I just watched Greg Hawkins' and Bill Hybels' videos on REVEAL, a study that was done that "revealed" that the megachurch way of doing church, of being "seeker-sensitive" enough to take the cross out of the church and rely on the programs that the church has to offer isn't doing it for people. But I'm not here to break it down for you. watch the videos, read the book, go to the website.
http://revealnow.com/story.asp?storyid=49 (Bill Hybels)
http://revealnow.com/story.asp?storyid=48 (Greg Hawkins)
Notice that their answer to the over-programming (and over-commoditization) of church is... (drumroll)...another commodity! "Personal spiritual growth trainers" or something to that effect. Awesome. The consumerism has made church lame. And now, let's get them a personal trainer so that they can then blame their lack of spiritual growth on their trainer. Yep. Sounds like a plan. Sign me up.
Okay, sarcasm aside, the question arises for me, "how do I get this rag-tag group of 25 or so inner-city youth to take the spiritual disciplines seriously? How do i distinguish between those that are ready for solitude and silence and prayer and those that need to be told that they aren't ugly and don't need to do drugs to fit in? What if there isn't so much of a distinction?" These aren't easy questions for someone like me to answer. They're not easy questions for anyone to answer. Anyway, I'm just wondering here. peace to you all. the Waiting is almost over!
one of these days, I'm gonna get around to writing about activism and ministry.
Dec 22, 2007
on Faith and Waiting
What of the unsurety of faith? How does waiting for the Advent of Jesus in this world relate to this fact?
Sometimes faith is so unsure. Sometimes it means standing in the middle of downtown realizing that nothing you are doing at your funky urban church is really doing a thing for all these people (and after all, aren't these the important ones?). And then going back to that little church, to that garden and that house and sweeping the kitchen because in the morning, people will be coming over for breakfast. A quiet assurance that what is happening here matters because God does not look to the powerful, but to the weak. There is joy in that knowledge. It is joy that dances in the face of fear because fear runs everything else--fear of spinning into nothing. But stillness and silence are faith because they trust in something other than ourselves to hold the world up and make it worthwhile. Its like singleness. Singleness as a call and vocation is faith because it trusts that God will regenerate the community of faith, not our own efforts at reproduction. It isn't sure, but it believes. That's why its faith.
the faith of stones that lie,
unmoving in the face of tragedy.
still as all around dies.
the faith of indifference
to the goings-on of the inhabitants.
stones, unmoved in history's silence.
because the stones know that God is moving.
And that is Advent. we wait indifferently because we do not need to know that something is happening now or today or tomorrow or even before we die to know that God is doing something. As they say, "Aslan is on the move." So we wait. We give what we have and no more or less because we know that God is moving and drawing all this world to Godself, working the invisible kingdom into all of the crevaces and crannies. Yet we wait expectantly because we know that this invisible kingdom is a good kingdom and ruled by a good king. We wait expectantly for the time when the world is ruled with righteousness and justice, when power is used justly, and when the nations rally to the banner of King Jesus. Hooray! Leap up and do a jig! Speak in tongues, if you wish! Run, run, run! And also sit and quietly pray. Do whatever you must to be in the presence of the Lord because the Lord is coming.
Sometimes faith is so unsure. Sometimes it means standing in the middle of downtown realizing that nothing you are doing at your funky urban church is really doing a thing for all these people (and after all, aren't these the important ones?). And then going back to that little church, to that garden and that house and sweeping the kitchen because in the morning, people will be coming over for breakfast. A quiet assurance that what is happening here matters because God does not look to the powerful, but to the weak. There is joy in that knowledge. It is joy that dances in the face of fear because fear runs everything else--fear of spinning into nothing. But stillness and silence are faith because they trust in something other than ourselves to hold the world up and make it worthwhile. Its like singleness. Singleness as a call and vocation is faith because it trusts that God will regenerate the community of faith, not our own efforts at reproduction. It isn't sure, but it believes. That's why its faith.
the faith of stones that lie,
unmoving in the face of tragedy.
still as all around dies.
the faith of indifference
to the goings-on of the inhabitants.
stones, unmoved in history's silence.
because the stones know that God is moving.
And that is Advent. we wait indifferently because we do not need to know that something is happening now or today or tomorrow or even before we die to know that God is doing something. As they say, "Aslan is on the move." So we wait. We give what we have and no more or less because we know that God is moving and drawing all this world to Godself, working the invisible kingdom into all of the crevaces and crannies. Yet we wait expectantly because we know that this invisible kingdom is a good kingdom and ruled by a good king. We wait expectantly for the time when the world is ruled with righteousness and justice, when power is used justly, and when the nations rally to the banner of King Jesus. Hooray! Leap up and do a jig! Speak in tongues, if you wish! Run, run, run! And also sit and quietly pray. Do whatever you must to be in the presence of the Lord because the Lord is coming.
Dec 19, 2007
I don't even know if I really believe this post.
my body is tired from the semester and all the work that went into it. It has decided that being sick is one of the best ways to spend my break. So instead of working on 20 waking hours like i usually do and would like to continue doing, i'm running at about 14 or 16 waking hours. ah, whatever. Its not like my reading another book really is somehow cosmically significant.
So here's a deep concern of mine: Barnes & Noble's religion section. Borders too, for that matter. Now, B&N has an awful religion (excuse me--Christianity) section. It's pretty pathetic. Borders' religion section is much better. But what concerns me is that every time I'm at one of these megabookstores, I find myself face to face with more and more books on the gnostic gospels and the end of Christianity and things like that. Yesterday, I saw one on "The Other Christianities" or something like that. Now, I'm no fundy Bible scholar. It doesn't bother me that people know about certain gospels being kept out of the canon and certain heresies such as Arianism and Marcion's heresy. The gospel of Judas doesn't get a rise out of me. I understand that there were certain historical facts about how the canon came to be that could get some to say that history, even Christian history, is written by the winners. Okay. I can live with that. Communities of people are trying to work out all this Trinity/Son of God business etc., etc. and some get cut out. I know that there were some fairly unChristian things that happened in the midst of all this, too. Its part of any group of people developing.
What worries me is that somehow, it seems to me like the world is eating all this stuff up. It seems like the everyone is loving it. And this on top of a new spate of atheist writings that are working to dismantle God. It makes me feel weird and sad. Weird because I'm beginning to feel as if somehow being a Christian--and especially a pastor--is going to put me in the minority in the world, and very much so. I mean, the way that practicing Jews or Ba'hais are in the minority. There is such a movement out there against Christianity that I wonder if we are going to see a dwindling in my faith as time goes on. Will there even be people left at the end of my life? I mean, I know there will be Christians, but this Hauerwasian "outpost" mentality may become our mentality out of necessity, not just because it really is true. I suppose that Christians losing popular ground is a good thing because it reminds us that to be a follower of Jesus is not some sort of cultural heritage. It really is, as Muslims say, an inner jihad, a journey of self and community to follow Christ in word, thought, and deed. But at the same time, it makes me sad to see that the faith that has nurtured me and brought me life is losing ground and maybe less people will hear about it.
Then again, no serious presidential candidate is claiming to be anything but Christian. Maybe we haven't really moved so far away from being dominated by Christianity. Maybe we've still got quite a ways to go before the outpost mentality really sets in.
So here's a deep concern of mine: Barnes & Noble's religion section. Borders too, for that matter. Now, B&N has an awful religion (excuse me--Christianity) section. It's pretty pathetic. Borders' religion section is much better. But what concerns me is that every time I'm at one of these megabookstores, I find myself face to face with more and more books on the gnostic gospels and the end of Christianity and things like that. Yesterday, I saw one on "The Other Christianities" or something like that. Now, I'm no fundy Bible scholar. It doesn't bother me that people know about certain gospels being kept out of the canon and certain heresies such as Arianism and Marcion's heresy. The gospel of Judas doesn't get a rise out of me. I understand that there were certain historical facts about how the canon came to be that could get some to say that history, even Christian history, is written by the winners. Okay. I can live with that. Communities of people are trying to work out all this Trinity/Son of God business etc., etc. and some get cut out. I know that there were some fairly unChristian things that happened in the midst of all this, too. Its part of any group of people developing.
What worries me is that somehow, it seems to me like the world is eating all this stuff up. It seems like the everyone is loving it. And this on top of a new spate of atheist writings that are working to dismantle God. It makes me feel weird and sad. Weird because I'm beginning to feel as if somehow being a Christian--and especially a pastor--is going to put me in the minority in the world, and very much so. I mean, the way that practicing Jews or Ba'hais are in the minority. There is such a movement out there against Christianity that I wonder if we are going to see a dwindling in my faith as time goes on. Will there even be people left at the end of my life? I mean, I know there will be Christians, but this Hauerwasian "outpost" mentality may become our mentality out of necessity, not just because it really is true. I suppose that Christians losing popular ground is a good thing because it reminds us that to be a follower of Jesus is not some sort of cultural heritage. It really is, as Muslims say, an inner jihad, a journey of self and community to follow Christ in word, thought, and deed. But at the same time, it makes me sad to see that the faith that has nurtured me and brought me life is losing ground and maybe less people will hear about it.
Then again, no serious presidential candidate is claiming to be anything but Christian. Maybe we haven't really moved so far away from being dominated by Christianity. Maybe we've still got quite a ways to go before the outpost mentality really sets in.
Dec 17, 2007
hush.
the end of things, in some ways. i'm back home in Santa Rosa now and that's always something like the end of things. or the beginning. but life's a circle, really, so i guess that makes sense.
there's a lot to write about here, so i'm just going to put it down as it comes. i've been away from this for awhile. i would have liked to write, but in the midst of finals and the end of the year and our strange cultural conviction that every group of more than 4 people must have a Christmas party, i have missed opportunities to really find anything worth writing for other people to read. i've been journalling a lot more lately and seeking for some silence. silence. the little snatches of silences that we are able to grab in between everything else have been the characteristic of my life lately. it seems the past month has consisted of various activities of mine which i consider more or less worthwhile punctuated by the search for silence. i wake up early for the sake of a half hour of silence before everything starts going. just me and my prayer book and Bible, and sometimes God shows up in a very tangible way and speaks encouragement to me and sometimes not. actually, God usually doesn't appear in any way that i can physically or emotionally feel. its as if i'm talking to God from the living room while s/he decides the kitchen or sometimes the garden is the appropriate place for the morning devotions. hmm. its not that God isn't there, its just that God isn't here. i feel like that more and more these days. God isn't here, like here here. you know what i mean? God is...around. i talk about a God that animates all that we do, that gives our being and existing and doing meaning but that doesn't mean that i sense God in my depths, in the atoms and ligaments of my existence. just because i know that God is the energy that keeps the universe from imploding into nihilism doesn't mean that i feel that all the time like i used to. God is, well, there. faithful, loving me and hopefully appreciating the fact that i continue to pray between 4 and 6 mornings a week despite the fact that i can't put my finger on anything specific that prayer does. its just a sort of sifting process. and i believe that prayer has power, but not in the way that comes to mean that we can manipulate God into believing that we are the power behind God's power.
i used to feel new ideas about God so deeply. they would resonate, these new ideas, but they were so fundamentalist. "God is a pacifist" is a good example. but they were all examples of fitting God into categories that i knew, limiting God to my ideas. but by limiting God's freedom, i kept myself so locked up into those categories that I couldn't be free. so nothingness set in. when even your God is lost in the mess of your own chains and limitations, nihilism is inevitable. God must be free. fortunately (oh to grace how great a debtor...), one of those ideas i stumbled upon was the importance of the Church's traditions and silence is clearly one of those. so i began experimenting in these still waters and slowly but surely, i am freeing God from myself, and in the process being freed.
like i said, its a sifting process. i was listening to a radio program in LA on the drive up here last night and i heard an artist talking about her time at an artist colony in New Hampshire. She said that she found that her mind was like a dryer going around and around only it wasn't full of clothes or bedsheets or anything worthwhile like that. instead, it was full of garbage. that's what silence does. it makes us realize what is inside our head and allows us to really hear what's going on outside our heads. it lets us hear sounds that aren't ours. people, i'm sure, think that monks and other hermits and silent people go to the desert or the monasteries or the prayer closets in order to get away from people and be close to themselves or God or whatever. but that's not true. i mean, maybe for some, but that's not true. solitude is the only thing that lets us really be with people. i heard this before but never even began to understand it until just recently. Silence is the reason that we can even be close to anyone. if you want to be with people, you need to be able to hear sounds that are outside of your head, whether that is your boots crunching on the path, a bird, a deer's footsteps, a crying friend or nothing at all--the kind of nothing that leaves me totally amazed every time and every second of every time (infinity in all directions) that this sort of thing even exists.
i went to the desert on thursday. it was beyond compare. i could only wish for a few more hours. sitting silently for almost 3 hours with one walk and all i could ask for was a few more hours. i'm becoming more of a hermit every day. i long for these moments of blank space. i long to fill them with my prayers and write my stories there, sing my songs there and spin around them. but in the end, i want to realize that all my efforts have not contributed. i want to find out that i've been writing with a white crayon all the while and the page is as i found it. i'm not trying to change everything or break the quiet as a way of reducing my anxiety. i just want to be quiet with the page. in the desert, we (Josh Seligman went with me) weren't so far from the road and there were maybe 3 cars that went by during the course of the 14 or 15 hours that we were there. you could here them coming for about a mile each way. they come like a ufo or a jet in that land. it really is a sort of roaring that slowly builds and you want to stand up and think them away because the deep, ringing-in-the-ear-producing silence has been trod upon. we humans are so foreign in places like this. but i just want to be quiet like the page, like the cactus, like the black ant that crawls and is now significant because i've seen no living animal but Josh and a single bird all day. empty and sifted and slowed down, like a dryer on low with just a few pieces of clothes in it.
there's a lot to write about here, so i'm just going to put it down as it comes. i've been away from this for awhile. i would have liked to write, but in the midst of finals and the end of the year and our strange cultural conviction that every group of more than 4 people must have a Christmas party, i have missed opportunities to really find anything worth writing for other people to read. i've been journalling a lot more lately and seeking for some silence. silence. the little snatches of silences that we are able to grab in between everything else have been the characteristic of my life lately. it seems the past month has consisted of various activities of mine which i consider more or less worthwhile punctuated by the search for silence. i wake up early for the sake of a half hour of silence before everything starts going. just me and my prayer book and Bible, and sometimes God shows up in a very tangible way and speaks encouragement to me and sometimes not. actually, God usually doesn't appear in any way that i can physically or emotionally feel. its as if i'm talking to God from the living room while s/he decides the kitchen or sometimes the garden is the appropriate place for the morning devotions. hmm. its not that God isn't there, its just that God isn't here. i feel like that more and more these days. God isn't here, like here here. you know what i mean? God is...around. i talk about a God that animates all that we do, that gives our being and existing and doing meaning but that doesn't mean that i sense God in my depths, in the atoms and ligaments of my existence. just because i know that God is the energy that keeps the universe from imploding into nihilism doesn't mean that i feel that all the time like i used to. God is, well, there. faithful, loving me and hopefully appreciating the fact that i continue to pray between 4 and 6 mornings a week despite the fact that i can't put my finger on anything specific that prayer does. its just a sort of sifting process. and i believe that prayer has power, but not in the way that comes to mean that we can manipulate God into believing that we are the power behind God's power.
i used to feel new ideas about God so deeply. they would resonate, these new ideas, but they were so fundamentalist. "God is a pacifist" is a good example. but they were all examples of fitting God into categories that i knew, limiting God to my ideas. but by limiting God's freedom, i kept myself so locked up into those categories that I couldn't be free. so nothingness set in. when even your God is lost in the mess of your own chains and limitations, nihilism is inevitable. God must be free. fortunately (oh to grace how great a debtor...), one of those ideas i stumbled upon was the importance of the Church's traditions and silence is clearly one of those. so i began experimenting in these still waters and slowly but surely, i am freeing God from myself, and in the process being freed.
like i said, its a sifting process. i was listening to a radio program in LA on the drive up here last night and i heard an artist talking about her time at an artist colony in New Hampshire. She said that she found that her mind was like a dryer going around and around only it wasn't full of clothes or bedsheets or anything worthwhile like that. instead, it was full of garbage. that's what silence does. it makes us realize what is inside our head and allows us to really hear what's going on outside our heads. it lets us hear sounds that aren't ours. people, i'm sure, think that monks and other hermits and silent people go to the desert or the monasteries or the prayer closets in order to get away from people and be close to themselves or God or whatever. but that's not true. i mean, maybe for some, but that's not true. solitude is the only thing that lets us really be with people. i heard this before but never even began to understand it until just recently. Silence is the reason that we can even be close to anyone. if you want to be with people, you need to be able to hear sounds that are outside of your head, whether that is your boots crunching on the path, a bird, a deer's footsteps, a crying friend or nothing at all--the kind of nothing that leaves me totally amazed every time and every second of every time (infinity in all directions) that this sort of thing even exists.
i went to the desert on thursday. it was beyond compare. i could only wish for a few more hours. sitting silently for almost 3 hours with one walk and all i could ask for was a few more hours. i'm becoming more of a hermit every day. i long for these moments of blank space. i long to fill them with my prayers and write my stories there, sing my songs there and spin around them. but in the end, i want to realize that all my efforts have not contributed. i want to find out that i've been writing with a white crayon all the while and the page is as i found it. i'm not trying to change everything or break the quiet as a way of reducing my anxiety. i just want to be quiet with the page. in the desert, we (Josh Seligman went with me) weren't so far from the road and there were maybe 3 cars that went by during the course of the 14 or 15 hours that we were there. you could here them coming for about a mile each way. they come like a ufo or a jet in that land. it really is a sort of roaring that slowly builds and you want to stand up and think them away because the deep, ringing-in-the-ear-producing silence has been trod upon. we humans are so foreign in places like this. but i just want to be quiet like the page, like the cactus, like the black ant that crawls and is now significant because i've seen no living animal but Josh and a single bird all day. empty and sifted and slowed down, like a dryer on low with just a few pieces of clothes in it.
Dec 2, 2007
the desolation of Advent's hope
God is the God who meets us in our desolation. As deserted as our hearts may be, as sandy and nutritionless as they may feel, Christ sits silently with us there in our desolation, however deep. I cannot help but imagine the sand of Anza-Borrego: large clumps of sand mixed in with cactus spines and dry sticks in a sort of desert salad. And Jesus is there. God has shown up in the world, in the flesh. In the desolate flesh.
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