Summer Break

I'm going to take a respite from this blog for the remaining weeks of the summer.  I plan to jump back in early in September.  Enjoy your summer--and I'll see many of you on Sunday mornings at 10 am.

Place Matters

Much of the New Testament was written with specific places in mind.  For example, we know that  the Apostle Paul penned most of his letters to Christians in specific localities, places like Corinth, Galatia, Philippi and Rome. Additionally, it is now widely believed among scholars that the four Gospels, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, were originally written to be read and savored by churches in four different locations.  Mark, for example, was probably written for the house churches in Rome.  Matthew was probably written for the church in Antioch.  Similarly, Luke and John were written for particular communities of Christians.  1 and 2 Timothy were written to help Timothy faithfully oversee the church in Ephesus.  1 Peter was distributed to several churches in what is now northern Turkey.  I could go on and on, but I think the point is clear.  Most of the documents of the New Testament were originally written with specific people in particular places in mind.  

You're no doubt wondering, so what?  In a word (okay, two words), place matters.   For me, the importance of place comes into greater focus when I think about what the New Testament is not.  The New Testament is not a bunch of abstract, general truth statements and principles, written randomly with no particular people in mind.  I suppose it could have been.  Perhaps we could have received a New Testament that is a straightforward list of principles by which we're supposed to live our lives.  ("Work hard, eat your vegetables, don't eat yellow snow," that sort of thing.)  Instead, what we have in the New Testament  are these earthy documents written with particular people in mind, inviting, directing and challenging them to live as a new creation in their particular place.  

I know I'm strange, but I find all of this very exciting.  This emphasis on place in the New Testament suggests to me that God is not so much interested in forming people who are right about everything (if so, the NT should have looked like a legal document), but rather on forming people who rightly embody the grace of God in their particular communities. In other words, right now, even now, the Spirit is forming people who have the soil of Gratiot County (or wherever you may be as you read this) under their fingernails, people who love their place and work steadfastly for its renewal.

Reflections on a Small Town

My family and I moved to Alma, Michigan from Phoenix, Arizona in the fall of '99.  The contrast between these two locations is, as you can imagine, like night and day (or Democrat and Republican--choose your analogy).  Looking back, I think I had a bit of a chip on my shoulder about moving to a small town.  I don't want to overstate this.  It certainly wasn't as though I ever out and out disliked being in a small town.  I did, however, occasionally grouse about the local restaurants and the entertainment options (or, as I would have said, the lack thereof) and  I complained about the sparse local newspaper, as it compared with the daily tome I had grown accustomed to in Phoenix.  I think a few "Mayberry" jokes slipped off my tongue in those early months.   I spent the first year or so pining for the activity and the sunshine of Phoenix.

I make mention of this today because recently I have enjoyed a deep and real sense of gratitude for the opportunities I enjoy living in this small town, amid a cluster of small towns, in Gratiot County, Michigan.  In particular, I am thankful for the community I enjoy in this community.  I recently ducked in to the local hardware store to purchase a couple of small items.  I was warmly greeted--by name--by no less than three of the employees.  A day or so later, I enjoyed a brief but enjoyable serendipitous conversation with our mayor, on another day a short but thoughtful exchange with a man I had just met.   While out on a run or doing some shopping, waiting for the  barber or doing my banking, there is enough time, trust and hospitality in this small town for strangers and friends to welcome one another every day. 

I find that this 'public life' adds to the quality of life in ways that are difficult to explain or express.  By 'public life' I mean the many, casual connections that we enjoy on an almost daily basis.  I won't deny that I occasionally miss a wide variety of options for eating out.  And there are certainly days that I miss the excitement of living in a large, metropolitan city.  For now, however, I'm content and enjoying life in this small town.  

Struggle... Continued

Inspired by Haeddre's comments on my last post, allow me to lob out the following.

A few years ago, while on sabbatical, I read Muhammad Yunus' book, Banker to the Poor.  (Thank you, Paul, for recommending it.)  In that book, Yunus described how he eventually responded to the terrible famine that had engulfed Bangladesh in the 1960's.  He had begun to realize that while charity was good for providing people with a meal, it did little to provide ongoing, sustainable solutions.  He began to use the method we now know as 'micro-finance'--providing very small, weekly loans to women and men to help them start or grow very small businesses that would enable them to support themselves and their families.  In the book, Yunus described how he sometimes had to work very hard to convince these terribly poor people that they were capable of starting a small business.  He then helped those who were willing to move forward to form in small groups and work together on business plans.  Finally, he provided the loans, one at a time, to these small entrepreneurs.  The story of micro-finance is now well known.  It is estimated that over ten million people around the world have worked their way out of the lowest rungs of poverty using this tool.  It is an incredible story.

A couple of things stood out for me when I read Yunus' amazing story.  First, in the book he said that he believes that every person is an entrepreneur.  Most people simply don't know it yet.  I take that to mean that every person has the creativity and capacity to do well for themselves, if and when they discover the motivation and the resources for doing so.  Second, I had the impression as I read the book that Yunus is tough as nails.  If people did not pay back their loans, they were dropped from the program.  They were required to pay back their loans with a small amount of interest.  (That is the only way micro-finance can be sustainable as a service to the poor.)  Because of his toughness, not in spite of it, this tool has become truly good news for the poor.

The story of Muhammad Yunus and micro-finance is, for me, sort of a parable of the importance of struggle.  Each small entrepreneur who has worked her/his way out of poverty has done so through struggle.   I'm certain that there was nothing easy about ten million people moving out of poverty. It seems to me that it was precisely because Yunus was unwilling to remove that struggle, but was rather willing to be a resource to them in their struggle, that he has been so amazingly effective at equipping women and men to improve their lives. I believe that his tough and nails work has been and continues to be an incredible expression of love.

Struggle

A few years ago I read a story about a man who wanted to help a butterfly that was struggling to become free of its cocoon.  "I'll ease it's journey into the world," he said to himself, as he found some scissors and carefully cut the butterfly free.  To his disappointment, instead of flying away free, the butterfly weakened and eventually died.  It seems that the struggle to emerge from its lair is key to the butterfly becoming strong enough to survive.

I've been thinking about struggle lately.  (I hope you'll forgive this random topic.)  Sometimes, in our efforts to help others, we can actually separate those we wish to help from the sort of struggle they need in order to become more whole.  A mother who continues to tie her son's shoes because it eases his struggle may actually slow the child's learning curve.  The child needs to struggle in order to learn. A concerned son who continually finishes his aging father's sentences every time dad struggles to find a word may actually contribute to the slowing of dad's mental capacities.   Dad needs to struggle in order to keep his mind fit.  A teacher who always gives the answers to the students may actually be hindering their education.  Students need to struggle with the material in order to learn it.

If I'm honest, I have to admit that too often I am impatient with the struggle of others because of my own anxieties.  It's hard for me to see someone I care about struggling, so I jump in with an answer or a solution or a bit of advice.  When this happens, it's not love that compels my behavior, but my anxiety about their struggle. 

The ministry of Jesus is astonishing in this regard.  He seems to have had a very high tolerance for the struggle of those he cared about.  Those of us who want a teacher who spells everything out in black and white and either/or answers will be very disappointed with the teaching of Jesus.  His words are often dense, so dense that they require struggle in order to hear.  "Blessed are the poor in spirit."  Huh?   "Blessed are the meek."  Come again?  "The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed..."  How so?  "Go sell all that you have and give to the poor."  Really?

We invent the four spiritual laws.  Jesus teaches in parables.  We give three point teachings.  Jesus gives the beatitudes.  I have nothing against the four spiritual laws or three point teachings.  I simply wish to say that Jesus lived and taught in such a way that those closest to him had to struggle in order to hear his message.  They had to 'lean forward,' as I like to say.  It required something of them. 

Where I'm going with this: 1) Sometimes I think we all undervalue the importance of struggle.  If, as the title of this blog suggests, life can be a sacred adventure, we can be sure that it will involve struggle.  Every adventure does.  Instead of avoiding struggle, perhaps we can embrace it as a necessary component of growth.  2) It takes discernment to know when love requires us to offer a helping hand to another, as it sometimes certainly does, and when it requires us to be silent or ask a hard question or stand back and allow another to struggle through toward their own growth.  How do we know when to offer a hand and when to allow the struggle to occur?  Good question.  Sometimes I really struggle with that.



 

Love One Another Deeply...

I was moved by the following words from First Peter in the Scripture reading in our worship service last Sunday: ""Now that you have purified your souls by your obedience to the truth so that you have genuine mutual love, love one another deeply from the heart."  I was reminded of something that Elton Trueblood, the great Quaker writer and thinker, once suggested (and I paraphrase badly now):  What the world desperately needs today is small groups of men and women who are dedicated to the experiment of love for one another.  Such groups, he suggested, can and must infect the world.  There is no greater choice for this challenge, Trueblood concluded, than the church.

Most church goers are well aware of the command of Jesus.  It comes to us from the Gospel of John with crystal clarity.  "Love one another," our Lord commands.  "Even as I have loved you, so you must love one another."  My question to you is, how do we do this today?  In our busy lives, where we carry on so many commitments, where churches themselves are often living at what Thomas Kelly described as a "frenzied pace of frantic feverishness."   How does the busy church and its busy members make room for love to one another--and so fulfill the call of Christ?

Satisfaction

While out on a run recently, I became aware that the old song "Satisfaction" by the Rolling Stones was running through my mind.  You remember the one:  "Well I tried and I tried and I tried and I tried, but I can't get no satisfaction..."  It didn't take much reflection to realize why that song was with me.  It had been a very disappointing day.  The sky of intentions with which the day had begun had crashed against the ground of its reality.  Several of my expectations for the day had been frustrated.  While out for the run, the old song had apparently darted into my mind to give expression to my feelings at the moment: it was a very dissatisfying day.

I know that I'm supposed to critique that song.  I'm supposed to say that Mick Jagger and Keith Richard can't get no satisfaction because they are not (by all appearances) men of faith.  If they were, they'd be much happier and much more satisfied with life.  They'd find delight in the simple things and discover the source of true joy. That's the party line that I'm supposed to repeat.  I'll come back to that in a moment, but I actually find the honesty of the chorus to be somewhat refreshing.  If we're candid, most of us are disappointed, perhaps more frequently than those of us who are Christians care to admit. We have expectations that aren't met.  In fact, I often hear from people who have high expectations of ________ (fill in the blank: their faith, marriage, job, church, lifestyle, possessions etc.) which aren't being met.  Very often it seems as though they are grieving the distance between life as they planned it and how it is actually turning out.  It is as though they have heard that they could live "happily ever after" and, at some level they believed it.  (It probably doesn't help that a multi-billion dollar advertising industry constantly props images before their senses that promise  satisfaction.)   

I'm thinking these thoughts just a little over a week after Easter Sunday.  We celebrated the resurrection of Jesus, and here we are, and everything isn't suddenly better.  Relationships still require work--and sometimes, even with work, they fail.  Things break down way too quickly.  Tornadoes still leave their pernicious paths of destruction.  This leads me to say: I think it's very important to remember what Easter is not, as well as what it is.  Resurrection is not a promise that life suddenly gets better, all of our expectations will be met, we will live with joy and perfect purpose from this day forward.  In fact, it's interesting to note that one of the letters of the New Testament that appeals most forcefully to the resurrection of Jesus, so much so that you could even say that resurrection is just dripping from its pages, is 1 Peter.  Read 1 Peter carefully and you'll notice that this witness to resurrection is written to a church in the midst of persecution and suffering.   You wouldn't have to tell Peter's readers twice that the resurrection doesn't suddenly make all things right.  We live in a fallen world.  We ourselves are fallen.  We can expect disappointment to be part of the picture.

Easter is not the promise that our lives will be suddenly better.  It is, however, the sign that God has overcome the powers of evil that resist God's influence.  It is the promise, which faith welcomes, that the suffering love of God that we see in Jesus is the greatest power at work in the world.  Its power is restorative, renewing and healing.  Resurrection signals that this love of God which suffers with and for us will one day restore the world to God's intentions.  It is the sign and promise that we ourselves who entrust ourselves to this transforming love, will be made new and whole.

In the meantime, even while the disappointments of a not-yet whole world are ever about us, our encounters with joy, love, and beauty are hints and promises of what shall be.  Understanding them this way, we don't need to try to squeeze the living daylights out of those experiences (have you ever noticed how that never works?), or become discouraged when they are not present to the degree that we want them.  Rather, we welcome them, give thanks for them, and embrace them as gifts and promises of what shall be.  I find this perspective to be rather satisfying.

Stories of Prayer and Fasting

I want you to tell your stories!  In the coming days and weeks, I encourage you to share on this blog your experiences of how prayer and fasting are impacting you.

As many of you know, during the season of Lent our congregation, along with hundreds of others, is encouraging one another to renew our commitment to live prayerfully and we are also encouraging one another to practice a fast one day each week leading up to Easter.  (Please follow this link if you'd like to read more about prayer and fasting and how our congregation is embracing these ancient spiritual disciplines: http://almacog.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/prayer-and-fasting.pdf.)   I'm writing today to ask you to share your stories.  Today and in the weeks to come, I invite you to share your experiences, good and bad, success and failure, on this blog.  I'm planning to leave this blog entry standing, rather than write a new entry each week, as I typically do.  I'm hopeful that many of you will share your stories, struggles and testimony in this space. (If you wish to remain anonymous that will, of course, be respected.)

A Study in Contrasts

A study in contrasts:  I enjoyed a cup of coffee Monday morning before a beatific vision.  I looked out through the back window of our family's home, where the morning sun dominated the sky, geese moved about lazily in the open waters behind my neighbor’s house, two of whom had wandered into our back yard where they were plucking the grass surrounding the raised garden beds.  A swan couple peered about majestically from the broader waters of the Pine River.  It was simply an extraordinary, exquisite morning.  I went to bed Monday night after watching a horrific vision of destruction on the television screen.  I watched amateur footage of the tsunami's initial strike in Japan, followed by aerial shots of the aftermath.  I also watched footage of a nuclear power plant and heard the commentator speak in serious tones about what a 'meltdown' would mean for Japan and the world. 

Two visions, one of unspeakable beauty, one of unutterable tragedy, competing for space in my mind.  How to make sense of them?  Beauty and tragedy.  

For what it's worth, I do not believe the destruction of life and beauty in Japan is God's doing.  I beg to differ from any who may be inclined to see the events in Japan as God's judgment. I am persuaded that God loves this creation and wills to renew it, and because God loves this creation and all who are in it, God suffers with and for all who are effected by this tragedy.  I trust that we might somehow live close to the heart of God, to carry within ourselves, at one and the same time, a deep and profound appreciation for beauty and a suffering love for the scars created by tragedy.

Prayer and ... Now What's That Word Again?

On the lighter side...

Those of you who are part of our congregation (First Church of God in Alma) may be aware that we will soon be kicking off a forty day emphasis on prayer and fasting.  This weekend I wrote a paper called "Made for More: Reflections on Forty Days of Prayer and Fasting," to explain the purpose and goals of this emphasis.  I wrote the first draft of the paper in my very sloppy longhand, which became sloppier and sloppier the longer I wrote.  As I finished my first draft, I looked back over the pages and realized that (have I mentioned that my handwriting is sloppy?) most of my small "s's" look more like an "r" than an "s" because I hadn't closed them at the bottom.  The upshot is that most of the references to "fast" or "fasting" look more like "fart" or "farting."  My handwritten notes appear to include some of the following gems:

"Why are we encouraging the practice of prayer and farting?"
"We embrace farting as an avenue of freedom."
"Farting is costly."
"... a shared day helps us to emphasize the corporate nature of this fart."
And I think my personal favorite is:
"If you are new to farting, or if you haven't done it for a considerable time, I suggest that you begin with a 24 hour fart."

Beehive and Bunhead would surely be proud.

Willfulness and Willingness

I am more and more persuaded that the way of the sacred adventure is a way of willingness rather than willfulness.  Willfulness is that mindset that says, "I will get this done, I will accomplish these goals, if I fall short I will try harder and harder and harder..."  Willfulness is an independent attitude.  It is the self, by sheer act of will, setting out to accomplish its purposes.  To be sure, some persons accomplish much by extraordinary efforts of will. Picture the athlete holding the gold medal and proclaiming, "I've accomplished this with sheer, unadulterated, hard work." Applied to religion, willfulness tries harder and harder to do the right and justify oneself.  And again, it should be noted that such persons might very well accomplish a great deal.  Some of the most religious people you've ever know might very well be willful people.

That said, I am more and more persuaded that the way of the sacred adventure, the way blazed by Jesus Christ, is the way of willingness.  Where willfulness is independent and ever committed to trying harder and harder, willingness is surrendered to a source of life and love greater than oneself.  A willing person is convinced that something great and beautiful is already taking place, even before she makes it her business.  He believes there is a power operative in the world that is bringing about the good, and his business is to consent to that power and cooperate with it.  A willing person is surrendered to the source of life.  I use the word 'surrendered' in the hope that we can discard its negative connotations.  I have in mind here the kind of surrender the sail experiences in relation to the breeze. 

Willingness is not passive.  Some of the most active people we've ever heard of--people like Francis of Assisi, Gandhi, Mother Theresa, Martin Luther King--were, I believe, willing persons, surrendered to the source of life.  I should note, too, that not all willing persons are known primarily for their religious lives.  I think of artists and musicians whose lives and work have expressed something of this surrender. 

The  Apostle Paul invited us to be willing rather than willful when he repeatedly counseled us to walk not in the flesh, but in the power of the Holy Spirit.  The move from willfulness to willingness is a life-long journey, an ongoing process of conversion.  It is, I believe, the heart and goal of the Christian journey.

An Ongoing Conversation

I once heard a story (the source, if I recall correctly, was Peter Rollins) about a pair of rabbis who had a long and passionate disagreement about a certain text of scripture.  The two argued about the text, year after year, point and counter-point, but neither ever changed his views. On and on it went until, at last, God decided to settle the debate.  "I've heard enough of your arguing," God said to the rabbis, "so I've decided to solve the matter.  I'll tell you the correct interpretation of the passage."  The rabbis stole a confused glance at one another and then said to the Lord, "Go back to heaven.  We're enjoying the conversation."

I love this silly story because it pokes fun of the seriousness with which many of us hold our differences.  All too often, a disagreement--whether it be about the interpretation of a text of scripture or the newest political hot button--sends us into conversion mode, where we expend all of our energies in our efforts to convert the other to our point of view.  What's troubling, of course, is that where this mindset prevails, the quality of community is diminished.  We are pressed into either/or thinking:  I'm right and you're wrong, and that's the end of the conversation.

I once knew a couple who had been married for something like 50 years.  As my first conversation with them was coming to a close, the wife said, "You know, pastor, we've canceled each other out at the voting booth every year of our marriage."  "That's true," her husband chimed in.  "Every year on election day I say to my wife, 'There's no sense in you voting today sweetheart, we'll just cancel each other out.'  She always says 'Alright dear, I won't if you won't.'  And then we both sneak off and do our voting."

I was struck by how playful this husband and wife had remained about their differences over those many years.  The differences were significant and each was passionate about their views.   Still, they had managed to keep a sense of perspective and respect and their marriage flourished. 

Over and again, the Bible tells us that where God is working, human community is formed.  It takes courage to be part of community, and to do it well requires the ability to take strong stands, to argue for truth, and to listen carefully and respect the perspectives of the other.

Would anyone care to disagree with that?

Surprisingly Simple Ways Congregations and Groups Can Avoid Adventure

It does, admittedly, require considerable ingenuity for churches to avoid being on an adventure together.  After all, Jesus Christ led his disciples on THE sacred adventure.  However, history has shown that if churches and church-related groups are strong-willed enough, they can remain in their comfortable ruts, and avoid adventure altogether.  Last week I tossed out some time-tested ways for individuals to avoid the adventure.  Today I take up the task of providing suggestions about how groups and churches can do the same.

1.  Develop an "us" and "them" mindset.  This is crucial.  We (the church) are the insiders, and those people out there are, well, I think you get the idea.  The "us" and "them" mindset is helpful in several ways.  It protects us from the challenge of having to welcome the stranger (and we all know how uncomfortable that is); it helps us to embrace a bit of 'holier than thou' (an insulation from adventure if ever there was one); and it protects us from the gifts of those outside our walls.  (We wouldn't want to be challenged by their poets, writers and artists now would we?)

2.  Insist on uniformity.  If we're to avoid adventure, we simply must all look and sound alike and agree about most everything.  If we can develop a 'herd' mentality, we won't have to face the challenge of really listening to persons who differ from us.  I'm sure you'll agree that makes for a great deal more comfort.

3.  Outlaw all words that tie us to our past, such as 'tradition' and 'ritual.'  It is a sad but true fact for those who wish to avoid adventure that the church's history is pregnant with examples of congregations that have stayed remarkable close to the adventure of Jesus.  Many of those congregations and their members passed down what they learned of the art of prayer, how to cooperate with the Holy Spirit and how to embrace the rhythms of worship and service.  If we can just toss out words like 'tradition' and 'ritual' altogether, we won't have to learn from those folks at all.  In fact, we'll soon forget that they ever lived.

4.  Become so heavenly minded that we are of no earthly good.  The following idea will be extremely challenging, but perhaps someone could find time to cut out all references to God's good creation and our lives in it from the pages of the Bible. If we could do that, we could quickly forget that our lives in this world are important to God.   Honestly, there may not be that much left of the Bible after we cut out all references to our lives here in the creation, but the holey Bible that remained (forgive the pun, please) might lack the power to call us to live deeply and well here and now.  Take this as your mantra: "Nothing here really matters."

5.  Avoid lament.  "Lament," as you probably know, is a complaint about our circumstances and lives that is brought before God in prayer.  The Psalms contain dozens and dozens of laments, so best to avoid the Psalms.  We want to avoid lament because if we learn to bring pain and disappointment to God, it won't be long before we realize that God shares our sufferings with us.  From there it's just a short step to realizing that God laments the present state of things in the world.  And then--brace yourself--we might find ourselves joining God's protest against the brokenness of the world.  And then--prepare to shudder--we might actually find ourselves joining our lives to God's love for the world.

6.  If we're to avoid being on the adventure together, we must focus on all things trendy.  It's better to stay in touch with today's fads than for churches to listen and think deeply about things like the preaching of Jesus, or learning to pray or serving the least of these.  Style is always more important than substance.

7.  Let's work very hard to maintain a sharp distinction between the pastors and the rest of our congregations.  We'll give them fancy titles like "the clergy" and "the laity."  We'll convince the laity that real ministry can only be done by trained professionals.  Pretty soon we'll forget that Christianity was, from the very beginning, a movement in which all people were joined to God's project of renewing creation.

8.  And finally (only because of lack of time, not because of a lack ideas...), let's forget that the faith of Christians is profoundly hopeful.  The resurrection of Jesus promises that God's renewal project which Jesus embodied and proclaimed is loosed on the earth so that one day, in God's time, life will triumph over all forms of death.  If you want to avoid adventure, it's best not ever to think about that.

Surprisingly Simple Ways Congregations and Groups Can Avoid Adventure

It does, admittedly, require considerable creativity for churches to avoid being on an adventure together.  After all, Jesus Christ led his disciples on THE sacred adventure.  However, history has shown that if churches and church-related groups are strong-willed enough, they can remain in their comfortable ruts, and avoid adventure altogether.  Last week I tossed out some time-tested ways for individuals to avoid the adventure.  Today I take up the task of providing suggestions about how groups and churches can do the same.

1.  Develop an "us" and "them" mindset.  This is crucial.  We (the church) are the insiders, and those people out there are, well, I think you get the idea.  The "us" and "them" mindset is helpful in several ways.  It protects us from the challenge of having to welcome the stranger (and we all know how uncomfortable that is); it helps us to embrace a bit of 'holier than thou' (an insulation from adventure if ever there was one); and it protects us from the gifts of those outside our walls.  (We wouldn't want to be challenged by their poets, writers and artists now would we?)

2.  Outlaw all words that tie us to our past, such as 'tradition' and 'ritual.'  It is a sad but true fact for those who wish to avoid adventure that the church's history is pregnant with examples of congregations that have stayed remarkable close to the adventure of Jesus.  Many of those congregations and their members passed down what they learned of the art of prayer, how to cooperate with the Holy Spirit and how to embrace the rhythms of worship and service.  If we can just toss out words like 'tradition' and 'ritual' altogether, we won't have to learn from those folks at all.  In fact, we'll soon forget that they ever lived.

3.  Become so heavenly minded that we are of no earthly good.  The following idea will be extremely challenging, but perhaps someone could find time to cut out all references to God's good creation and our lives in it from the pages of the Bible. If we could do that, we could quickly forget that our lives in this world are important to God.   Honestly, there may not be that much left of the Bible after we cut out all references to our lives here in the creation, but the holey Bible that remained (forgive the pun, please) might lack the power to call us to live deeply and well here and now.  Take this as your mantra: "Nothing here really matters."

4.  Avoid lament.  "Lament," as you probably know, is a complaint about our circumstances and lives that is brought before God in prayer.  The Psalms contained dozens and dozens of laments, so best to avoid the Psalms.  We want to avoid lament because if we learn to bring pain and disappointment to God, it won't be long before we realize that God shares our sufferings with us.  From there it's just a short step to realizing that God laments the present state of things in the world.  And then--brace yourself--we might find ourselves joining God's protest against the brokenness of the world.  And then--prepare to shudder--we might actually find ourselves joining our lives to God's love for the world.

5.  If we're to avoid being on the adventure together, we must focus on all things trendy.  It's better to stay in touch with today's fads than for churches to listen and think deeply about things like the preaching of Jesus, or learning to pray or serving the least of these.

6.  And finally (only because of lack of time, not because of a lack ideas...), let's work very hard to maintain a sharp distinction between the pastors and the rest of our congregations.  Well give them fancy titles like "the clergy" and "the laity."  Pretty soon we'll forget that Christianity was, from the very beginning, a movement of all people, in ministry to the world.  The sooner we forget that, the better!

Ten Ways to Sabotage Adventure

Very often I hunger and thirst to embrace life as a sacred adventure, but I've learned that there are hundreds of ways to sabotage that longing.  (I don't even have to look to others for help.)  Here are ten of my time-tested suggestions for disrupting the call to adventure. 

1.  Worry a lot about what others think of you.  Working hard to manage others' impressions of you is a full-time job and will surely distract you from your own adventure.
2.  Bury yourself in noise and activity.  In so doing, you never have to listen to the hungering and thirsting of your heart.  Keeping the radio in the car tuned to sports talk or news talk is a fabulous strategy.  And be sure to respond to every Facebook post and every email.
3.  If it is absolutely necessary to pray (best to avoid it, of course), be sure to avoid quieting your soul.  (Ignore Psalm 131 at all costs!)  Too many people have learned that becoming fully present to God regularly over many months lends itself to becoming less anxious about the affairs of the day and more open to one's sense of call.  Dangerous indeed!  
4.  When reading the Bible (again, best to avoid), focus on getting it right.  The key is to read the Bible to prove the Baptists, Lutherans, Orthodox, et. al. wrong.  Whatever you do, don't read the Bible as a narrative of which our lives are part.
5.  Related to 4, if you get caught up in the narrative of Scripture (sometimes it's bound to happen), put all of your energies into turning it into a system of thought.  For example, if you encounter God on a Tuesday morning at 6:16, make it a law that you and others should seek God's face every Tuesday at 6:16.  Remember, the law kills the adventure!
6. Guard the split of the sacred and the secular like your life depends on it!  Love only Christian music, Christian art and Christian beauty. 
7.  Remember, the adventure happens after you die.   
8.  Avoid your neighbor's pain.  You have enough of your own.  Many people have been dangerously tempted to live adventurously by paying attention to the intersection between their gifts and the world's pain.
9.  Know which box you fit in!  If you haven't yet taken a temperament analysis, do so right now.  Remember, those kind of tests determine who you are.  If your box says you're an extrovert, you don't ever have to try to learn how to be alone.  And if it says you're an introvert, relax, you don't have to try to be around people.  Your box determines you!
10.  Remember, old dogs can't learn new tricks.  Change is a myth.  People don't grow.  Life is much easier if you don't try.

Thinking of Egypt and Facebook and Authority

Earlier this afternoon (Tuesday), BBC News reported that "Egyptian protesters are holding huge rallies in Cairo and other cities as they step up their efforts to force President Hosni Mubarak from power." http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-12331520  I hope you've heard the reports and seen some of the images.  These events are potentially earthshaking for Egypt and the Middle East.  Let's keep the people in these regions in our prayers.

One of the remarkable things about what's happening in Egypt today is that much of the impetus for these events has come from young people who are connecting with one another on Facebook and other social media sites.  Instead of moving from the 'top down,' as these things usually do, this uprising is swirling up from the grass roots, much as it did in Tunisia.  Once again, we're seeing how the internet makes an entirely different kind of connecting possible.  

In her recent book Reframing Hope, author Carol Howard Merritt describes some of the ways that web-based technologies are transforming the ways we think about authority and community.  Carol is a pastor in the Washington D.C. area who utilizes web-based tools like blogging (check out her blog, http://tribalchurch.org), Facebook and Twitter to connect with others who are praying and working for the will of God to be done on earth as it is in heaven.  She suggests that the grass-roots connecting that the internet makes possible (such as we are seeing today in Egypt) gives expression to a different kind of authority than that which is traditionally associated with churches.  Traditionally, authority in churches traveled from the top down.  In some churches this meant that the pastor told people what to do, and then they were supposed to do it.  In this new paradigm, authority is empowering and generative.  Whenever people connect around a powerful story or a great idea, energy and action is generated.

I can't help but think that this 'grass-roots' notion of authority lines up beautifully, in many ways, with the narrative of Jesus.  Because Christians have been confessing Jesus as 'Christ' and 'Lord' for some 2,000 years, it's easy to forget that Jesus was a lay-minister, an itinerant preacher who went about Galilee proclaiming to peasants that the reign of God was near.  Some who heard him said that he spoke 'with authority'--but they were quick to note that it was not like the authority of the religious leaders.  His authority did not come from the top of the religious hierarchy down to the masses, but rather generated and empowered a movement of men, women and children who in turn prayed and worked for God's will to be done on earth as in heaven. 

The authority I'm attempting to describe is one that authors us (think of the connection between 'authority' and 'authoring').  It is the authority of the vine that gives life to the branches.  It generates possibility and creativity.  It empowers people to become more authentic (note, again, the connections between authority/authentic). 

As you can see, I'm doing a good deal of thinking about authority these days. I'm trying to imagine what it might look like when this kind of authority takes root in faith communities.  I'd love to hear your thoughts about that.

Love and Fear and the Sacred Adventure

"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear."

I am growing more and more convinced that there is no greater enemy to the sacred adventure than fear.   For some months now I've been doing an experiment in which I've been trying to be more aware of the influence of fear in my life.  Each time I notice that my shoulders are soar or my neck is stiff, I try to look 'beneath the surface' to identify why I'm tense.  With astonishing frequency, the culprit is fear. The stiffness in my neck points to my fear that I've disappointed someone; the tight shoulders speak to the fear that I'm not accomplishing all that I think I should; the headache exposes the fear that a well-laid plan is not working out; the ache in the stomach speaks of a coming challenge of which I'm afraid.   "The issue is in the tissue," someone has said; the various aches and pains are symptoms of fear's pervasive influence.

One of the many challenges related to fear, of course, is that when we're frightened we tend not to think as clearly.  Someone I know suffered from test anxiety.  Every time she sat down to take a test she became frightened of failure.  Because she was afraid, she couldn't think clearly enough to perform well on the test.  An ironic loop if ever there was one.  When we feel threatened (whether we really are threatened or not), fear narrows our thinking, limits creativity and clouds our decision-making processes.

When religion becomes sick, it becomes another vehicle for fear. I am sometimes astonished at how deeply rooted this is.   Legalism is but one powerful expression of religious fear, where the letter of the law dominates all that we do and say.  Even powerful practices like prayer, reading scripture and corporate worship can be driven by the powerful fear that we are disappointing God or a significant other if we don't do them.  Dogmatism is another expression of fear-based religion.  "I'm right and you're wrong and that is the end of the conversation."   Here, community is destroyed in the name of being 'right.'

I believe that fear-based religion is to Christian faith what pyrite is to real gold.  "Perfect love casts out all fear," St. John wrote to the church of the first century. The ground and foundation of the Christian community is not fear, but love.  I wonder what would happen if we regarded all of the powerful practices of the Christian journey-- practices such as prayer, receiving communion, fasting, worship, and service--as a grounding of our lives in love, if each day, we would make an effort to close out distractions for at least a few minutes  and do nothing but be fully present to the love of God.  It would be difficult, to be sure.  There are so many things, often fear-based, that demand our attention.  I suspect, however, that if we could regularly  make space to be fully present to the love of God, we would find that there is no room in love for fear and that the freedom, creativity and courage that are requisite to the sacred adventure are to be found there.

 I'm mulling over this little tidbit today:

I hear that Rabbi Akiva is said to have uttered something like the following.

"In the time to come, God will not ask me, Why were you not more like Moses or Elijah or Jeremiah?'  In the time to come, God will ask me, 'Why were you not more Akiva?'"

One of the most liberating questions anyone ever put to me was the following:  "Why don't you stop trying to be a pastor whose name happens to be Steve?  Why don't you put your energies into being Steve, who happens to be a pastor?"  (Thank you, Brant)

It's Ironic

It is supremely ironic that many of us become anxious about the faith of our loved ones.  I've detected this in myself many times, and I've observed it in others.  Moms and dads worry about whether or not their children will entrust their lives to Christ, wives become anxious for their husbands (and husbands for their wives), and pastors worry about the faith of their congregation's members.   When this is so, we tend to speak in loud tones, to lecture, plead, and even, on occasion, manipulate our loved ones to become believers, or to become better believers.   But here is the irony.  Faith is, as the New Testament reminds us repeatedly, a non-anxious way of being.  To have faith in God is to trust God to meet our daily needs (see Mt 6) and to entrust our worries to God through prayer, so that the "peace that passes understanding" will guard our hearts and minds.   Faith and trust are inseparable; faith and anxiety are oil and water.  To become anxious about the faith (or lack thereof) of another person is a faithless act.  It takes the responsibility for a loved one's faith upon one's self, as though God is not!   The alternative to being anxious about the faith of those I love is simple, but challenging.  Each of us is called to bear witness to our faith to others, including our loved ones, and then to trust God with the outcomes.  To bear witness is to speak of that which I have seen, heard, experienced to be true.  It is a far different thing to bear witness to my faith than it is to anxiously seek to impress it upon another.  In the former case, I am planting seeds and trusting God.  In the latter case, I'm lecturing and manipulating and acting as though I am God.

Productivity and Fecundity

Aided by some very nice reading (thank you Henri Nouwen), I'm thinking today about the difference between productivity and fecundity.  If you're not familiar with the word (I was not), fecundity has to do with being fruitful, bountiful, prolific.  While productivity, in the way that it is commonly used, could be thought of as a quantitative and technical category (one's productivity is equal to how much one has produced, and how efficiently one has produced it), fecundity is a qualitative and organic category.   A human who is productive accomplishes much; a person who is fecund is open and receptive to life in ways that allow her to be life-giving.

It seems to me that the distinction between productivity and fecundity is an important one for people on a sacred adventure.  I don't mean in any way to belittle the importance of productivity.  When the curtains of the day are drawing to a close and I reflect on the day just lived, it's rewarding to look back and note what I've accomplished. Businesses need to be productive, as do governments and churches.  I'd rather work with a person who is productive than one who is not.   It seems to me, however, that the importance of productivity is often blow terribly out of proportion.  In the worst sort of 'works righteousness,' where productivity is the most important thing, we judge people on the basis of how much they accomplish.  An unfettered quest for productivity can, as we have so often seen, easily overlook the human dimension of ours and others' lives.  How many people are forgotten, overlooked or used in the inexorable push to be more productive?  

Fecundity, on the other hand, is a profoundly organic category.  Remember, a fecund person is open to life in ways that make him life-giving. A fecund person will accomplish much, but not necessarily in ways the world would describe as productive.  One of my personal favorite examples is that of the late Henri Nouwen.  In the later chapters of his life, Father Nouwen left the university, where he enjoyed an important teaching post, to live and work in a home for mentally handicapped adults.  By the standards of productivity, his career move was foolish.  He left behind honors and prestige to embrace this simple way of living in community with the 'poor in spirit.'  But Father Nouwen wrote deeply and thoughtfully about the impact of that career move on himself and others.  His emerging clarity about life in the Spirit, about which he wrote so beautifully, has inspired thousands of readers.  He set an example and offered an invitation to be more fully human in a highly technological world.  A fecund life.

We heard a beautiful sermon this last Sunday (thank you, Paul!) in which we were reminded of those who are like trees, planted by streams of water, which yield their fruit in season (Psalm 1).   Jesus taught his disciples that those who abide in him as a branch abides in the vine will bear much fruit.  Here are two Biblical invitations (among dozens) to a fecund life.