Good Bishop Wright

Last April, I had the opportunity to sit down for a conversation with N.T. Wright. I promised to write about the experience, and I have no idea why it has taken ten months. Even though our conversation is old news, I still wanted to share a bit about this man I have come to admire.

For those unfamiliar, Wright is the Bishop of Durham in the Anglican communion. I’m sure that some of my interest in Wright must be connected to my respect for Anglican theology and narrative (which has had an enormous influence on me, but that is for another day…). However, I‘ve stuck with him because he invites me into the broad, sweeping, dangerous gospel narrative in ways that stir my heart, move me toward repentance and (at the risk of sounding cheeky) simply take my breath away.

Wright has this uncanny way of being a provocateur while simultaneously holding us to the oldest truths. Wright embodies an imaginative fidelity (and the beautiful thing is that neither fidelity or imagination suffer – a difficult feat). I think of Wright as a faithful poetic theologian, and for me, that’s about as high praise as I know how to give a religious thinker.

Bishop Wright made first waves with his Biblical history trilogy (The New Testament and the People of God, Jesus and the Victory of God, and The Resurrection of the Son of God). These mammoth volumes are not for the faint of heart, hefty reads. They were critical, timely pieces – dealing with questions raised about the historical Jesus. Since those treatises, waves continue. Current controversy surrounds his views on justification (for instance: he says Wright is dangerous; Wright says his critics aren’t listening well). We’ll see how it all plays out, but Wright’s impact on me has been primarily in other veins (though I imagine he might well say it’s all interdependent – and I think he’d probably be right).

I’ve appreciated (even if not always agreed with) so much of Wright’s thinking and writing. However, when I got my hands on Surprised by Hope, it went into deeper places, putting words to some of my truest hopes. So, on so many levels, I was excited when Wright was heading to Atlanta and I was able to arrange an interview for a piece that eventually landed at PreachingToday.com.

I arrived early at Wright’s hotel, the Four Seasons on 14th Street. Wright arrived exactly on time (punctuality is a British virtue, after all), and we made our way to the lounge. Nursing a raspy throat, he ordered tea (English breakfast, of course) with honey and lemon. And there I found myself in Nirvana, knee deep in theological conversation with a guy who has the kind of accent that makes every conversation seem more interesting, more important. I declare I was born on the wrong side of the pond.

We chatted about resurrection, about death and life, about hope, about the stunning vision (and promise) of God’s recreation. At the end, I saved 5 minutes for personal questions. One of the questions had to do with my pull toward the Anglican communion, complicated by the reality that there are a few concerns that would most likely prohibit me from being able to be ordained (at least for now). “Could you be Presbyterian?” he asked, only half-jokingly. I loved the humility and openness and graciousness that came from this man whose life is immersed in a particular tradition (I mean, his official title, after all, is: The Right Reverend Father in God, Nicholas Thomas Wright, by Divine Providence Lord Bishop of Durham) but who sees the wide vistas.

We all need guides, faithful voices who can point out the signposts, help us ask the questions, and encourage us to ask better questions, to hope for better answers. I’m thankful to Bishop Wright for being one such guide.

Jump Little Children

I love my boys, these scruffy, loud, belligerent, tender, wild-eyed, questioning, always questioning, imaginative, sword-wielding, lightsaber (or lightsaver, if you’re Seth) slinging, bloody-nosed, scratched up, sweaty, pounding, breaking, crashing, spilling, creating, somersaulting, (have I already mentioned loud?) boys. I love ’em, I do.

Wyatt has entered that I-want-to-be-like-dad season. Yesterday, we gave our old cell phones to the boys, one for each of them. I thought they were perfect to serve as Star Trek communicators, but then they had no concept for anything Star Trek. My, how our public schools are failing us. Anyway, Wyatt immediately stuffed it in his pocket and said, “Dad, I’m carrying it just like you.” A couple minutes (and a couple imaginary phone calls to some fellow named Jake) later, he said, “Mom, sometimes daddy goes out on the deck to talk.” (I do, he’s right) So, Wyatt proceeded out on the deck where he stuck his left hand in his pocket, cocked his head to the right in order to scrunch the phone closer and chatted away as he paced back and forth across the deck. Who do you think he’s seen do just that? Pops.

On some recent dad-time with my youngest (the one mid-air above), Seth asked, “Dad, why don’t we see God?” His father’s son, he is. How do I explain to a five-year-old the complexity that, in one sense we can’t see God the way we see everything else – yet in another sense, God might just be the absolute plainest thing to see in all the world. God is all around us, in every conversation, in every hint of joy and passion and hope. In every hand we touch. In every star-littered sky that makes us stand, riveted, gaping and staring at the wonder surrounding us. And God is there, every time our heart breaks at injustice. God: right in front of our eyes, right at the edge of our fingers, right at the center of our heart.

Wyatt and Seth are watching me. But, truth told, I’m watching them too. Here’s what I see: Wyatt and Seth believe more than I do. They trust more than I do. They laugh and dance and sing and imagine and live more than I do. This image of my boys jumping (or in Wyatt’s case, about to jump) offers most of what I see in them. They are alive. They are hopeful. They play hard and cry hard and hope hard. They live full-throttle, leaping at life.

Jump, boys. Jump.

If you need an appropriate soundtrack to accompany this post, you may begin here.

Clean Head on the Cheap

I’m not too great at keeping New Year’s resolutions. But when a funky idea hits me – and it will save me money – I’m in. On January 1, 2007, I noticed the large pile of shampoos collected from hotels and motels across this great country of ours. And I decided to see if, using them, I could make it a whole year without buying shampoo.

Well, let me tell you, I did. And I’m still going strong.

A few observations:

[1] Among large scale hotels, Hyatt Place has the best shampoo . My opinion might be skewed by the fact that I think this is the coolest chain (when you must do a chain) hotel in the world, hands down, but still…

[2] The motels that pass out the little squeezable tubes where you can barely scrunch out enough for one wash. Cheap, man. Cheap.

[3] Niwot Inn wins best shampoo among independent / boutique establishments.

[4] I have discovered a moral dilemma: is it inappropriate manipulation to work the system in order to get multiple shampoo bottles? Once I embarked on this challenge, I found this constant urge to gather as much shampoo as possible. Amazing the many forms greed can take.

Still, my challenge continues. How long, I do not know. If you wish to send me your samples, feel free.

That was Quick

Well, It didn’t last long. Twitter: not so much. I’m not knocking it for others, but it’s not my kind of gig. I think I still have a little too much cultural orneriness – for instance, I’m bemoaning the slow death of newspapers and hardback books.

I wiggled my toes in the water, but … it’s just overload. I don’t need more reasons to live my life with the jitters (I mean, the twitters). I don’t need to have any more reasons to be distracted. You can’t have much of a conversation with 140 characters – and really, do any of you care to know where am I or what dumb thought I’m thinking at any given freakin’ moment? I doubt it – and if you do, email me. I’ll be happy to tell you.

Besides, Miska said I was sleeping on the counch until I was Twitter-free : )

I probably won’t delete my account (though I will be deleting it from my phone), but if anyone waits to hear from me via Twitter, I’m guessing you’re going to get mostly silence.

All Souls Virtual Home

All Souls, our just-forming church community in Charlottesville, has a new virtual home. It’s definitely a transitional site, as we are – well – in transition. If you want to stay connected with what is happening with our community, you can find it here.

Twitter

So…I’ve finally tilted into Twitter. A few of my friends hit it like crazy, but I’ve resisted. Twitter seems like it has the potential to be the Jolt Cola of technology – and that I don’t need. However, I’ve also seen potential for added relational connections.

If you Twitter, why? Sell me on its value.

Oh – and you can connect with me on Twitter here.

The Government Shall Be Upon His Shoulders

This morning, I was in Washington DC, spending half a day with my good friend, Doug Mikkelsen, an Army chaplain (the Guard) who had been called to duty to provide support for the inauguration. It was stimulating to walk amid this epicenter of history and power. The city still buzzed with energy and excitement (yes, hope). Streets were still closed, bleachers still out along the parade route. In front of the Capitol, thousands and thousands of chairs still sat. Litter and porta potties everywhere. Vendors hawking Obama/Biden wares.

I welcome hope, whenever and however it comes. I wish President Obama well. More than that, I pray for it. And I believe that President Obama has a unique opportunity – if he will take it – to move our country toward a third way, past some of the polarization that has gripped our political psyche for the past two decades.

However, I must be quick to say that I don’t believe – not for one moment – that the deep healing our world needs can ever be found in a man or a government of men. We can do much good in this world (and we ought – by God, we ought). However, we can never do enough. History stands littered with the cycles of human peace and violence. For every shining moment, a shameful page offers a dark balance. Hear our human story: hear a recurring saga of promise and disappointment, achievement and disaster, peace and savagery.

Some will say that this is the invetible path forward, that we will keep trying and will (hopefully) one day get it right. I wish it were so, but I don’t believe it. I believe we keep self-destructing because something is wildly amiss, something we simply can not fix. Something has gone tragically awry within us – and we need One to heal us, One to return us to our intended design. Might our unflagging hopes hint to us that something is deeply good and true about us? And might our persistent failures to grasp and maintain this hope hint to us that we are simply lost and will never – on our own – find our way?

I pray that President Obama will be an agent of justice in this world, but I also resist the notion that any woman or man (or nation or league of nations) will ever be able to bear the burden of making us right again. Only God can do that.

Bishop Wright put it about as well as I’ve heard it during his Christmas message:

We have of course just witnessed a kind of secular version of Isaiah 9. The election of Barack Obama has been hailed with wild delight around the world. …The whole world was hungry for hope, and now Obama, who is indeed brilliant, charming, shrewd and very capable, is being told that the government of the world is upon his shoulders, and we expect him to solve its problems. Poor man: no ordinary mortal can bear that burden. Nor should we ask it of him. The irrational joy and hope at his election only shows the extent to which other hopes have failed, making us snatch too eagerly at sudden fresh signs. And that can only be because we have forgotten the Christmas message, or have neutered it, have rendered it toothless, as though the shoulder of the child born this night was simply a shoulder for individuals to lean on rather than the shoulder to take the weight of the world’s government.

P.S. I know that about eight months ago I said I would tell a bit about my interview with N.T. Wright. And I will, I promise I will. But not today.

History

We have seen history today. I really have little to say. But I am thankful that we live in the generation that has taken this strong step against our evil racist history. The journey is not finished, but we have traveled many miles. No matter your vote in November, this is a beautiful thing.

Prayers for healing and restoration,
Winn

The New Pirates

“But a pirate spokesman assured The Associated Press on Sunday that the 20 crew members [from the ship they had captured] were doing well.” ~msnbc.com

Pirating ain’t what it used to be.

Divine Scrutiny

Lots happening around here. All Souls begins it’s weekly gathering at our house this Sunday. I’ve missed this regular, disciplined form of community. I need it. I really need it. Wyatt and Seth received a couple new games for Christmas, and we’re learning them. I’m currently the reigning champion of Blokus.

I’m trying to figure out where I want to go next with writing. After more than 5 years, I’ve finished my gig @ Relevant – and I’ve pushed Holy Curiosity out of the nest. I have a few small projects going, but right now it’s pretty much just you guys and me, here on the ol’ blog. It has purpose to it, I’m wanting a break. But, also, I’ve felt stilted recently, tired. I’m sure it has shown. I’m eager to see my art take new shape and have fresh breath. I’m ready for some new life in the words.

Biggest of all, Miska and I are entering a new season. A few weeks back, we had a heart-to-heart where we both put voice to a feeling that was a little scary: we were both bored in our marriage. Not something you want to say. Not something you want to feel. But since that tough conversation, a spark has lit. We have turned our face toward one another again. I like where we’re going. We look at each other differently. We touch differently. We listen differently. We sit together on the couch differently.

And one more thing – I am aware of a strong longing for this year to bring deep healing in me. I want to be more free, more full of love. I want to walk with lightness and joy – and strength. I want to see those around me. I want to be a better husband, dad, friend. I want to be a better man. This is a work God must do. But I have to open myself to it. I must stop flailing about. I must open myself to God’s ravaging love, his gaze penetrating into my shadowy corners.

Last night, I read these words from Richard Foster and they won’t let me go: If certain chambers of our heart have never experienced God’s healing touch, perhaps it is because we have never welcomed the divine scrutiny.

Well, I am welcoming divine scrutiny. I probably don’t know what I’m asking for, but in faith and hope, I ask anyway. Anyone with me?

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