dirtying paper. scratching for beauty.
sirens wail
mother sobs
iron clinks
Shalom
stomach gnawing
nightmare haunting
refugee slumping
Shalom
tires squeal
dad disappears
again, again
Shalom
moonless night
sunless soul
forever alone
Shalom
violence
poverty
anarchy
here
goodness
well-being
feasting
everywhere
Shalom.
I recently read a piece from a well-known figure in the church leadership world. He wrote of a zero-tolerance policy for any language or practice within their church that did not make sense to those who were uncommitted to the story of God. I think I understand – and agree with – some of his concern. I am beyond done with caveman Christianity, practicing the faith with near total disregard for the questions and realities of our friends who are among the unconvinced. I too share irritation at flat, tired Christian lingo, the entire ghetto mentality prevalent in many of our Christian subcultures.
However…
I’m actually drawn the opposite direction. Rather than railing against those things that make little sense to those outside faith, I believe the gospel calls us to live toward realities that don’t make a single bit of sense to any of us, no matter what angle we come from.
Truly, the kingdom of God is laughable, if we take it seriously.
~the way to save your life is to give it away
~love your enemies
~seek the peace of all, even those you despise (or who despise you)
~live for others above self
~take risks and abandon control
~believe that Jesus rose from the dead – and one day will bring all dead things to life
~give yourself to the long, hard work of community
~abandon the droning, captivating sounds of selfish consumerism
~care for the least among us
~live as though success does not determine our identity
Based on the cultures we have breathed in and on the selfish nature of our own heart, we would have to say that those lines are idyllic nonsense, complete poppycock.
And yet, this is precisely the life Jesus calls us to. If we seek to be communities of people living in Jesus’ way, we are embarking on the ludicrous. If the way we live and speak and love makes sense to those around us – or to ourselves – I fear we are wildly off course.
Here’s to the ludicrous life…
This week, I feel as though I entered into a cliche, Christian subculture joke: You know your kids have been raised in an emerging* church if…
On Tuesday, the fam went into Starbucks on The Corner at UVA. When Wyatt went into Bucks’ upstairs, taking in the warm, earth-tone walls, the ambient light, the numerous chairs around tables, the art on the walls, the leather couches, he said, “Mommy, is this a church?”
I’m still pondering what I think about that, a lot there actually.
*for those fortunate enough to be unfamiliar with all the nuance of Christian subcultures, emerging has often become a catch-all world for new forms of Christian theology and worship – a word that, in actuality, mainly means nothing. But emerging does own the annoying stereotype of being fascinated with all things hip and trendy, a “relational authenticity” that can very much be its own version of plastic.
A survey conducted by the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life found that white evangelical Christians are more likely to support torture than people who rarely or never attend religious services. (from CNN)
And we say we live for another Kingdom?
God help us.
Once the act of simply reporting or simply observing is exposed as a fiction — as something that just can’t be done — the facile opposition between faith-thinking and thinking grounded in independent evidence cannot be maintained. {Stanley Fish}
Today, Stanely Fish posted a follow-up article in the Times to his piece last week, “God-Talk.” I found this week’s installment intriguing, but also – it’s just rude to walk out on someone mid-conversation.
I think Fish could have left out the little self-congratulating plug at the bottom, but then again, if someone were taking potshots at me, I’d be tempted to rub it in their face as well. Still, though, the editorial Fish refers to by Paul Campos, even if a bit of defensive hubris, makes a point, several actually. Campos summed up Fish’s repeated mantra nicely: “No believer will find his faith shaken by evidence that is evidence only in the light of assumptions he does not share and considers flatly wrong.”
If, however, you’d like to read a more imaginative (and I’d say humble) response to all this, check out John Blase’s thoughts.
The recent God-debates (Hitchens, Dawkins, D’souza et al.) have, if nothing else, raised again the question: what is Christianity good for? And that is a question any of us who claim the faith ought care about.
Stanley Fish’s recent piece in the NY Times, God Talk, interacts with Terry Eagleton’s book, Reason, Faith and Revolution. Without adhering to any version of Christian orthodoxy, Eagleton has little patience for the triumphant, absolutist pronouncements of those who dismiss faith to the intellectual backwaters, certain that there are more productive ways to find human guidance. Essentially, Eagleton suggests that all other options (capitalism, democracy, modernity, enlightenment, liberalism, science, reason – you name it) simply don’t deliver. “What other symbolic form,” asks Eagleton, “has managed to forge such direct links between the most universal and absolute of truths and the everyday practices of countless millions of men and women?”
Take a read. Tell me what you think. And if you need another teaser:
A society of packaged fulfillment, administered desire, managerialized politics and consumerist economics is unlikely to cut to the depth where theological questions can ever be properly raised.
Yours —we gladly attest—is the kingdom, the power,
and the glory.
Yours—we gladly assert—are the heavens and the earth.
It is you who made all that is,
sun, moon, stars,
rivers, forests, fish—
and us.
We say, “in your image.”
Yours the kingdom and the power and the glory—and then us.
You do not will us to be powerless either,
so you endow us with power to work
to rule
to govern.
We reflect you in our working
in our ruling
in our governing.
Ours is the chance for justice and/or injustice
for mercy and/or rigor
for peace and/or war.
We grow accustomed to our power,
sometimes absolutizing,
and then are interrupted by the
doxology on which we have bet everything:
Yours is the kingdom, the power, and the glory. And we are glad.
{Walter Brueggemann’s prayer “On Creation” from Prayers for a Privileged People}
The ubiquitous blogger J.R. Woodward is the architect for an intriguing blog experience over the 50 days of Easter. Each day, a different voice will join in. Here is J.R.’
s introduction:
In this blog series each of the contributors (authors, bloggers, professors and practitioners) will be summarizing their understanding of the Good News in 300 to 500 words. Each author is writing their entry as if they were invited by their city newspaper to write an article on the Good News…
Today was my day to join in. Take a read, join in on the conversation and enjoy some of the other pieces as well. It’s a thoughtful conversation.
We have turned toward Easter. We have been amid this week of holy things, whether we’ve noticed or not. (And it has been strange for me this Holy Week, good because we’ve done about the holiest thing I know – the Collier clan has been laughing and eating and reading and digging in the sand and soaking in the sun, together. Strange, however, because we have not been with our Christian community during this most sacred of times.) In this final stretch, the stretch between Maundy Thursday and Resurrection Sunday, we experience an intense collision.
Darkness breaks against Light.
Quiet shatters with Laughter.
Fasting goes drunk with Feasting.
Death destroyed by Life.
Everything that needs redeeming (we could have just said everything) erupts with Easter.
In these remaining hours until Easter bursts upon us, may you experience all the collisions and the paradoxes and the hope and humility of having Jesus take you by surprise.
We awakened to 3 or 4 inches of fresh powder this morning; and Wyatt and Seth got first tracks in the neighborhood with their sleds. Seth won the prize for best wipe-out (with a nice strawberry on the chin to serve as witness), but both of them had some pretty mammoth runs down the (very steep) hill. A superb morning.
Last Wednesday, we walked into Lent via a humble Ash Wednesday liturgy with All Souls. It was quiet and beautiful and rich. And yesterday, we 
entered the second week of Lent, as we move further into the rhythm, further into this time for stripping bare and re-centering, a time for awaiting the hope of Easter. Miska and I, as usual, picked what each other would surrender for Lent. Miska has forfeited chocolate, and I am to give up … fear.
Steering clear of chocolate will be difficult for Miska, given her penchant for Starbucks no-fat, decaf mochas (her narcotic of choice) and the Maya truffles from our local chocalatier, Gearhart’s. However, willpower and emptying the cupboards of offending items will see her through. That’s her story, though, not mine. I’ll leave it there.
Fear, however – now that’s a tricky one. I can’t exactly leave off fear by resisting to turn into Bucks’ drive-thru. I haven’t yet discovered a way to empty fear out of the pantry (though I’d love to try if you have any suggestions). I can’t turn fear off at 8 p.m., like last year’s discipline – no computer after 8. Miska picked exactly the right discipline for me, one that gets at the heart of my brokeness, one that touches my place of deepest need for Resurrection. But this I know: willpower alone will not get me through. I need Jesus.
So, as Lent began last week, I paid more attention to praying the hours. And, lo and behold, look what prayer greeted me as the prayer appointed for the week, the prayer I would find waiting for me each time I opened my prayer book:
Most loving Father, whose will it is for us to give thanks for all things, to fear nothing but the loss of you, and to cast all our care on you who cares for us: Preserve me from faithless fears and worldy anxieties, that no clouds of this mortal life may hide from me the light of that love which is immortal, and which you have manifested to us in your Son Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.
Every time I prayed, the words were thrust in front of me: fear nothing but the loss of you … cast all our cares … Preserve me from faithless fears…
I get this sense that someone is talking to me, that Someone is coaxing me toward the light, toward Resurrection. We have miles to go, but we keep walking toward the light.
Lenten mercy to you…
p.s. Miska has posted one of my favorite Lent-appropriate observations from Kathleen Norris