“But, are ya still preaching the gospel?” and other solicitous questions

We just moved and, apparently, with moving comes solicitors.

We’ve had people come to the door asking about everything from security systems (You do plan on protecting your family, right?) to cable television (With us, you’ll get a bazillion channels!), and, tonight, we had a visit from bless-their-hearts church people that just wanted us to know they are starting up a new gospel preachin’ church in the neighborhood and, if you don’t attend a gospel preachin’ church, would you like to come and visit?

They handed us a tract covered in stars, stripes, regal eagles, and “God Bless America”s.

Between the move, toddler-dom, less-than-ideal-sleep, and 25% of the adult ankles in our house sprained, all amidst the piles to unpack and organize, I feel like my energy and interest in engaging solicitors has been minimal.

Tonight, we were having post-dinner family time – dancing, laughing, and listening to records (Gershwin) – as the solicitors approached.

Hi, we’re just here to let you know about our new church.
Oh, hi.
Do you have a church you go to?
Uhh, yeah, actually, I’m a pastor.
Oh, where are you planting your church?
It’s been around for a while, it’s called Open Door.
Oh, you get a lot of young folks, then?
Yeah, I guess.
But are you still preaching the gospel?
Uhh, yeah.
What is it?
What is what?
The gospel.
Oh, I think we both have answers to that question.
Only by the blood of Jesus!
[Tired smile.]
And no works, right? You don’t preach works, do you?
Sorry, we were having family time, so I think we’re actually going to go back to that now. Have a good night.

There’s all kinds of commentary to add here – about my response and what it should or could have been, about door-to-door church invitations, about the strange-but-all-too-common bedfellows of patriotism and religion.

I sometimes wish I had more energy to enter into constructive dialogue with these solicitors (their questions, how we might differ on our understanding of the gospel and where we might agree, how there is more about Jesus than his blood that is good news, etc.).

But, at the end of the conversation, I decided I would rather spend my energy dancing with my family than picking theological nits with strangers (err, brothers and sisters in Christ?).

Thoughts?

Listening to and Learning from Eugene Peterson

I was raised with a skepticism toward Eugene Peterson.

How dare he turn Bible translation into a one-man show?

“The Message” isn’t a Bible or a translation. It’s “Eugene’s Happy Thoughts.”

This is not the stuff of serious, God-honoring Christianity.

When I found out that he was well-studied in biblical languages, that he penned The Message not for the world but as a contextual exercise in caring for his local congregation, that his writing is a deep, deep well of wisdom pointing the way to Jesus, I got over that skepticism.

And then it was that I just didn’t have time. He had written a lot of books (not just The Message). They all looked good. But when to read them?

Preparing to move, I sorted through all my books and found a few boxes I was ready to part with. I took them to Archives, the local theological bookstore, and watched them quickly flip through most of the pile, with a few cringes and chuckles. There were a few with some resale value so I traded those two boxes for store credit, enough to purchase a small stack of books to start the next leg of my journey.

Gift card in hand, I jokingly asked where the Eugene Peterson section was. While he didn’t quite have his own section, there were nearly two full shelves devoted to his work. I browsed, checked which ones were available in used-but-clean condition, and grabbed a stack of five.

The Contemplative Pastor. Yes, this will be helpful.

Praying with the Psalms. I don’t love the Psalms but Greg is constantly carrying this book around. I should probably try that too. 

Five Smooth Stones for Pastoral Work. Kurt said I had to read this one. I should read this one. 

Working the Angles: The Shape of Pastoral Integrity. Integrity, yes, that’s key.

Subversive Spirituality. Yes, I sometimes pretend subversive is my middle name.

So far I’ve made it through the first of the list, with a bit of time spent in the second. Embarking on this next context of vocational calling, Peterson’s words have been life-giving and challenging. I’ve underlined, highlighted, and annotated much throughout the book, but particularly appreciated these whistleblowing lines from Peterson on prayer and the vocation of pastor.

Prayer is not a work that pastors are often asked to do except in ceremonial ways. Most pastoral work actually erodes prayer. The reason is obvious: people are not comfortable with God in their lives. They prefer something less awesome and more informal. Something, in fact, like the pastor. Reassuring, accessible, easygoing. People would rather talk to the pastor than to God. And so it happens that without anyone actually intending it, prayer is pushed to the sidelines.

And so pastors, instead of practicing prayer, which brings people into the presence of God, enter into the practice of messiah: we will do the work of God for God, fix people up, tell them what to do, conspire in finding the shortcuts by which the long journey to the Cross can be bypassed since we all have such crowded schedules right now. People love us when we do this. It is flattering to be put in the place of God. It feels wonderful to be treated in this godlike way. And it is work that we are generally quite good at.

Eugene Peterson, The Contemplative Pastor

Gratitude #4 – Open Door

As we transitioned from life in Los Angeles to life in the East Bay, I’ve been writing a series of reflections on the various ways we saw God’s faithfulness and presence during our time in LA.

Gratitude #1 – Los Angeles
Gratitude #2 – Fuller
Gratitude #3 – Kairos Hollywood

As we’ve continued our transition from LA and are now putting down roots in the East Bay, the gratitude continues.

Now it’s time for some thoughts on this whole transition that I wrote for the Open Door Community, shared here for all of you! 

We Didn’t See This Coming

Last year, Krissy and I began to sense a potential transition was on the horizon. We had been in Los Angeles for seven years and unsure what our next steps were; our two main options seemed to be either digging in for another season of life in LA or uprooting and moving closer to family in the midwest (we’re both from Wisconsin).

What was not on our horizon, or so we thought, was uprooting and moving to an entirely new place – away from both our midwest family and our Hollywood family.

Enter Open Door

In February, I got wind of a church in the East Bay that was expanding its staff team. The position and description of the community resonated with me and felt in sync with the work we’d been a part of at Kairos Hollywood. Mostly to convince Krissy I was proactively participating in our discernment process (you know, since we weren’t going to move anywhere but the midwest), I briefly told her about the job description.

Without knowing many details – including the name of the community – she replied, “well, we should move forward on this and see if God opens a door.”

I’m Kinda Into You

From the first conversations I had with the hiring team, I was intrigued by you. Your commitment to following Jesus through creativity and experimental practice. Your focus on formation and mission in local and global contexts. Your love for families and desire to be shaped into a family following God into the journey.

After we visited in May, our hearts started beating faster and we sensed a clarity in God’s leading that felt like a rare gift.

The You Becomes We

Krissy’s dad is an ecologist and he told me recently about convergent evolution – when unrelated species from different ecosystems have overlapping traits and features suggesting deep connection and relationship with each other. As I begin this season at Open Door, it feels like convergent evolution or, in terms that might be more familiar, it feels like God’s woven together our stories in beautiful and unexpected ways, calling our family to join yours.

 

I’m so excited to be entering Open Door’s story in this particular season of the journey. I love the questions Open Door asks – What does it look like to follow Jesus here in this place? What does expanded mission in the East Bay and beyond look like? How can we best participate in God’s formative and redemptive work among us for the sake of the world? – and I’m eager to join you in seeking the answers and trajectories God’s set forth for Open Door in this next season in the life of our community.

May we continue to grow as those who are rooted in Christ and woven together as family.

May we continue to faithfully extend sacrificial love and cultivate others to be and do the same.

May God’s spirit guide us as we walk in the way of Jesus.

 

Gratitude #3 – Kairos Hollywood

I don’t think I was looking for you when I found you, but maybe I was.

We walked in, weary from six months of shopping around on Sunday mornings for a place to learn, a place to worship, and a place to call home.

We were not looking to move to Hollywood. We were not looking to enter into a season of bivocational ministry (we didn’t even know what that meant). We were not looking for a reason to stick around Los Angeles after finishing up grad school.

But somehow we found those things and more when we found you.

A creative and eclectic community.

Risk takers and question askers.

Open to ideas and input.

A piece of clay willing to restart the potter’s wheel when a new shape was more conducive to faithfulness on mission – even when painful and disorienting.

It was a Saturday morning and I was sitting beside the little pool in our student housing apartment. My phone rang and it was JR, asking me if I’d be interested and able to preach the next day at our Kairos gathering.

It had been about a year since we had first walked in the doors. Sure, why not?

Psalm 80 was the text, and I spoke about lament as a communal practice. Restore us, not restore me. This is about us, together. Mistakes and gifts, pain and grace all swirled about in the mixing bowl of life together in community.

I broke some rules I’ve since set for myself. I used too much Hebrew. I spoke too long. I used a lot of umms and you knows which, umm, I still use a lot. You know?

But you let me speak. You were encouraging, you pushed back, and we kept moving forward.

And you let me lead. Or, more accurately, you challenged and expanded what I thought leadership was, and then invited me into that.

You are the type of community that does not pedestal its pastors. Sometimes I had the mic and sometimes I didn’t. Sometimes I answered and sometimes I questioned. You did the same. It was always a conversation and never a monologue.

I was a pastor but I was also a husband and a dad and you didn’t ask me to put those things to the side for any greater cause. The cause was simply our life together and inviting and seeing how God worked in our midst. To be a dad, a husband, a friend, an employee, a neighbor, a patron, a servant – these were all deeply embedded in my job description as a pastor in our community. 

The greatest compliment I received during our season with you, Kairos Hollywood, was not about speaking, counseling teaching, administering, budgeting, hosting, or teaching. It was that the three of us who were called to equip, lead, and pastor the community, equipped, led, and pastored alongside. Not from the front, not from behind a microphone or podium, not from a high and lofty place above – but alongside.

So I am grateful to you, Kairos Hollywood (and, also, to our brothers and sisters in Kairos Los Angeles churches across the city) for helping me find my voice, for allowing me to guide, equip and shepherd, for showing me that to pastor is to walk alongside.

I’m grateful for who you are – a group of people centered on Jesus, listening to the voice of God and responding in the faithfulness made possible through the power of the Spirit.

Gratitude #2 – Fuller

I came to Fuller with twenty-something years of questions, seeking answers. Open to new ideas, perspectives, opportunities that would lead me to clarity, confidence and a killer resumé for the next step (you know, the one where I would return to the midwest and work for a megachurch. Yeah, that one.).

Journey, 2003

I sought answers but instead found fellow ask-ers. From all walks of life, from all corners of the globe. All asking questions about meaning, life, God, and the church. Discovering new words and new ways of speaking about our common and diverse experiences, our frustrations and our hopes.

I sought answers, the resolution and dissolution of my questions, but instead found strength and encouragement to continue the questioning journey. With new words, languages, skills, and – most important – friends whose journeys have woven together with my own. Companions, collaborators, teachers, colleagues – constant reminders that even in the midst of loneliness you are not alone.

I sought answers, a tradition to call my own, a tried and true banner under which to find direction, vocation and a career. Instead I found a community of creativity and collaboration. Risks and hunches that the road ahead may wind in new directions and into new terrains. That following God’s wind may lead to uncharted waters, requiring a constantly calibrating compass. That whether the needle seems to simply spin or remains strangely still, God’s voice sometimes continues to speak.

I sought answers but instead found better questions – or, maybe, the same questions expressed with more clarity and humility (a combination that I’ve found most often leads to what the world calls wisdom). The end goal is not a simple and straightforward answer to life’s most pressing questions but a more helpful posture of dwelling with those questions from a place of health, experience, and wisdom. A place of conviction, yes, but also a place of mystery – “take off your shoes for the ground here (the same ground you’ve walked on before and will walk again) is holy.”

I sought answers and, in seeking those answers, found life.

For that – for being a shaping and forming place, a gathering place of sojourners and ask-ers on the way, I am grateful.

Why We Need to Talk about Gender and Masculinity in the New Parish

Gender, and how the church responds to gender, has been and continues to be difficult and disheartening and too often damaging and divisive. While there are certainly signs of encouragement and breakthrough, there are still too many environments that fail to support the giftedness and recognize the common humanity of half its membership.

A week or so ago I was in Seattle for the Inhabit Conference. This is a gathering of people from various parts of the world who are committed to faith-based contextual practice and neighborhood engagement. The central and guiding theme is that of ‘parish’ – a defined place in which you live, work, play, serve, and care. Parish is a term that dates back centuries and refers to the practice of dividing a region so as to allow clergy to minister, care, and provide for a particular place. The conversations last week centered around the “new parish,” discovering how, in the aftermath of individualism and placelessness, place and proximity can again shape the way we faithfully live and lead in our neighborhood contexts.

One of the sessions I sat in was focused on “Women in the New Parish.” Conferences in general – and too-often Christian conferences especially – are male-dominated; the speakers who speak, the authors whose books are being sold, and the dudes who show up to network tend to be…dudes. Despite this trend, this particular conference makes an intentional effort for a more diverse community and lineup of speakers, and part of that intentionality was a conversation facilitated by women to talk about how women are leading in these “new parish” environments.

The room was small and crowded. I sat on the floor, legs tucked close to my body but not close enough to avoid the occasional awkward contact with those sitting nearest me. A few faces lined the doorframe while others listened in from the hallway. It was a fascinating and difficult conversation. Honest, emotional, deep, and occasionally heated.

One of the first to share said she had been leading in ministry for over thirty years and was curious if anything had changed for the new generation of women leaders. Her intonation and facial expression communicated that it had not been an easy three decades; the crowd’s response revealed a general perception that not much had changed.

Another comment early on questioned the need to have a conversation specifically about “Women in the New Parish.” A separate conversation indicates there could be some separation in leadership or giftings between men and woman. And, because, after all, “there isn’t a session called ‘Men in the New Parish.'” In other words, in an already male-dominated conversation, there doesn’t need to be an hour set aside for special conversation about men’s leadership in the church.

I recognize and appreciate the point of the comment. There’s a whole lot of testosterone present at most church leadership events. But rarely is masculinity discussed openly, honestly, and helpfully in these circles. Perhaps a conversation about masculinity in the new parish (and more generally about masculinity in the church) is actually desperately needed.

While none of the conversations I was present for (thank God!) focused on mixed martial arts or the need to toughen up men in a quickly feminizing world, and while on the whole the Inhabit Conference is one of the most humble, conversational, open, and egalitarian faith-based gatherings I’ve been a part of, almost all church leadership circles retain a subtle understanding or expectation about what it means to be successful, remarkable, noteworthy.

• To write a blog is good. To write a book is great.
• To have planted a church is a good thing. To have planted a network of churches is great.
• To have cool hair is good. To have cool facial hair is great.
• To be friends with presenters is good. To be a presenter is to be great.

While none of these (well, maybe except cool facial hair) is strictly gendered, there is a connection between common benchmarks for success and perceptions of masculinity. There is a “cool guy” factor in being a great speaker and catalytic leader with a history of “ministry wins” all while touting the twistiest handlebar mustache ever seen.

I don’t want to diminish or distract from the ongoing conversation about how women are leading in the church or New Parish environments. I hope those conversations continue, and I hope I am able to continue listening in, participating in, and learning from those conversations.

But, for me, a big takeaway from the conversation about women in the new parish was the realization that the ongoing conversation about gender must be bigger than a conversation about “women in ministry” (again noting the importance and necessity of that specific conversation within the larger dialogue). Gender hits deep to the core of identity, femininity and masculinity, insecurities, and personal wiring for relationships and leadership.

The culturally-embedded ties between gender qualities and markers of success is fraught with difficulty, and real and deep dialogue on this is desperately needed – not just for women and not just for men, but for everyone.

How much of what we see as desirable and imitable is rooted in cultural norms and expectations about what it means to be a man, woman, or leader?

How much do we cast aside or diminish the work of those who don’t fit into our engrained understandings of success?

How can we be truly supportive and celebratory of God’s image as it’s displayed in the fullness and variety of gender, vocation, context, etc. we have at work in the local church and neighborhood movements around the world?

Poetry and Place: Listening to Your Neighborhood’s Voice (Part 2)

Last fall I spent a week in the Mission District of San Francisco and spent time exploring and listening to that neighborhood. Part of that week was spent learning to

hear the sounds of the streets

listen to the voices of the people

taste the city’s flavor

see the sights of everyday life

feel the sidewalks, the fabrics, textures, the pain and the beauty of a place

recreate the voice of the neighborhood with a bit of poetry.

The product of that experience was a poem – the colors scream – but also a desire to recreate the experience and invite others to listen to their neighborhood’s voice in all its beauty and brokenness.

This month, I’ve been meeting together with a group of friends who are exploring and experimenting with our neighborhoods and our role as a neighbor in that place. Our “homework” the first week was to map our neighborhood/place and spend time listening, exploring, and creating some kind of artistic response to what we heard/saw/tasted/smelled in that place.

Here’s a poem I wrote inspired by my place:

walk up, time to see the day
the neighborhood awaits our presence
in its beauty and in its pain

vacant lots, echo chambers
locked up toys and runners
runners in pink, runners in green
big runners, small runners
costumed runners, laughing runners
all just passing through

‘the spirit of God is upon me’
her voice cuts through
the runner’s drone and the drum’s resound
her words call out, I am recognized
‘be careful,’ a Siren sounds

to protect my child or 
protect this stranger?
the cruelest of choice
a Siren sounds, ‘be careful’
our wheels roll on
my heart lingers

the lilies of the field
the lilies of the field
and the birds in the air
will they be okay?
will she be okay?
will we be okay?
a Siren sounds

East Hollywood, California // April 2014

 

How to Save Your Church (By Letting it Be Something Other Than a Church)

This is a repost from The Burner Blog. I wrote this a few weeks ago and am now sharing it here!

On my commute to work, I bike past three church buildings that no longer function as churches.

Each of these buildings was once home to a congregation – Pentecostal, Presbyterian, and Methodist – but each was unable to sustain their faithful presence through the rapid and extensive transitions taking place in their neighborhood. For years, these churches sat abandoned on desirable property in desirable neighborhoods that have no desire for a church.

Each of these properties has recently been purchased or leased by entrepreneurs. One has been converted into a beautiful single-family home, complete with the original steeple and bell. One is used as a gallery and performance space in the trendiest up-and-coming neighborhoods of Los Angeles. One is currently in the process of being transitioned into a boutique hotel and bar in one of LA’s hipster havens.

I love each of these ideas. The spaces, each with their preservationist conversions, are beautiful. Those taking the lead on the conversions have done their homework, creating business plans that take into account their neighborhood context and demographics.

I love each of these ideas but they make me sad.

• Why did the pastors, committees, or denominations representing these congregations hold so tightly to the single-use they had in mind for their space that they allowed these beautiful buildings to sit unused for years?

• Why did they allow their financial reserves to drain away as they maintained the status quo even as the pews grew increasingly empty?

• Why was it only an outside entrepreneur that saw through the years of neglect and abandonment to envision these buildings as beautiful spaces for the good of the neighborhood?

• Why do we still train pastors in the preservation of stagnant church buildings and congregational legacies while the needs of their community – needs which could be met, in part at least, through creative use of physical properties and structures – go unnoticed or ignored?

Even with the missional conversation trickling down into older, established congregations, too much of our “missional talk” gets stuck in sermons and service projects, never actually igniting an imagination for how the resources of our churches – property, buildings, finances, people – could be used to serve those who are not interested in walking into a church – but would be interested in an art gallery, performance space, warming center, speakeasy, community space, or tutoring center.

When will we recognize that the way of the cross might involve offering our property and buildings as multi-use community space that might happen to also host a worshipping congregation a few times a week?

When will we anoint, bless, and commission pastors to serve as landlords, community developers and entrepreneurs rather than pulpit-and-pew preservers?

When will we allow the expectations of the past to be buried in order to see a resurrection of imagination for our cities and neighborhoods?

Thomas Merton’s Ten Resolutions for a Contemplative Life

A few years ago, one of our housemates placed a list of ten new year’s resolutions attributed to Thomas Merton** on our fridge. Amidst postcards, magnet poetry, and grease splatterings from the oven (the kind that won’t come off no matter how hard you scrub), the list of resolutions has remained as a thoughtful conversation starter and, for me, the list is helpful in considering how to live a more contemplative and engaged life.

Here are the ten resolutions:

(1) Pay attention to people ::  Fewer things honor people as much, or make them peaceful more readily, or give them an experience of their worth as clearly as paying attention to them.

(2) Verbalize human experience and teach others to do this :: The more inarticulate we are, the more likely it is that we might seek violence as a way of expressing ourselves.

(3) Reject excessive activity, accomplishments or success :: There is something belligerent about frenetic action.

(4) Practice contemplation :: Contemplation is defined as life review, in silence, connecting our reflection with the ideals we have not achieved, making amends for things we regret, and thanking God for the good we were given, the losses we survived, the love we received beyond all measure.

(5) Embrace silence :: Silence is shattered not by speaking but by eagerness and anxiety to be heard by others. Silence invites others to speak. Genuine silence is creative and liberating.

(6) Resist consumerism :: A desperate need to possess is a form of violence.

(7) Lose, then let go :: We are acculturated to go from success to success. Losing gracefully, even in terms of the long run, is a remarkable virtue. Clutching at success, when letting go is necessary, destroys us.

(8) Read Scripture :: If you were to read Scripture reflectively for only five minutes a day, your life would be enriched. Scripture makes the norm, not whatever is presently fashionable, but what is truly enduring. It roots us and gives us peace amid the turbulence of passing crises we face.

(9) Maintain a sense of history :: We become frantic when we see life in the short run. In the longer view of human history or even our personal histories, patterns of meanings emerge. The good does prevail.

(10) Hold the conviction that people are basically good :: People must be reliable or else the Gospel would not have lasted; Christ would have been forgotten. Much of the violence done in the name of religion has been premised on the idea that people are evil.

What do you think?

Anything you would add or subtract from this list for those looking for a more contemplative rhythm in 2014?

** I’ve found the list attributed to Merton on a few other blogs, but can’t find a definitive source and have a hunch the attribution is questionable – so it’s possible the list originated somewhere other else. Let me know if you know something I don’t.

Jesus Feminist: Beautiful, Hopeful, Gospel (book review)

I recently finished Jesus Feminist: An Invitation to Revisit the Bible’s View of Women by Sarah Bessey.

It’s a really good book. Here’s what I liked about it:

(1) It’s beautifully written. Sarah Bessey navigates culture, theology, and scripture in a way that breathes life.

What would it look like for us to prophetically live [the reality of God’s shalom] in our churches, the bring the Kingdom into our homes, our marriages, our everyday walking-around lives? Where is God moving, how is God already at work, and how can I join in? What is God’s heart for humanity? And am I participating in making that vision a reality? What mountain stone am I moving in a radical act of grace?

It’s a scary thing, a life-changing, paradigm-shifting thing, to honestly ask yourself this question: Am I moving with God to rescue, restore, and redeem humanity? (172-173)

(2) It’s hopeful. There is a lot of hurt and ill-will from the ongoing tension of gender and Christianity, but Jesus Feminist pushes through this and paints a positive vision and way forward.

I won’t desecrate beauty with cynicism anymore. I won’t confusing critical thinking with a critical spirit, and I will practice, painfully, over and over, patience and peace until my gentle answers turn away even my own wrath. I will breathe fresh air while I learn, all over again, grace freely given and wisdom honored. (6)

(3) It’s not about “women in ministry,” it’s about the gospel. I’ve read a lot of books that touch or focus on women in ministry; Jesus Feminist is about a Christian faith and gospel that doesn’t see “women in ministry” as a topic or issue to be addressed or solved, but instead invites all people to taste and see Jesus and the good news of God’s kingdom.

Biblical equality is not the endgame; it is one of the means to God’s big ending: all things redeemed, all things restored. Jesus feminism is only one thread in God’s beautiful woven story of redemption. (178)

Worth the read; check it out!