) above the din of many other competing words, and each and every one of us must discern our calling(s) as human beings. I believe that discernment is long, hard and holy work. It involves prayerfully discovering a vision for our lives and living out that vision. It means discovering the unique ways that God is inviting us to join our lives to his love for the world. It means creatively discovering ways that we are about God's ongoing work of renewal that is taking place around and among us. I believe that this work of discernment is creative and playful and holy. And, I believe that we should allow no one--not even our pastor--to rob us of this beautiful work.

When we all, listening to the word of Jesus, discern our way, we are a beautiful chorus of differing voices--a far more beautiful thing, in my view, that folks who walk lock-step in the will of their leader.

Tomatoes anyone?