THE FOLLOWING is an excerpt from my soon-to-be-published little book, Engaging the Culture:
Recently, while sharing with a group of young leaders from another church, I put up a slide with containing a diagram that, with two simple lines, showed how the church engages (or fails to engage) culture. As I introduced it, I referred to it as a “model”. The word had barely left my mouth when my listeners all began to moan with one accord and one of them burst out: “That’s not very postmodern!” I was baffled. What I was about to describe to them was a whole new view of church and culture which I had captured in some simple lines. How could that not be postmodern? They only laughed as I tried to defend myself, red-faced and mumbling words like “deconstruct” and “meta-narrative.” I finally just went on, careful not to use the word “model” again.
Later in my time with them, however, as we discussed the implications of quantum physics as I have done here in this book, I had an insight. Their context for the word “model” originated in the church world. They had started their own church (which would be described by some as alternative but, to them, was simply authentic) and they had been asked by many skeptical voices, “Well, which model are you using?” They heard the word “model” as the modern tendency to plan it all, institute it all and force it all into manifestation (or simply to copy someone else’s success rather than letting God grow up in your context). I use the word model in a scientific sense: an approximation that simplifies a complicated reality; a view of the systems in place that allows us to interact with them. Yes, I meant model in the quantum sense, and that brings me to the buzzword “emerging”.
The word “emerging” (or “emergent”) has been creeping onto the covers of Christian periodicals for a couple of years now in America (and longer in the U.K.). Most people probably associate it with an age group of leaders and followers who are just now coming into their own in the church—emerging from obscurity. This group will tend to have a different style and different preferences and therefore generate controversy and require magazine article-length explanations! But there is so much more to understanding “emerging” than simply making room for something that isn’t your style or stepping aside for the young guys to have a chance.
God’s truth, by nature, always waits at the next horizon of church life. Just as soon as we think we have finished the manual on how to do church, God allows everything to change and then waits until we again start running after Him. The nature of the invisible plan of God—whether you invoke quantum physics to explain it or simply read the Bible—is that it wants to manifest! Truth is not just an idea; it has within it a drive toward incarnation. Every bit of God’s huge plan for his church waits invisibly to be discovered, cooperated with, and to emerge!
What I call a model is a fleeting glimpse of the way things are, not yet manifest, and the way God wants them to be on earth. That is so much more than a plan or blueprint. In fact, the myriad workbooks and seminars that the church has generated containing steps and programs for growth in the Christian life are, at best, just models of the emergent! Having seen something of the invisible potential of the Kingdom, we are desperate to cooperate and find ways to actualize its possibilities. We must have some kind of tools to do so because the spirit is a world that operates quite differently than the natural one and we tend to lose our bearings easily without some type of construct in our mind. In the spirit, you give to receive; die to live; humble yourself to be exalted. Let’s face it: the Kingdom is counter-intuitive! We need a model when we are in the middle of the deep sacrifice, death of the flesh, or otherwise humbling experience, so that we can remember to cooperate! We need a few steps; a couple of arrows and just a few alliterative catchphrases. (I’m not being sarcastic: we really do. But we can keep it to a few.)
If we understand that, like the models we have of the atom, these constructs are just helpful tools at understanding emergent realities, we will not abuse them and camp out on them. We will allow them to breathe, flex and flow. We will not worship the models instead of the invisible God who can be contained in nothing, but who does bless us with all the handles we need to cooperate with Him! The “cheesy” and superficial only show up when we have forgotten the big invisible picture (or, when we have never seen it to begin with, God forbid!) Things only get trite and stale when we have begun worshipping the creation, in this case the model, instead of being blinded again and again by the light of the all-encompassing Creator!
Our local church does have a model. It is a diagram with circles and arrows and flow and explanation. The criticism might be raised by someone that it is not “emergent” because we are planning it. I say nothing could be farther from the truth. Too many people are claiming to be the emerging church simply because they have thrown away the plan! The emerging church, however, is one who has seen the invisible and is doing their best to help it manifest. They have seen truth beckoning on the next horizon and made the commitment to pursue. The models God gives us may flow and flux as all living things do, but as long as our eyes are fixed on the invisible (I am reminded of Abraham, Moses and all the Hebrews 11 endurance laureates), we will be allowing God’s next move to “emerge” into manifestation through us! We are all a part of the emerging church—for there is no other kind.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Authentic Voice
"Where I've been" is trying to edit and self-publish a book! (I had no idea...the elitism that sems to pervade the publishing industry may just be well-deserved...this is so hard, that is, if you want to do it right and I am certainly plagued with that disease!) I have plunged deep into the mysterious and terrifying world of copyright permissioning. I have been tracking down and e-mailing authors and publishing houses, seeking their written permission to reference their intellectual property in my little 100 copy book run! For the most part, especially among the smaller publishing houses, I have met with good will and generosity. However, some of the larger firms have scared me enough to change my mind about quoting and, let me just say, there will be NO song lyrics quoted in my book, even though I am a passionate babbler about the spiritual meanings behind "secular" pop lyrics!
I never dreamed there could be this much legal minutia and red tape in the simple exercise of writing down one's free speech! What a strange world it seems where people own ideas and words as possessions, and the value placed on honest thought is determined by the market. In my deepest, and least useful, moments of wonderment, I have questioned whether ANY thought is ever purely original! Do we just, in thermodynamic accuracy, pass around the same energy of thought, expressing it through different lips, eyes, paintbrushes and laptops? Is there just one ocean of swirling truth that passes between us all, nothing being created or destroyed, just changing forms? (Told you it was deep--and useless...)
In my more practical moments (and I don't do those well or often), I have wished for a long talk with God about the reasons in his grand design that I didn't just "get published". Why couldn't I have been the one in my half a million people that someone discovered in obscurity and took on as a project? In addition to wearing that badge of validation ("published author"), I would have been able to use in conversation the important sounding phrase, "my editor", referring to the person assigned to help take my pages of messy potential from manuscript to marketable copy! And presumably, "my editor" would have helped me convince the world that I didn't want to exploit their intellectual property!
Until today I had no answer to satisfy me regarding the necessity of this "indie" journey, only a couple of dozen folks who kept reassuring me that self-publishing was the way to go, few of whom had actually done it! But today, as I was changing yet another wording in my little book, sanity suddenly erupted from within and I had, yes, wait for it---another epiphany. I realized, seriously, that in my promised land of publishing, I had allowed myself to adopt the mentality of the ten unbelieving spies, rather than the faith of Joshua and Caleb. I was saying, basically, "There are giants in the land and I'm just a grasshopper in their eyes," as if they held the key to my future. This as opposed to the more God-pleasing Joshua and Caleb who viewed the same giants, but simply said, "Let's do it!"
In that moment of clarity, I realized my independence! I am not dependent on who else I point to for validation. Strip away every reference in my writing to those whom I respect (already "published" authors) and even my wonderful references to current trends (so often made via song lyrics), and I still have something to say! Deny me permission to quote and confine me to what I am absolutely sure came only from my private musings, and I still have a message. I am not an echo; rather, I am making my own sound! The opposition and the obscurity and the feeling that a thousand gates into the market had been barred were worth it all! To take the "promised land" metaphor forward into complete overkill: In the fearful dance I was doing to avoid treading on others' intellectual property, I had somehow discovered that the territory on which I stood really was my own! Admidst the clamor, I had heard my own voice.
In my favorite book by C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces, (which is also one of his most unknown), the main character, after years of stoic and noble endurance, finally pours out a long and resentful complaint about her lot in life to the supernatural powers-that-be. Like a geyser of venom, all her confused resentment erupts without warning. In the shock of hearing herself, she finds an amazing thing. She realizes that, for the first time, she has really heard her own voice.
I have been writing for years, giving it my all, nobly enduring rejection and obscurity and, even recently, trying to live in positive anticipation on this new route of "self-publishing". But, like C.S. Lewis' Orual, my life's journey has finally pushed me into a corner that has caused me to dig deep. I almost gave up, thinking it was too much trouble. But, today, staring at my computer screen while editing my book, I believe that I have really heard my own voice. From the place within that is accessed only by real-time struggle, I realized that I really do have something to say! Giants in the publishing land (or church land, or educational land, or legal land) notwithstanding, I refuse to declare myself a grasshopper any longer, for I have heard my own authentic voice. Something on paper is just a matter of time.
Kingdom interdependence is real and I desperately need (and always will need) my friends and journeymates. But the Kingdom is scored by authentic sounds, created by those who lean on no one else and worry about nothing else. So, here's to all you Kingdom dreamers who have been tempted to resign yourselves to being an echo--don't give up. The world is changed by authentic voices, but they, like diamond, are formed only by underground pressure. Your struggle is worth it. (Perhaps, like me, you have felt desperate to get your voice heard, when in fact, you might have been in the process of actually hearing it yourself! We seem to all run ahead of God's train unknowingly.)
When Jesus interrupted the persecution efforts of Saul of Tarsus, he told him, "I will make you a minister and witness..." (Acts 26:16) In the most dramatic conversion in history, Saul became Paul. But what followed was not immediate public ministry. Paul spent 14 or so years in the wilderness of Arabia being, as Jesus had promised, "made"! The apostle who emerged from the desert was no echo, but an authentic voice--one that is still speaking to literal millions today.
It's all an "indie" journey, really. We are all really self-publishing something with this life that has been given us. We are all recording from the studio in our own basement. Even if we find a way to mass produce the message, the quality all goes back to the work that has been done (and is being done) in our own hearts. So...walk on...and trust...and discover the joy that God takes in bringing forth your authentic voice!
I never dreamed there could be this much legal minutia and red tape in the simple exercise of writing down one's free speech! What a strange world it seems where people own ideas and words as possessions, and the value placed on honest thought is determined by the market. In my deepest, and least useful, moments of wonderment, I have questioned whether ANY thought is ever purely original! Do we just, in thermodynamic accuracy, pass around the same energy of thought, expressing it through different lips, eyes, paintbrushes and laptops? Is there just one ocean of swirling truth that passes between us all, nothing being created or destroyed, just changing forms? (Told you it was deep--and useless...)
In my more practical moments (and I don't do those well or often), I have wished for a long talk with God about the reasons in his grand design that I didn't just "get published". Why couldn't I have been the one in my half a million people that someone discovered in obscurity and took on as a project? In addition to wearing that badge of validation ("published author"), I would have been able to use in conversation the important sounding phrase, "my editor", referring to the person assigned to help take my pages of messy potential from manuscript to marketable copy! And presumably, "my editor" would have helped me convince the world that I didn't want to exploit their intellectual property!
Until today I had no answer to satisfy me regarding the necessity of this "indie" journey, only a couple of dozen folks who kept reassuring me that self-publishing was the way to go, few of whom had actually done it! But today, as I was changing yet another wording in my little book, sanity suddenly erupted from within and I had, yes, wait for it---another epiphany. I realized, seriously, that in my promised land of publishing, I had allowed myself to adopt the mentality of the ten unbelieving spies, rather than the faith of Joshua and Caleb. I was saying, basically, "There are giants in the land and I'm just a grasshopper in their eyes," as if they held the key to my future. This as opposed to the more God-pleasing Joshua and Caleb who viewed the same giants, but simply said, "Let's do it!"
In that moment of clarity, I realized my independence! I am not dependent on who else I point to for validation. Strip away every reference in my writing to those whom I respect (already "published" authors) and even my wonderful references to current trends (so often made via song lyrics), and I still have something to say! Deny me permission to quote and confine me to what I am absolutely sure came only from my private musings, and I still have a message. I am not an echo; rather, I am making my own sound! The opposition and the obscurity and the feeling that a thousand gates into the market had been barred were worth it all! To take the "promised land" metaphor forward into complete overkill: In the fearful dance I was doing to avoid treading on others' intellectual property, I had somehow discovered that the territory on which I stood really was my own! Admidst the clamor, I had heard my own voice.
In my favorite book by C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces, (which is also one of his most unknown), the main character, after years of stoic and noble endurance, finally pours out a long and resentful complaint about her lot in life to the supernatural powers-that-be. Like a geyser of venom, all her confused resentment erupts without warning. In the shock of hearing herself, she finds an amazing thing. She realizes that, for the first time, she has really heard her own voice.
I have been writing for years, giving it my all, nobly enduring rejection and obscurity and, even recently, trying to live in positive anticipation on this new route of "self-publishing". But, like C.S. Lewis' Orual, my life's journey has finally pushed me into a corner that has caused me to dig deep. I almost gave up, thinking it was too much trouble. But, today, staring at my computer screen while editing my book, I believe that I have really heard my own voice. From the place within that is accessed only by real-time struggle, I realized that I really do have something to say! Giants in the publishing land (or church land, or educational land, or legal land) notwithstanding, I refuse to declare myself a grasshopper any longer, for I have heard my own authentic voice. Something on paper is just a matter of time.
Kingdom interdependence is real and I desperately need (and always will need) my friends and journeymates. But the Kingdom is scored by authentic sounds, created by those who lean on no one else and worry about nothing else. So, here's to all you Kingdom dreamers who have been tempted to resign yourselves to being an echo--don't give up. The world is changed by authentic voices, but they, like diamond, are formed only by underground pressure. Your struggle is worth it. (Perhaps, like me, you have felt desperate to get your voice heard, when in fact, you might have been in the process of actually hearing it yourself! We seem to all run ahead of God's train unknowingly.)
When Jesus interrupted the persecution efforts of Saul of Tarsus, he told him, "I will make you a minister and witness..." (Acts 26:16) In the most dramatic conversion in history, Saul became Paul. But what followed was not immediate public ministry. Paul spent 14 or so years in the wilderness of Arabia being, as Jesus had promised, "made"! The apostle who emerged from the desert was no echo, but an authentic voice--one that is still speaking to literal millions today.
It's all an "indie" journey, really. We are all really self-publishing something with this life that has been given us. We are all recording from the studio in our own basement. Even if we find a way to mass produce the message, the quality all goes back to the work that has been done (and is being done) in our own hearts. So...walk on...and trust...and discover the joy that God takes in bringing forth your authentic voice!
Monday, September 26, 2005
Why not?
Ok, so it's been a while since I posted. More about why later...
For now, I just want to humble myself and admit something. My starry-eyed dreamer tendency lives on amidst the skepticism that would try to silence it! And sometimes that dreamer thing makes me simply gullible! Just when I thought I had grown up, I came across a poetry contest e-mail that looked really good! I actually believed that they wanted to publish profound poetry, rather than sell me something which appealed to my need for recognition and flattery! I wanted with all my heart to provide them with profound poetry! I thought this could be destiny!!! I admit it: I fell in!
Funny thing, however, I really liked the poem that I composed on the spot as my entry. So, I am publishing it here in cyberspace for free, rather than in a global treasury which sells for $49.95 or something... Perhaps it will add a bit of inspiration to your day, and having you read it will certainly redeem the time I wased on filling out my entry form! Here it is, just what I was feeling on a gullible day: "Why not?"
Why not?
Why not,
When days morph into waking dreams
And nights go deep like blackened screams
Why not give up?
Why not,
As hope begins to wane
And passion pales but pain's the same
Why not grow cold?
Why not,
When data drains the soul
And chaos orders the banishment of control,
Why not fly away?
But why not
If love is anywhere ablaze
And sand still drops in hourglass haze
Why not try again?
Perhaps we find the signs and times
Lost along the grueling climb
When sparks of love are allowed to shine...
Why not?
That's it...and now that I think about it, maybe there are more poetry contests to enter for dreamers...? I'd probably enter one again... Hope is a valuable commodity in this age of cycnicism...Why not?
For now, I just want to humble myself and admit something. My starry-eyed dreamer tendency lives on amidst the skepticism that would try to silence it! And sometimes that dreamer thing makes me simply gullible! Just when I thought I had grown up, I came across a poetry contest e-mail that looked really good! I actually believed that they wanted to publish profound poetry, rather than sell me something which appealed to my need for recognition and flattery! I wanted with all my heart to provide them with profound poetry! I thought this could be destiny!!! I admit it: I fell in!
Funny thing, however, I really liked the poem that I composed on the spot as my entry. So, I am publishing it here in cyberspace for free, rather than in a global treasury which sells for $49.95 or something... Perhaps it will add a bit of inspiration to your day, and having you read it will certainly redeem the time I wased on filling out my entry form! Here it is, just what I was feeling on a gullible day: "Why not?"
Why not?
Why not,
When days morph into waking dreams
And nights go deep like blackened screams
Why not give up?
Why not,
As hope begins to wane
And passion pales but pain's the same
Why not grow cold?
Why not,
When data drains the soul
And chaos orders the banishment of control,
Why not fly away?
But why not
If love is anywhere ablaze
And sand still drops in hourglass haze
Why not try again?
Perhaps we find the signs and times
Lost along the grueling climb
When sparks of love are allowed to shine...
Why not?
That's it...and now that I think about it, maybe there are more poetry contests to enter for dreamers...? I'd probably enter one again... Hope is a valuable commodity in this age of cycnicism...Why not?
Saturday, July 23, 2005
What we are all about...
I can't get it out of my mind, this "context" thing... Even while we travelled up from Texas to Nebraska to celebrate my husband's parents' 50th wedding anniversary, amidst the golden decorations and reunions with family and friends, the theme kept running through me like an undercurrent.
I've been thinking of the Joseph of amazing technicolor dreamcoat fame. If ever a man dreamed beyond the confines of his current "context", it was Joseph the Hebrew. His brothers had absoltely no grid in which to cast his dreams--dreams which, to their mind, violated cultural sensibilities and identified Joseph as a selfish aggrandizer. Joseph's faher, Jacob, had the heart to provide his favored son a context, but couldn't wrap his head around the dream's implication that he would bow down to his own son! Amazingly, Joseph, the man given dreams by God, found NO context in God's earthly expression, the nation of Israel, the offspring of Abraham. Abraham had looked for a city that was not of this earth, but Jacob and his sons couldn't see past their own camels.
So, Joseph, through no choice of his own, was forced to find context in a foreign land! He was forced outside the covenant of promise into Egypt, a land large enough to accommodate a vision from eternity and a gifted heart. In Egypt, the reaction to Joseph's abilities (and yes, Joseph may have been more hesitant to show them off after his pit experience), was not a threatened one, but rather one of appreciation. First in Potiphar's house, then in prison and ultimately in the palace of Pharaoh, Joseph found context for his visionary giftedness. In fact, it was the pharaoh himself who provided Joseph with the ultimate context for the fulfillment of his youthful dreams! Look at Pharaoh's reaction when he sees the gift in the Hebrew slave whose vision exceeds all his own magicians'. He does not react with intimidation, as did the brothers and even the father. Rather, he is secure enough in his position (as pharaoh's generally were) to follow a John Maxwell leadership principle and put the guy with influence in his cabinet!!!!
It amazes me that the "world" provided more context for Joseph than the "church" of his day, but then again it is vaguely familiar (I refer you back to the previous blog entry where U2 was discussed...). What is more amazing is the reason that this was the case. Was it that Pharaoh--all-powerful in government--feared no challenge to his authority, or was it instead that the Egyptian culture had more appreciation for the value of the supernatural and the prophetic than the nation of Israel? Either way, we should feel challenged.
Someone once said that while the release of the prophetic in the church presents a challenge to religion, the apostolic presents a challenge to politics! In other words, a true apostolic church is one who understands how to create context, that is, to release and make room for ministry, rather than nervously hold on to title and position (And believe me, I know what fear that strikes into even the purest of hearts...making room can be messy!) But, if a pagan pharaoh can believe it is his destiny to rule a land, how much more can Christian leaders relax in the notion that their own place is secure!! Pharaoh had no real connection to God, only a sense of the eternal! We have the confidence of relationship with the living God--the administrator of the whole big picture! We do not have to fear his misplacing our resume!
Old Testament Egypt has always been an allegory for the world and rightly so. But more than ever we live in a world that is open to the supernatural. We live in a world that is more ready to accept dreamers and seers than perhaps ever before. We live in a world that is open to the art and expression that comes from the furnaces of true spirituality. Wouldn't it be sad--no tragic--if only Egypt celebrated the Christian art we criticized? Wouldn't it be sad if the word "grace" became more understood in Pharaoh's palace than at the altar??? It doesn't have to be this way.
I mentioned the 50th anniversary reunion for my husbands' parents. Because Peg and Eldon Brownback are rare individuals who have spent a lifetime creating a haven for the hurting while asking nothing in return, all kinds of relatives turned out to honor them. Many of them had not been to a family event of this kind in years and there was a real sense of joy about getting together. One nephew cooked a huge celebratory meal complete with french names for the hors d'oeuvres and everything. A true artist, Charlie was in the kitchen all day, entertaining us with humor and educating us to the joys of food properly prepared--demonstrating all the while that, like food, life itself should be savored! At the end of the day, someone started a conversation about church and Charlie explained the reasons why he did not attend, even though he believed in God quite strongly. I couldn't help myself--I went there! "Charlie," I said, "What if there were a church that allowed you to be you--wild man that you are? What if there were a place that did it without the pretense and the rank and formality and what if you could experience church as true fellowship--heart-to-heart--as you have here with us?" I went on to say, "You are the kind of person who gives their whole heart to everything--I can tell that easily--and you are the first kind of person who gets hurt in many churches who don't know how to handle your zeal and candor. But, I believe God is doing a new thing and helping the church become truly a place where you no longer have to pretend and where you can be youself and know a God who only wants to pour out his life upon you, rather than conform you to a mold of religiosity!"
Poor Charlie--he had pushed my context button! He was ready to exit my presence after my little preaching stint (and who could blame him), but as he turned to go, he said, "You show me a place like that and I'll be there!" As he walked away, I said, partly to him and partly to the heavens, "That's what we're all about, Charlie...that's what we're all about..."
Please God, let the Jacobs and the brothers take a lesson from Pharaoh and value the dreamers among us. Let the church rise to the challenge and let the apostolic--God's wisdom for heavenly government--replace competition and political heirarchies. Let it be what all of us are all about...
Read again the story of Joseph in Genesis, chapters 37-45.
I've been thinking of the Joseph of amazing technicolor dreamcoat fame. If ever a man dreamed beyond the confines of his current "context", it was Joseph the Hebrew. His brothers had absoltely no grid in which to cast his dreams--dreams which, to their mind, violated cultural sensibilities and identified Joseph as a selfish aggrandizer. Joseph's faher, Jacob, had the heart to provide his favored son a context, but couldn't wrap his head around the dream's implication that he would bow down to his own son! Amazingly, Joseph, the man given dreams by God, found NO context in God's earthly expression, the nation of Israel, the offspring of Abraham. Abraham had looked for a city that was not of this earth, but Jacob and his sons couldn't see past their own camels.
So, Joseph, through no choice of his own, was forced to find context in a foreign land! He was forced outside the covenant of promise into Egypt, a land large enough to accommodate a vision from eternity and a gifted heart. In Egypt, the reaction to Joseph's abilities (and yes, Joseph may have been more hesitant to show them off after his pit experience), was not a threatened one, but rather one of appreciation. First in Potiphar's house, then in prison and ultimately in the palace of Pharaoh, Joseph found context for his visionary giftedness. In fact, it was the pharaoh himself who provided Joseph with the ultimate context for the fulfillment of his youthful dreams! Look at Pharaoh's reaction when he sees the gift in the Hebrew slave whose vision exceeds all his own magicians'. He does not react with intimidation, as did the brothers and even the father. Rather, he is secure enough in his position (as pharaoh's generally were) to follow a John Maxwell leadership principle and put the guy with influence in his cabinet!!!!
It amazes me that the "world" provided more context for Joseph than the "church" of his day, but then again it is vaguely familiar (I refer you back to the previous blog entry where U2 was discussed...). What is more amazing is the reason that this was the case. Was it that Pharaoh--all-powerful in government--feared no challenge to his authority, or was it instead that the Egyptian culture had more appreciation for the value of the supernatural and the prophetic than the nation of Israel? Either way, we should feel challenged.
Someone once said that while the release of the prophetic in the church presents a challenge to religion, the apostolic presents a challenge to politics! In other words, a true apostolic church is one who understands how to create context, that is, to release and make room for ministry, rather than nervously hold on to title and position (And believe me, I know what fear that strikes into even the purest of hearts...making room can be messy!) But, if a pagan pharaoh can believe it is his destiny to rule a land, how much more can Christian leaders relax in the notion that their own place is secure!! Pharaoh had no real connection to God, only a sense of the eternal! We have the confidence of relationship with the living God--the administrator of the whole big picture! We do not have to fear his misplacing our resume!
Old Testament Egypt has always been an allegory for the world and rightly so. But more than ever we live in a world that is open to the supernatural. We live in a world that is more ready to accept dreamers and seers than perhaps ever before. We live in a world that is open to the art and expression that comes from the furnaces of true spirituality. Wouldn't it be sad--no tragic--if only Egypt celebrated the Christian art we criticized? Wouldn't it be sad if the word "grace" became more understood in Pharaoh's palace than at the altar??? It doesn't have to be this way.
I mentioned the 50th anniversary reunion for my husbands' parents. Because Peg and Eldon Brownback are rare individuals who have spent a lifetime creating a haven for the hurting while asking nothing in return, all kinds of relatives turned out to honor them. Many of them had not been to a family event of this kind in years and there was a real sense of joy about getting together. One nephew cooked a huge celebratory meal complete with french names for the hors d'oeuvres and everything. A true artist, Charlie was in the kitchen all day, entertaining us with humor and educating us to the joys of food properly prepared--demonstrating all the while that, like food, life itself should be savored! At the end of the day, someone started a conversation about church and Charlie explained the reasons why he did not attend, even though he believed in God quite strongly. I couldn't help myself--I went there! "Charlie," I said, "What if there were a church that allowed you to be you--wild man that you are? What if there were a place that did it without the pretense and the rank and formality and what if you could experience church as true fellowship--heart-to-heart--as you have here with us?" I went on to say, "You are the kind of person who gives their whole heart to everything--I can tell that easily--and you are the first kind of person who gets hurt in many churches who don't know how to handle your zeal and candor. But, I believe God is doing a new thing and helping the church become truly a place where you no longer have to pretend and where you can be youself and know a God who only wants to pour out his life upon you, rather than conform you to a mold of religiosity!"
Poor Charlie--he had pushed my context button! He was ready to exit my presence after my little preaching stint (and who could blame him), but as he turned to go, he said, "You show me a place like that and I'll be there!" As he walked away, I said, partly to him and partly to the heavens, "That's what we're all about, Charlie...that's what we're all about..."
Please God, let the Jacobs and the brothers take a lesson from Pharaoh and value the dreamers among us. Let the church rise to the challenge and let the apostolic--God's wisdom for heavenly government--replace competition and political heirarchies. Let it be what all of us are all about...
Read again the story of Joseph in Genesis, chapters 37-45.
Sunday, June 26, 2005
"Let there be 'context'..."
Having just watched Bono give an amazing interview about Live 8 on the Sunday morning news show, "Meet the Press," I'm off thinking again about the issue of "context". It was a few years ago that Pete Atkins first introduced me to the term as related to people with dreams of ministry. After listening to me express in desperate tones the passion and possibilities for new expressions of local church that were bursting forth from inside me only to swirl around in the atmosphere, he patiently offered his diagnosis: "The only thing you need is the right context." I knew what he meant. A dictionary does not finish its serivce when it has supplied simply the definition and origin of a certain word. It must go on to demonstrate that word in context--use it in a sentence--bring it to life by putting it to work in relationship to strings of other words working at the same thought! I, a single word, needed to find sentences in which I belonged!
On the most basic level, "context" is provided for individual Christian by the local church and it is here that the Bono thought pattern kicks back in. It is generally agreed by progressive thinkers that the "word" in Bono--the vision he had to change the world, make a statement, get outside the cloister--found no context at the time in the local church, so Bono creted his own. He and U2 crafted a "sentence" of their own when the church refused to surround them with their meaning. By inhabiting the priveleges that the West awards rock stars, U2 has made room for their messages, whether they be related to the AIDS or the poor, Martin Luther King, Sept. 11 or the Kingdom itself and the search for God. They went outside the church to find context, and now, ironically, they are speaking back into the church their "word", influencing many.
Throughout the past decade, as I have explored the relationship of the church to postmodern culture, my local church has indeed patiently provided me with context. They discussed, questioned, tempered, adjusted and added their words to every new spiritual discovery I made. Like a base camp for a mountain climber, they patiently waited for me to come in from the extreme and report on my most recent excursion to the summits. They have been a wonderful family to me and I thought that was as good it it could get. Though I still didn't feel I understood my position fully, I tried to be satisfied. But, I now realize, that there is another Kingdom level--beyond the local church--through which "context" must and can be provided.
Through a visit to our church by a man named Stuart Bell, my understanding of context took a quantum leap into a Kingdom dimension. One morning of having him speak into our local setting explained so much to me. And through the conversation that followed, I felt, for what seemed like the first time in my Christian life, someone really understood what to do with my "energy" (and the turbulent storm that comes as part of the package)! Stuart Bell's world of meaning was the sentence my single word needed. His view of the Kingdom calmed me down as I realized there was plenty of room for me within it! Soon, I began to notice this same phenomenon in other places. I heard Terry Virgo speak and there it was again--a sense of context--knowing how to assemble dreams and visions into a cohesive Kingdom whole. Again, the view through his eyes settled my restlessness and eased my striving. I looked back to my past and remembered hearing John Noble and Normans Barnes make statements that had the same effect. I thought of David Thatcher and Arun Community Church--a place able to cope with the incredibly huge buzz surrounding their own rock band Delirious? without losing sight of either sanity or the local church. All of these were context-providers for Kingdom dreamers who were wise enough and/or blessed enough to receive them.
And then I realized what you theologians may have already realized. What I'm really talking about is the "apostolic". CONTEXT for the artists, preachers, dreamers, and all those desperate to help break the church out of its staid ghetto rhythms will come as the voice of the apostles (whether or not they own the title) is heard. If you are a "word" without a sentence--even a strange word, an action word, a hard-to-say word--don't lose heart. God is setting up context in the earth for the things that need to be expressed. There are leaders who carry within them enough meaning to house the big picture. They are a new breed who would rather do the work than wear the title, though they will wear the title if it helps do the work. They have lived a few years and seen a few things and they are tougher than they look and wiser than you had realized. And one day they just might point to you and say, "I know where you fit."
So, here's to the context providers...long may they live and well may they see... Read Luke 5:37-39...
On the most basic level, "context" is provided for individual Christian by the local church and it is here that the Bono thought pattern kicks back in. It is generally agreed by progressive thinkers that the "word" in Bono--the vision he had to change the world, make a statement, get outside the cloister--found no context at the time in the local church, so Bono creted his own. He and U2 crafted a "sentence" of their own when the church refused to surround them with their meaning. By inhabiting the priveleges that the West awards rock stars, U2 has made room for their messages, whether they be related to the AIDS or the poor, Martin Luther King, Sept. 11 or the Kingdom itself and the search for God. They went outside the church to find context, and now, ironically, they are speaking back into the church their "word", influencing many.
Throughout the past decade, as I have explored the relationship of the church to postmodern culture, my local church has indeed patiently provided me with context. They discussed, questioned, tempered, adjusted and added their words to every new spiritual discovery I made. Like a base camp for a mountain climber, they patiently waited for me to come in from the extreme and report on my most recent excursion to the summits. They have been a wonderful family to me and I thought that was as good it it could get. Though I still didn't feel I understood my position fully, I tried to be satisfied. But, I now realize, that there is another Kingdom level--beyond the local church--through which "context" must and can be provided.
Through a visit to our church by a man named Stuart Bell, my understanding of context took a quantum leap into a Kingdom dimension. One morning of having him speak into our local setting explained so much to me. And through the conversation that followed, I felt, for what seemed like the first time in my Christian life, someone really understood what to do with my "energy" (and the turbulent storm that comes as part of the package)! Stuart Bell's world of meaning was the sentence my single word needed. His view of the Kingdom calmed me down as I realized there was plenty of room for me within it! Soon, I began to notice this same phenomenon in other places. I heard Terry Virgo speak and there it was again--a sense of context--knowing how to assemble dreams and visions into a cohesive Kingdom whole. Again, the view through his eyes settled my restlessness and eased my striving. I looked back to my past and remembered hearing John Noble and Normans Barnes make statements that had the same effect. I thought of David Thatcher and Arun Community Church--a place able to cope with the incredibly huge buzz surrounding their own rock band Delirious? without losing sight of either sanity or the local church. All of these were context-providers for Kingdom dreamers who were wise enough and/or blessed enough to receive them.
And then I realized what you theologians may have already realized. What I'm really talking about is the "apostolic". CONTEXT for the artists, preachers, dreamers, and all those desperate to help break the church out of its staid ghetto rhythms will come as the voice of the apostles (whether or not they own the title) is heard. If you are a "word" without a sentence--even a strange word, an action word, a hard-to-say word--don't lose heart. God is setting up context in the earth for the things that need to be expressed. There are leaders who carry within them enough meaning to house the big picture. They are a new breed who would rather do the work than wear the title, though they will wear the title if it helps do the work. They have lived a few years and seen a few things and they are tougher than they look and wiser than you had realized. And one day they just might point to you and say, "I know where you fit."
So, here's to the context providers...long may they live and well may they see... Read Luke 5:37-39...
Saturday, June 11, 2005
"Almost cut my hair..."
(And yes, that title is a quote from the David Crosby song on the C,S &N Deja Vu album.)
I pity the hair stylists who land me in their chair. I place upon them so much responsibility as I describe my vision for a "look" that communicates both, "I refuse to fulfill your expectations of an American Charismatic pastor's wife," and "I refuse simply to follow the latest trend." Usually, I have compiled from three or more glimpses of haircuts gained while riding the London underground a vision that I attempt to communicate to Texas hairstylists with wild hand-gestures and words like "messy," "a bit uneven," "unique but not weird," and the ever-popular "edgy". Even the best stylists have resorted to presenting me with large books of pictures and saying, "Just point to what you mean," attempting to hide their frustration that I am trying to channel my huge inner need to make a statement through their tiny scissors!
Recently I left a local Azle stylist with a decent haircut. We had communicated as well as could be expected and I looked fairly "uncategorizable," which made me happy. I should have been fine for at least a month. I wasn't. Whether it was the intense Texas summer heat or the fast pace life had taken recently, I just wanted even less hair on my head than the geometric edges left to me. Ridiculous thoughts I had never had before came and would not leave: "I could probably cut hair--I do calligraphy." So, on Memorial Day when it was really hot and all the shops were closed, I picked up the scissors and proceeded to do my own version of Annie Lennox.
I'll spare the details, but a few days later, I sat in another stylist's chair again using words like edgy, messy and unique, but now asking her to "fix" what I had butchered. To fix it, she had to make it really short, since I had already taken it to short. When she finished, I felt a great degree of resolution. I assumed that that the satisfaction was simply a hair crisis averted, but for the last few days, I've been thinking it was more. Indulge me while I make sense of it. (And though this blog entry may have seemed gender-specific until now, here's where it goes universal...)
I have spent years studying God, the world, the culture, and the Scriptures because I could not help but do it. It was my worship, suggested to me by no one but the forces of my own heart. If I found a moment's down time between all the activities of suburban church and family life, I ran to a pile of waiting books, journals and a computer and continued to build my stock of revelatory observations about this amazing Kingdom journey that God inspires. Everywhere there was treasure and I was the explorer. In the arts, the sciences and even the business world (where I had formerly counted myself a real outsider), I found both evidences of, and potential for, God's touch! And I looked at it, thought about it, and attempted to record it much like Monet recorded the light that flashed upon a landscape in a single impression.
Recently, it became apparent to me through the wise counsel of others, that my little aresenal of collected thought could indeed find a welcome outside my own brain. It was time to take my inner world on the road, so to speak, and let it inspire and affect others! What followed is well known to any artist who attempts to connect natural passion to necessary promotion: a lot of work, planning and packaging that some days feels right and other days feels like embarassingly disorienting self-agrandizement and finds us saying, "What am I doing?" I am used to unearthing revelation that makes people stop and wonder, not trying to compete with all the trendy Christian things "out there"! My friends were right in nudging me outward, but there were things to process.
I honestly believe the haircutting fit was somehow related. I was hating the sense that I needed to add extra "grooming" to myself to "look good" in a world where appearances were everything. Wasn't the spiritual information I had enough? The haircuts I found myself longing for reminded me of the way medieval nuns are portrayed in movies--shorn messily close to their heads, with no regard to appearance. In some way, I think I was longing for just the simple life of devotion I had before I thought anyone might be watching. I wanted the extra weight of not just "being myself" but now "packaging myself" to be whacked off, no matter how it left me looking. I wanted to be free from the temptation to preen and posture. I didn't want to succumb to the performance-orientation and competitiveness that smacks of religion rather than Christianity and ultimately chokes true worship.
Of course, it's only hair. It doesn't really matter either way. But just as I begin to aplogize for choosing this topic for a blog entry, I think of prophets like Jeremiah and Hosea and I think perhaps I don't owe an apology. Jeremiah's physical appearance was often metaphorical and Hosea's metaphor even extended even to his marriage. It seemed God used all aspects of the prophets' lives to "make a statement"! Who could have thought that the torture I put the stylists through could be related to a Bible story? (I don't think I'll tell them that.)
Funny, I have made a statement this time with my hair--not to society, but rather to God. To Him, I am crying out, "Help me believe NOW--as I emerge slowly from the sanctum of obscurity-- what I have always believed: that you are the Master Artist not just of my inner world, but also of my destiny and the path I am to take. Help me look past all the politics and competition that dances around the fringe of the Kingdom--stop me somehow from being intimidated by it and refocus me on You! I don't want to play the game or sing the song that marketing demands. I only want to continue to share my inner world of worship with those who need to be warmed by it. I am willing to work hard, but I am not willing to lose my life of worship. Deliver me from the 'strife of men' and teach me to live in a secret place with you, even in the midst of a crowd--or Christian feeding frenzy."
I really did cut my hair... I may never need to physically "shake it off" in the same way again, but I am sure I will continue to apply the lesson learned. If I am not enough, just as I am, to be thrown like seed to the wind in the hands of the Harvest-Lord, I will never become enough by adding the polish, scheming and technique that I pick up from scanning the market horizon.
To read what I'm really saying in fewer words and without any cosmetology mentioned, go to Micah 6:8 and Psalm 131
I pity the hair stylists who land me in their chair. I place upon them so much responsibility as I describe my vision for a "look" that communicates both, "I refuse to fulfill your expectations of an American Charismatic pastor's wife," and "I refuse simply to follow the latest trend." Usually, I have compiled from three or more glimpses of haircuts gained while riding the London underground a vision that I attempt to communicate to Texas hairstylists with wild hand-gestures and words like "messy," "a bit uneven," "unique but not weird," and the ever-popular "edgy". Even the best stylists have resorted to presenting me with large books of pictures and saying, "Just point to what you mean," attempting to hide their frustration that I am trying to channel my huge inner need to make a statement through their tiny scissors!
Recently I left a local Azle stylist with a decent haircut. We had communicated as well as could be expected and I looked fairly "uncategorizable," which made me happy. I should have been fine for at least a month. I wasn't. Whether it was the intense Texas summer heat or the fast pace life had taken recently, I just wanted even less hair on my head than the geometric edges left to me. Ridiculous thoughts I had never had before came and would not leave: "I could probably cut hair--I do calligraphy." So, on Memorial Day when it was really hot and all the shops were closed, I picked up the scissors and proceeded to do my own version of Annie Lennox.
I'll spare the details, but a few days later, I sat in another stylist's chair again using words like edgy, messy and unique, but now asking her to "fix" what I had butchered. To fix it, she had to make it really short, since I had already taken it to short. When she finished, I felt a great degree of resolution. I assumed that that the satisfaction was simply a hair crisis averted, but for the last few days, I've been thinking it was more. Indulge me while I make sense of it. (And though this blog entry may have seemed gender-specific until now, here's where it goes universal...)
I have spent years studying God, the world, the culture, and the Scriptures because I could not help but do it. It was my worship, suggested to me by no one but the forces of my own heart. If I found a moment's down time between all the activities of suburban church and family life, I ran to a pile of waiting books, journals and a computer and continued to build my stock of revelatory observations about this amazing Kingdom journey that God inspires. Everywhere there was treasure and I was the explorer. In the arts, the sciences and even the business world (where I had formerly counted myself a real outsider), I found both evidences of, and potential for, God's touch! And I looked at it, thought about it, and attempted to record it much like Monet recorded the light that flashed upon a landscape in a single impression.
Recently, it became apparent to me through the wise counsel of others, that my little aresenal of collected thought could indeed find a welcome outside my own brain. It was time to take my inner world on the road, so to speak, and let it inspire and affect others! What followed is well known to any artist who attempts to connect natural passion to necessary promotion: a lot of work, planning and packaging that some days feels right and other days feels like embarassingly disorienting self-agrandizement and finds us saying, "What am I doing?" I am used to unearthing revelation that makes people stop and wonder, not trying to compete with all the trendy Christian things "out there"! My friends were right in nudging me outward, but there were things to process.
I honestly believe the haircutting fit was somehow related. I was hating the sense that I needed to add extra "grooming" to myself to "look good" in a world where appearances were everything. Wasn't the spiritual information I had enough? The haircuts I found myself longing for reminded me of the way medieval nuns are portrayed in movies--shorn messily close to their heads, with no regard to appearance. In some way, I think I was longing for just the simple life of devotion I had before I thought anyone might be watching. I wanted the extra weight of not just "being myself" but now "packaging myself" to be whacked off, no matter how it left me looking. I wanted to be free from the temptation to preen and posture. I didn't want to succumb to the performance-orientation and competitiveness that smacks of religion rather than Christianity and ultimately chokes true worship.
Of course, it's only hair. It doesn't really matter either way. But just as I begin to aplogize for choosing this topic for a blog entry, I think of prophets like Jeremiah and Hosea and I think perhaps I don't owe an apology. Jeremiah's physical appearance was often metaphorical and Hosea's metaphor even extended even to his marriage. It seemed God used all aspects of the prophets' lives to "make a statement"! Who could have thought that the torture I put the stylists through could be related to a Bible story? (I don't think I'll tell them that.)
Funny, I have made a statement this time with my hair--not to society, but rather to God. To Him, I am crying out, "Help me believe NOW--as I emerge slowly from the sanctum of obscurity-- what I have always believed: that you are the Master Artist not just of my inner world, but also of my destiny and the path I am to take. Help me look past all the politics and competition that dances around the fringe of the Kingdom--stop me somehow from being intimidated by it and refocus me on You! I don't want to play the game or sing the song that marketing demands. I only want to continue to share my inner world of worship with those who need to be warmed by it. I am willing to work hard, but I am not willing to lose my life of worship. Deliver me from the 'strife of men' and teach me to live in a secret place with you, even in the midst of a crowd--or Christian feeding frenzy."
I really did cut my hair... I may never need to physically "shake it off" in the same way again, but I am sure I will continue to apply the lesson learned. If I am not enough, just as I am, to be thrown like seed to the wind in the hands of the Harvest-Lord, I will never become enough by adding the polish, scheming and technique that I pick up from scanning the market horizon.
To read what I'm really saying in fewer words and without any cosmetology mentioned, go to Micah 6:8 and Psalm 131
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Rivers of reformers...
The other day at "worship practice" (I'll speak about the oxymoron in that phrase another time), the sound in the monitors was "messed up" (a highly technical term used only in amateur musician circles). After an extensive search for the electronic or human culprits, it was discovered that someone had removed the small stack of hymnbooks that were used to prop up the floor monitor that feeds sound to the platform. Once the hymnbook stack was replaced, the monitor again gave to us (rather than to the ceiling) our sense of "how we were sounding" and all was again well (on an amateur level!). Evidently, someone new had come along and cleaned the platform and thought a stack of old hymnbooks did not belong under a monitor, but oh, how they did!
The obvious admission from the above report is that the hymnbooks, which were a gift to us when we started the church years ago, don't get used for their originally intended purpose. Every now and again when a Vineyard-type acoustic recording of a hymn comes out, we glady grab it and give it a whirl, but even then, we type the words into the power-point and electrically project them large for all to see! We don't say, "Now turn to page 313..." As I glanced down at the hymnbooks supporting the monitor, it occured to me, however, that nothing was actually wrong with that picture!
New expressions really always rest upon what has preceeded them. Nothing arises from a vacuum. We are all a part of the river through time that is the church of Jesus Christ. We actually are singing the new hymns of the day (I'm sure Charles Wesley would enjoy Tim Hughes and maybe even Bono???) and every true hymn-writer that I have encountered seems to feel a true respect for those who have gone before, serving their generation.
Recently in an interview on "Inside the Actor's Studio," Russell Crowe referred to his acting as a manifestation of the gypsy blood within him. He said that gypsies are storytellers and if he had been born in medieval times, he would have been a storyteller still. He would have done from the back of a travelling wagon what he gets to do now on film. In those comments, he revealed a great respect and understanding for the craft in which he participates--AND for its heritage. The form may change, but even Led Zepellin knew, "the song remains the same."
If you want to take the metaphor too far (and I always do), if there was a lack of respect in my little hymnbook incident, it was not in the propping of the monitor with the books, but the removal of them! Someone thought they didn't belong in the current scene. But I say, they belonged just where they were. We could have propped that monitor with a block of wood, but now every time I look at it, I am conscious of the reformers that have gone before, writing hymns of challenge and change, like,
"Rise up O men of God...have done with lesser things...give heart and soul and mind and strength to serve the King of Kings..."
Now, Martin Smith, resting on that heritage can write, "I want be a history-maker in this land...I want to be a speaker of truth to all mankind...I want to stand...I want to run into your arms..."
I don't de-value the hymnal because I stick it under a monitor. I honor it by singing words worthy of the warriors who have gone before.
Again I direct you to Matthew 13:52
The obvious admission from the above report is that the hymnbooks, which were a gift to us when we started the church years ago, don't get used for their originally intended purpose. Every now and again when a Vineyard-type acoustic recording of a hymn comes out, we glady grab it and give it a whirl, but even then, we type the words into the power-point and electrically project them large for all to see! We don't say, "Now turn to page 313..." As I glanced down at the hymnbooks supporting the monitor, it occured to me, however, that nothing was actually wrong with that picture!
New expressions really always rest upon what has preceeded them. Nothing arises from a vacuum. We are all a part of the river through time that is the church of Jesus Christ. We actually are singing the new hymns of the day (I'm sure Charles Wesley would enjoy Tim Hughes and maybe even Bono???) and every true hymn-writer that I have encountered seems to feel a true respect for those who have gone before, serving their generation.
Recently in an interview on "Inside the Actor's Studio," Russell Crowe referred to his acting as a manifestation of the gypsy blood within him. He said that gypsies are storytellers and if he had been born in medieval times, he would have been a storyteller still. He would have done from the back of a travelling wagon what he gets to do now on film. In those comments, he revealed a great respect and understanding for the craft in which he participates--AND for its heritage. The form may change, but even Led Zepellin knew, "the song remains the same."
If you want to take the metaphor too far (and I always do), if there was a lack of respect in my little hymnbook incident, it was not in the propping of the monitor with the books, but the removal of them! Someone thought they didn't belong in the current scene. But I say, they belonged just where they were. We could have propped that monitor with a block of wood, but now every time I look at it, I am conscious of the reformers that have gone before, writing hymns of challenge and change, like,
"Rise up O men of God...have done with lesser things...give heart and soul and mind and strength to serve the King of Kings..."
Now, Martin Smith, resting on that heritage can write, "I want be a history-maker in this land...I want to be a speaker of truth to all mankind...I want to stand...I want to run into your arms..."
I don't de-value the hymnal because I stick it under a monitor. I honor it by singing words worthy of the warriors who have gone before.
Again I direct you to Matthew 13:52
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Unexpected paths in familiar fields...
Pete Atkins is the reason we have developed a personal relationship with the customs agents at Dallas/Ft. Worth International airport. Rare combination of church leader, historian, thinker and physician, Pete welcomes us into his Lincolnshire world by including us on his rural prayer walks (hence necessitating the admission upon returning to the U.S. that, yes, we have indeed "walked in a pasture"--leading to the treatment of our guilty shoes with an obnoxious antimicrobial agent guarenteed to keep the U.K. bugs separate from the U.S. ones!) But, Pete's walks are worth it, and many times, Pete and Kath and Paul and I have had some real God-moments while side stepping the sheep "presence" in the fields.
On our last visit, Pete took us to a field in which he had newly discovered a narrow path that had not been there in his previous visits. The "path" was little more than a wide line drawn in the dirt that terminated at the ruins of an old abbey. It would only allow single file passage and, as the four of us began walking it, I noticed how utterly dependent we were on Pete as the leader since anyone behind him could see nothing ahead but the next person! Afterwards, back in the car, the four of us discussed how following that path felt like the search for how to better express the values of the local church in the mind-bending world that is postmodernity. Leaders who are honestly seeking a church that connects with culture seem to be walking toward something one person at a time, trusting that there is indeed, as Pete says, "an unexpected path" to follow. It would be easier if God paved the way to reformation and posted yellow signs along it. "Postmodern Christianity without Complete Deconstruction: 5 miles ahead" would be a nice one. Or how about, "Creativity in Church that Actually Has Some Power: just around the curve"? Yeah, a few reassurances would feel better than just following by trusting the leader!
Later, back home in Texas and walking in my local park alone, I decided to take an unexpected path in honor of Pete! In true Texan form, I thought, "If Pete can have mighty prayer walks, so can I!" Off I veered from the safe, paved walking trails into a dirt clearing into the woods, not sure exactly where it would come out. My prayer walk turned out completely different than Pete's meditative strolls through the English countryside, however. The dirt was rocky and the ground was jagged and half-way through, I began to wonder what Texas creatures might be lurking in the rarely disturbed underbrush nearby. Visions of snakes came to mind and I quickened my step, now tripping over rocks and pushed aside the vines, hoping none of them were poison oak or poison ivy. Finally, I burst out of the woods (back onto pavement) unharmed, but the unexpected path analogy had expanded in my mind. When you take a new trail alone (and in Texas?), danger does seem to lurk. It was much better walking the unknown with friends than striking out as a cowboy(girl) on my own. There is safety and peace in numbers.
A week ago, a man who had visited our church a few times told us that he would not be back because, "the music is worldly and the art is in the flesh." In my early years as a Christian "reformer", I would have seized upon this poor man with passionate and voluminous verbiage about how the "old" music was worldly in its earlier days and there is no one style of music more holy than another--don't you know God plans for every tribe, tongue, sound and style to fill heaven with praise??? I would have landed upon him like Boadicea resisting the Romans, asking him to compare the painting being done during our services "in the flesh" to his favorite preacher preparing for a sermon? Wouldn't he expect that preacher to study, research and prepare using the instruments of his flesh, hoping and praying for the Spirit of God to--as he so graciously does--come and interact with the earthen efforts infusing them with spiritual life? How was the painting of a Christian artist during a service any different? Ah, yes, quite powerful I would have been in my argument--I can see it now--I would have weilded the sword mightily (God, help us). But, instead (have the years actually matured me?? I pause to hope...) I just sighed and thought, "Bless him: he couldn't see the path!" He had accidentally joined a Pete Atkins walk for which he was not ready, and he did not have enough history with us to trust that we were actually going somewhere! He thought we were just wandering in a field and he grew afraid (slang: "freaked"). He had heard stories about snakes and calamities that occur off the paved road of safe church territory and did not want to become a statistic." I said nothing, felt compassion for the man, and sincerely hoped he would find the safety he needed. Nobody deserves to have their comfort zone BOMBED--only shaken! And I continue my walk, still thinking a sign now and then would be nice, but trusting the leaders in front of me and happy to be in motion!
Read Isaiah 42:16
On our last visit, Pete took us to a field in which he had newly discovered a narrow path that had not been there in his previous visits. The "path" was little more than a wide line drawn in the dirt that terminated at the ruins of an old abbey. It would only allow single file passage and, as the four of us began walking it, I noticed how utterly dependent we were on Pete as the leader since anyone behind him could see nothing ahead but the next person! Afterwards, back in the car, the four of us discussed how following that path felt like the search for how to better express the values of the local church in the mind-bending world that is postmodernity. Leaders who are honestly seeking a church that connects with culture seem to be walking toward something one person at a time, trusting that there is indeed, as Pete says, "an unexpected path" to follow. It would be easier if God paved the way to reformation and posted yellow signs along it. "Postmodern Christianity without Complete Deconstruction: 5 miles ahead" would be a nice one. Or how about, "Creativity in Church that Actually Has Some Power: just around the curve"? Yeah, a few reassurances would feel better than just following by trusting the leader!
Later, back home in Texas and walking in my local park alone, I decided to take an unexpected path in honor of Pete! In true Texan form, I thought, "If Pete can have mighty prayer walks, so can I!" Off I veered from the safe, paved walking trails into a dirt clearing into the woods, not sure exactly where it would come out. My prayer walk turned out completely different than Pete's meditative strolls through the English countryside, however. The dirt was rocky and the ground was jagged and half-way through, I began to wonder what Texas creatures might be lurking in the rarely disturbed underbrush nearby. Visions of snakes came to mind and I quickened my step, now tripping over rocks and pushed aside the vines, hoping none of them were poison oak or poison ivy. Finally, I burst out of the woods (back onto pavement) unharmed, but the unexpected path analogy had expanded in my mind. When you take a new trail alone (and in Texas?), danger does seem to lurk. It was much better walking the unknown with friends than striking out as a cowboy(girl) on my own. There is safety and peace in numbers.
A week ago, a man who had visited our church a few times told us that he would not be back because, "the music is worldly and the art is in the flesh." In my early years as a Christian "reformer", I would have seized upon this poor man with passionate and voluminous verbiage about how the "old" music was worldly in its earlier days and there is no one style of music more holy than another--don't you know God plans for every tribe, tongue, sound and style to fill heaven with praise??? I would have landed upon him like Boadicea resisting the Romans, asking him to compare the painting being done during our services "in the flesh" to his favorite preacher preparing for a sermon? Wouldn't he expect that preacher to study, research and prepare using the instruments of his flesh, hoping and praying for the Spirit of God to--as he so graciously does--come and interact with the earthen efforts infusing them with spiritual life? How was the painting of a Christian artist during a service any different? Ah, yes, quite powerful I would have been in my argument--I can see it now--I would have weilded the sword mightily (God, help us). But, instead (have the years actually matured me?? I pause to hope...) I just sighed and thought, "Bless him: he couldn't see the path!" He had accidentally joined a Pete Atkins walk for which he was not ready, and he did not have enough history with us to trust that we were actually going somewhere! He thought we were just wandering in a field and he grew afraid (slang: "freaked"). He had heard stories about snakes and calamities that occur off the paved road of safe church territory and did not want to become a statistic." I said nothing, felt compassion for the man, and sincerely hoped he would find the safety he needed. Nobody deserves to have their comfort zone BOMBED--only shaken! And I continue my walk, still thinking a sign now and then would be nice, but trusting the leaders in front of me and happy to be in motion!
Read Isaiah 42:16
Monday, May 16, 2005
Lost in the shadow of the cathedral...
I am a huge fan of the Lincoln Cathedral. If you drive from any direction into the Lincoln, England area, you will be greeted by the sight of the massive building as it presides over the Lincolnshire countryside. It is clearly visible for miles around and I have often thought that if I lived there, I would never tire of the view. The cathedral seems to speak in its silence: It just keeps on standing there in all its beauty, as the centuries--yes, centuries--come and go, as if to declare the age-abiding nature of the God's love. The sun strikes it by day, the clouds shadow it, man-made lights illumine it at night, the elements beat at it...and still it reigns, reminds and renews vision of heaven-to-earth contact potential.
On our first trip to Lincoln, however, my husband and I, having been properly awed by the sight as we drove into town, became a bit tortured by it as time went on. It seems we were staying at a hotel just a block or so away from the Cathedral and that knowledge plus the name of the hotel were all the direction we had. "Easy," we thought like Americans, "just head toward the cathedral and we'll find the hotel." What followed were, as I remember it, several loops around the cathedral, taking different turns when we could, the same turns when we were forced to, never seeing the hotel to which we were headed. (I don't mean "loops" like highway loops--these were like fractals, like wound threads, like the English coastline.) We passed amazing Roman wall ruins and quaint old shoppes but still were only circling the cathedral (now in evening traffic) and never being able to come in for a landing. Finally, we dug out our antiquated U.K. mobile (which only worked sometimes) and were able to phone a Lincoln friend and say, "Help...we're circling the cathedral." He "talked us in" to the back entrance of what turned out to be a lovely hotel, just in the shadow of the cathedral. And we were quite glad to WALK to the cathedral to view it up close!
Only later did the parable strike me. Western culture is wandering in the shadow of the cathedral! They can see the idea of church rising over the landscape, casting historical spiritual images across the countryside, but they so often can't find their way in. The church might even be beckoning to them, but the roads they are travelling just don't seem to provide an entrance! How many people may be circling in the shadows, sampling spirituality now and then, perhaps even wishing to understand our gospel, but prevented by the traffic and one-way signs (there were some of those, too.) Our grand history and amazing beauty is not enough! We must help people GET THERE!
As I thought more about the metaphor, I seized upon the reason for the difficulty. The cathedral was built to be visited by people, but at a time when the people travelled on foot! The roads were established to accommadate pilgrims walking, not driving gasoline-powered vehicles! As in so many English cities with rich history, the curious mix of old and new was in play. For the ancient cathedral to be visited by a non-pedestrian culture, extra pavement needed to be added!
So it is with church! The church--when it is really being the church (and that is a big subject)--IS desirable, grand and inspiring. No one needs to dress it up with modern trappings or trendy additions. (How silly the Lincoln Cathedral would look with a Frank Lloyd Wright wing...or a Millineum Dome on the lawn.) No, what the church needs to revamp is simply its road system--the approaches and entrances! What we have is highly relevant--how people access it is our challenge! The culture has changed and we must realized they are not winding their way in on foot: they have more to navigate and they are moving faster, and they are circling in shadows of spirituality cast by our history without ever finding parking nearby to check us out today!
When we were lost in Lincoln, in the shadow of the cathedral, I am glad that our friend answered his phone. I believe postmodern seekers are calling. Like Americans with an old half-working U.K. mobile, they may be a bit rusty on the procedure, but they are asking for direction! "Talk me into that safe place near the door," they are saying. They may say it in song or film or in "spiritual" conversation, but they are saying it. In Britain, where old church buildings tower like rulers across the countryside, or in the Bible belt of America where steel and chrome megachurches seem to leap out of the ground, there are many circling in the shadows, waiting for us to pick up the phone.
For more food for thought, see: Matthew 13:52
On our first trip to Lincoln, however, my husband and I, having been properly awed by the sight as we drove into town, became a bit tortured by it as time went on. It seems we were staying at a hotel just a block or so away from the Cathedral and that knowledge plus the name of the hotel were all the direction we had. "Easy," we thought like Americans, "just head toward the cathedral and we'll find the hotel." What followed were, as I remember it, several loops around the cathedral, taking different turns when we could, the same turns when we were forced to, never seeing the hotel to which we were headed. (I don't mean "loops" like highway loops--these were like fractals, like wound threads, like the English coastline.) We passed amazing Roman wall ruins and quaint old shoppes but still were only circling the cathedral (now in evening traffic) and never being able to come in for a landing. Finally, we dug out our antiquated U.K. mobile (which only worked sometimes) and were able to phone a Lincoln friend and say, "Help...we're circling the cathedral." He "talked us in" to the back entrance of what turned out to be a lovely hotel, just in the shadow of the cathedral. And we were quite glad to WALK to the cathedral to view it up close!
Only later did the parable strike me. Western culture is wandering in the shadow of the cathedral! They can see the idea of church rising over the landscape, casting historical spiritual images across the countryside, but they so often can't find their way in. The church might even be beckoning to them, but the roads they are travelling just don't seem to provide an entrance! How many people may be circling in the shadows, sampling spirituality now and then, perhaps even wishing to understand our gospel, but prevented by the traffic and one-way signs (there were some of those, too.) Our grand history and amazing beauty is not enough! We must help people GET THERE!
As I thought more about the metaphor, I seized upon the reason for the difficulty. The cathedral was built to be visited by people, but at a time when the people travelled on foot! The roads were established to accommadate pilgrims walking, not driving gasoline-powered vehicles! As in so many English cities with rich history, the curious mix of old and new was in play. For the ancient cathedral to be visited by a non-pedestrian culture, extra pavement needed to be added!
So it is with church! The church--when it is really being the church (and that is a big subject)--IS desirable, grand and inspiring. No one needs to dress it up with modern trappings or trendy additions. (How silly the Lincoln Cathedral would look with a Frank Lloyd Wright wing...or a Millineum Dome on the lawn.) No, what the church needs to revamp is simply its road system--the approaches and entrances! What we have is highly relevant--how people access it is our challenge! The culture has changed and we must realized they are not winding their way in on foot: they have more to navigate and they are moving faster, and they are circling in shadows of spirituality cast by our history without ever finding parking nearby to check us out today!
When we were lost in Lincoln, in the shadow of the cathedral, I am glad that our friend answered his phone. I believe postmodern seekers are calling. Like Americans with an old half-working U.K. mobile, they may be a bit rusty on the procedure, but they are asking for direction! "Talk me into that safe place near the door," they are saying. They may say it in song or film or in "spiritual" conversation, but they are saying it. In Britain, where old church buildings tower like rulers across the countryside, or in the Bible belt of America where steel and chrome megachurches seem to leap out of the ground, there are many circling in the shadows, waiting for us to pick up the phone.
For more food for thought, see: Matthew 13:52
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Hit the ball with what's left...
I don't love the "doing" of golf, but I do love the idea of golf. I love the fact that no matter how much a player works on his physical game, it is his inner game that ultimately determines his destiny on the links. Golf--combination of finesse and focus as well as strength and power--provides a metaphor for life's journey that is too great to be ignored. In the book, The Legend of Bagger Vance (known to many only in motion picture form), Steven Pressfield presses the metaphor into full service. Like so many spiritual ideas coursing through society, the eastern thought expressed in the book bears no specific religious label, leading most Christians to suspicion and distrust. But, I have never seen honest eastern thought as a threat to a way of life founded by an eastern Savior and conceived by the God of the univserse in whom both east and west find their origin. The book inspired me, and I am a Bible-type Christian!
I especially like the part where Bagger, caddying for the shattered war veteran, Rannulph Junah in the most stressful match of his life, is hammering him with the question, "Who are you?" Bagger, ignoring the mounting score due to Junnah's self-destructive play, just keeps asking, "Who are you?...Are you your name?...Are you your roles...Are you your virtues...your sins?" Junah, simply trying to survive the humiliation, has no answers and grows increasingly frustrated. Finally, Bagger Vance explains that who we really are is what is left when all the "selves" of our mind's making have been stripped away. The roles we play, our own estimations of our performance, feedback from all the significant (or non-significant) others in our lives, false religious ideas that deny the value God places on us--when all these things are stripped away, we are finally left with who we really are. (I've gone beyond Bagger: this is me talking now.)
The problem with having all the "selves" stripped away is that we feel naked without our scorecard! We are accustomed to bolstering ourselves against inadequacy with thoughts like, "Well, at least I'm..." or "At least I'm not..." Let's face it, we are addicted to performance and no matter how many messages we hear about having our identity rooted in God, it is so much easier to nod than kneel! But, life finds us, and if we let Him, God finds us in the midst of life. I believe if we have truly committed ourselves to knowing Him, He does strip us of all the "selves" that hinder authentic relationship and cloud the issue of our life-worship. He wants his question, "Who are you?" to us to be followed by expectant listening, rather than frantic rationalization.
After Bagger tells Junah that he has been stripped of all the "selves" that could have been, he says (and I like to imagine with authority), "Now hit the ball with what is left." Junah protests, "But there's nothing left." And Bagger says, "Exactly." Junah hits the ball and, you guessed it, he found his swing.
I have noticed that God often calls us to strike the ball just at those moments when we think there is nothing left! ("Why couldn't some of these doors opened when our confidence was in tact?" we often feel.) God just might be saying, "Exactly. Hit the ball now and see what happens. You might just be about to discover what is beyond your own strength!" I can just see God, smiling at us in our desperation with understanding love, and saying, "Swing now with all you've got left--take a shot at your dreams now!" He would be smiling because he knew that our feelings of inadequacy are only artifacts of our shattered performance addiction. As we step up to strike the ball with our false securities toppled, He would know that we were about to find the joy of our authentic swing--the joy of simply expressing who we really are, as created by God, with no disclaimers. No, we're not talking about golf...this is worship...this is life...the metaphor works. Let it.
John 4:24--True worship is in spirit and transparency...authenticity...
I especially like the part where Bagger, caddying for the shattered war veteran, Rannulph Junah in the most stressful match of his life, is hammering him with the question, "Who are you?" Bagger, ignoring the mounting score due to Junnah's self-destructive play, just keeps asking, "Who are you?...Are you your name?...Are you your roles...Are you your virtues...your sins?" Junah, simply trying to survive the humiliation, has no answers and grows increasingly frustrated. Finally, Bagger Vance explains that who we really are is what is left when all the "selves" of our mind's making have been stripped away. The roles we play, our own estimations of our performance, feedback from all the significant (or non-significant) others in our lives, false religious ideas that deny the value God places on us--when all these things are stripped away, we are finally left with who we really are. (I've gone beyond Bagger: this is me talking now.)
The problem with having all the "selves" stripped away is that we feel naked without our scorecard! We are accustomed to bolstering ourselves against inadequacy with thoughts like, "Well, at least I'm..." or "At least I'm not..." Let's face it, we are addicted to performance and no matter how many messages we hear about having our identity rooted in God, it is so much easier to nod than kneel! But, life finds us, and if we let Him, God finds us in the midst of life. I believe if we have truly committed ourselves to knowing Him, He does strip us of all the "selves" that hinder authentic relationship and cloud the issue of our life-worship. He wants his question, "Who are you?" to us to be followed by expectant listening, rather than frantic rationalization.
After Bagger tells Junah that he has been stripped of all the "selves" that could have been, he says (and I like to imagine with authority), "Now hit the ball with what is left." Junah protests, "But there's nothing left." And Bagger says, "Exactly." Junah hits the ball and, you guessed it, he found his swing.
I have noticed that God often calls us to strike the ball just at those moments when we think there is nothing left! ("Why couldn't some of these doors opened when our confidence was in tact?" we often feel.) God just might be saying, "Exactly. Hit the ball now and see what happens. You might just be about to discover what is beyond your own strength!" I can just see God, smiling at us in our desperation with understanding love, and saying, "Swing now with all you've got left--take a shot at your dreams now!" He would be smiling because he knew that our feelings of inadequacy are only artifacts of our shattered performance addiction. As we step up to strike the ball with our false securities toppled, He would know that we were about to find the joy of our authentic swing--the joy of simply expressing who we really are, as created by God, with no disclaimers. No, we're not talking about golf...this is worship...this is life...the metaphor works. Let it.
John 4:24--True worship is in spirit and transparency...authenticity...
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
You are the art..
Recently, while preparing to speak at a conference, I had a small brain-burn. I had grown quite at ease with the questioning looks among the Christian audiences to which I had been speaking for a couple of years, but I was heading to the U.K. to unload my passion for "Engaging the Culture" on the other side of "the pond." Would I have enough information in my arsenal to help the church there smile at postmodernity in the way that Paul connected with the Mars Hill altar? Had I really grasped the concepts enough to dance through them with ease while a few hundred eyes watched? Was I sure my information was vital enough to take up an hour of precious conference time, and more than that, did I have it prepared well enough so that the listeners would not zone into the boredom-induced oblivion (or depression) that so easily attends Christians dissertations on postmodernism?
Brain-burns can be good, however. It was only when I reached detail overload that the balancing force of my passion went to work for me. Fed up with self-induced pressure to perform, I remembered an encounter from a week before. At a building dedication in our town, I had run into an artist friend of mine whom I had not seen in a long time. As we greeted each other, I had heard myself say to her, "Juliana, look at you: YOU ARE the art!" On that day, she had gathered together a combination of clothing and accessories that had never before collided on a human body, but it worked--and she looked outwardly like an expression of the worlds of creativity swirling inside her! In that moment, it occurred to both of us that I had said more than I had realized: It is not what comes out of our hands that is the "art" of our lives, but what comes out of our essence. We--not what we produce--really are the art! What we create has meaning because it comes from our hearts, our vision, our Kingdom journey...
So, I breathed deeply and felt the inspiration return. I might not be the consummate expert on all postmodern doctrine (now there's a double oxymoron--combining "postmodern" with both "expert" and "doctrine"!), BUT I do have a gleam in my eye when I discuss it! I might not wow the crowd with historical and sociological detail, but I do have a grasp of the anthropology of the spirit! I might not understand all the impending theological pitfalls, BUT I am absolutely in love with the challenge of connecting the divine life inside me with the postmodern party around me and convinced that the truth is both more powerful AND more FUN than anyone ever dared dream! In other words, I realized that, even as a conference speaker, I AM THE ART! And whether I am in Britain, Boston, or Bolivia, all I can do is hang my heart on the gallery wall and let the crowds decide! And there is peace and freedom in that, because no one hangs in a gallery without referencing the Artist! It's really His "gig"!
I believe my own epiphany can be universally applied. Every Christian is the expression of the Artist--every Christian really is the art! Why do we spend so much time and thought-energy trying to change ourselves when our Creator has painted (and redeemed) the masterpiece inside each of us? I went to the U.K. and enjoyed myself immensely as I gave my talk to the most receptive group of listeners ever. They "got it" because I came to them as "art", NOT just information. Whatever you do, whatever challenges you must face, you, too, are the art... Let the brain-burn reveal the brushstrokes of the Creator and laugh as the performance pressure falls away...
For more inspiration, go to Ephesians 2:10 and Psalm 139:13-16
Brain-burns can be good, however. It was only when I reached detail overload that the balancing force of my passion went to work for me. Fed up with self-induced pressure to perform, I remembered an encounter from a week before. At a building dedication in our town, I had run into an artist friend of mine whom I had not seen in a long time. As we greeted each other, I had heard myself say to her, "Juliana, look at you: YOU ARE the art!" On that day, she had gathered together a combination of clothing and accessories that had never before collided on a human body, but it worked--and she looked outwardly like an expression of the worlds of creativity swirling inside her! In that moment, it occurred to both of us that I had said more than I had realized: It is not what comes out of our hands that is the "art" of our lives, but what comes out of our essence. We--not what we produce--really are the art! What we create has meaning because it comes from our hearts, our vision, our Kingdom journey...
So, I breathed deeply and felt the inspiration return. I might not be the consummate expert on all postmodern doctrine (now there's a double oxymoron--combining "postmodern" with both "expert" and "doctrine"!), BUT I do have a gleam in my eye when I discuss it! I might not wow the crowd with historical and sociological detail, but I do have a grasp of the anthropology of the spirit! I might not understand all the impending theological pitfalls, BUT I am absolutely in love with the challenge of connecting the divine life inside me with the postmodern party around me and convinced that the truth is both more powerful AND more FUN than anyone ever dared dream! In other words, I realized that, even as a conference speaker, I AM THE ART! And whether I am in Britain, Boston, or Bolivia, all I can do is hang my heart on the gallery wall and let the crowds decide! And there is peace and freedom in that, because no one hangs in a gallery without referencing the Artist! It's really His "gig"!
I believe my own epiphany can be universally applied. Every Christian is the expression of the Artist--every Christian really is the art! Why do we spend so much time and thought-energy trying to change ourselves when our Creator has painted (and redeemed) the masterpiece inside each of us? I went to the U.K. and enjoyed myself immensely as I gave my talk to the most receptive group of listeners ever. They "got it" because I came to them as "art", NOT just information. Whatever you do, whatever challenges you must face, you, too, are the art... Let the brain-burn reveal the brushstrokes of the Creator and laugh as the performance pressure falls away...
For more inspiration, go to Ephesians 2:10 and Psalm 139:13-16
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