A Liturgical Life

Each Sunday, as people filter into the sanctuary where I worship, clutching a jacket or a cup of coffee, a hush comes over us all as the announcements end. Suddenly, some rousing music begins and we’re off and singing. Next we alternate between listening to a leader speak and speaking as a group. Some people read some ancient writings (often poetry), we sing some songs, another leader gets up and speaks for an extended period of time, and then we rush forward to eat a tiny meal of bread and wine.

These are things we almost never do in other spheres of our lives. Example: when’s the last time you did some group readings or sing-a-longs with your coworkers? I thought so. So what, exactly, is the deal? Why do we do what we do, and why do we do it the way we do it?

The early church fathers had a saying, “Lex orandi, lex credendi”, rendered something like, “the law of prayer is the law of belief”. However, the concept behind this phrase is about more than just prayer. As the leaders of the early church thought deeply about how the church should express her worship of Christ, it became clear that the way we worship actually informs our faith, it shapes what we believe. That is to say, form matters every bit as much as content.

I grew up in a small, rural Baptist church. Our worship service consisted of some coffee time, announcements, 3 simple hymns accompanied by piano, a time for all to offer prayer requests publicly (until the age of 7 I thought we were talking about ‘prairie quests’ and was consistently disappointed in the lack of adventure during that time), and a sermon. As I moved into jr. high and high school we added a guitar in our youth services. Unconsciously I began to think of Jesus as a cross-legged hippy, sitting with us in a circle, playing guitar, sweeping his hair out of his eyes.

In college, I had an opportunity to go with a friend to a Greek Orthodox Church on a Sunday morning. I was completely unprepared for what I would experience: prayer candles burning in the narthex, colorful icons and intricate woodwork throughout the narthex and nave, an ornately decorated priest in the fenced off sanctuary. The priest waved a censor as he led the liturgy; I’ll never forget that smell, one of the most beautiful scents I’ve ever experienced. A chanting choir was in the balcony behind us, giving voice to the praise of the angels. 

That afternoon, as I tried to understand what I’d just experienced in that foreign worship service, I realized that for the first time I began to consider that God might actually be majestic. The way I worshipped, the sights, smells, sounds, the music, order of worship, all of it began to reshape my view of God. Growing up I got a picture of the nearness of God, that day in college I began to form a picture of his transcendency.

In his book, Desiring the Kingdom, James Smith reminds us that, “we are what we love, and our love is shaped, primed, and aimed by liturgical practices that take hold of our gut and aim our heart in certain ends.” In other words, we are constantly being shaped by our worship practices. The strange thing is that most of the time that reshaping is taking place subconsciously. It’s not until we’re faced with a choice in life, a way for us to express what is important to us, that we begin to see how we’ve been shaped by our worship.

In using liturgy, the elements of our worship have been chosen with care in order that we might be reshaped as the people of Jesus. We want to uphold the immanence and transcendence of God. We want to maintain our gathering as a time of worship, where we’re vertically oriented toward the Trinity, but also where we remain firm-footed on earth, pushing out the gospel in a horizontal line, pushing back the darkness and brokenness of the world and carrying forth the light and healing of Jesus. 

We remind ourselves every week that confession and belief are at the core of the Christian life. We are called to constantly be giving up more of our life to the lordship of Jesus, turning to him in faith and hope. As we’re reminded of what the gospel has worked in our lives we sing out in joyous praise, and we give our money away. We situate ourselves under the preached Word, not so we have an opportunity to critique, not so we can gain some inner secret knowledge that will make us ‘truly Christian’--no, we sit under the Word because it is alive with the life of the Spirit of Jesus, because we need to hear the voice of Jesus wooing us again to enter in to his marriage proposal more deeply. We come to his table to be nourished, to be rebuilt in our faith, to imbibe his life as our life.

We do all these things as individuals, yes, each responding to and being reshaped by the liturgy, but we do all of these things corporately, as a community, always being reminded that we are indeed a family, a body, a church.

Then, as we exit the sanctuary, jackets in hand, we move back into God’s world, we run back into the city in smaller groups as people that have been reshaped by their worship of a God who has come near to all in Christ. We move back into this world to continue living a liturgical life.

 

Toward a Theology of Christian Hospitality, pt. 3

[see part one and two]

Jesus Christ died for the whole wide world, not just for those inside the church. Therefore, a theological test for the fidelity of a church is hospitality.

Will Willimon, Welcome Others As Christ Has Welcomed You

Enacting Hospitality

Given that hospitality is such a huge part of Christian mission, how do we enact hospitality at Intown?  As a Christian church, Intown has two main categories for enacting hospitality: the Sunday morning Gathering, and everything else.

Sunday mornings we gather to celebrate the first day of the New Creation--to be reminded that we serve a risen Savior who is making all things new.  This celebration is a time for the community of God’s people to gather together and partake in the angelic worship that happens without ceasing in the heavenly realm.  This celebration is also a time for those outside the faith to experience a moment of New Creation, to experience the intersection of heaven and earth.

As such, Sunday worship gatherings are the most opportune times for the Church to feast--not in a way that only looks to satisfy the insider, but in a way that actively expects the inclusion of strangers.  

When we have coffee and pastries and fruit we aren’t just looking out for those who forgot to have breakfast before coming to worship.  Rather we are seeking to create an atmosphere that appropriately expresses the hospitality and feasting that is so clearly seen in the gospel. Our refreshment table is an entree into and a continuation of the verbal ‘gospeling’ that we do through song, prayer, scripture, and sacrament.

Once the worship gathering is over, we move back into our respective neighborhoods and communities.  Though the designated day in which we celebrate the Resurrection and the New Creation may have come to a close, we must be careful to remember that we enter into the other six days as the New Creation.  

We are to leave Sundays with the fragrance of Resurrection lingering within us.  As we do so, we will enact a continuation of mission and hospitality, inviting brothers and sisters, and especially strangers and the undeserving into our homes to feast at our expense.  Hosting or participating in a community group is one avenue that this sort of hospitality can take, but it cannot be overstated: christian hospitality is a way of life, not an event, no matter how regular.

Toward a Theology of Christian Hospitality, pt. 2

[This is Part Two of a Three Part series on Christian Hospitality.  Check out Part One]

The church is to participate actively in the life of the world as slaves and envoys of the true King, in a manner akin to Jesus, extending an invitation to those, like they were previously, who are not worthy guests, who are marginalized in the wider society, who do not consider themselves invited, and who have not even heard there is such a banquet available.

Luke Bretherton, Hospitality as Holiness: Christian Witness Amid Moral Diversity

Hospitality and the Mission of The Church

The en-action of the Church’s mission is nothing short of hospitality.  As we allow the service and hospitality of the incarnation to sit deeper within our lives, we will begin to have a greater awareness that our call in the continuation of the mission of the Triune God is a call to express Christ-like service and hospitality to sisters, brothers, friends, and strangers.

This call to mission and hospitality is not distinct or separate from the Church’s remembrance and declaration of the gospel.  Rather it is situated firmly within it.  One metaphor for how the gospel has changed the plight of humanity is the story that undeserving people have been invited in to feast at the table of the King.  This metaphor cannot be understood apart from actual feasting, as seen in how important feasts were for the people of God in the OT, and how those feasts were recast in the NT with the last supper and the love feasts of the early church.

Much like the collusion of sorrow and joy, pain and celebration, that is found in the story of the Cross, so hospitality is an act of feasting that requires fasting.  Sharing with others is not done simply out of overflow.  The call of Christian mission and Christian hospitality is a call of full surrender, a call to release our grasp on what is “ours”, our time, our money, our space.  We are called to intentionally invite the undeserving to share what we have been given.

When we understand the call of Christian mission, we will begin to see the complexity of Christian hospitality:

-hospitality is costly, time consuming, and heart breaking.

-hospitality is an attitude, a way of life, not an occasional action

-hospitality is rewarding and joyful

-hospitality is feasting with outsiders

Toward a Theology of Christian Hospitality, pt. 1

 

What is christian hospitality, and why is it an important practice for christian individuals, families, and communities?  Is understanding christian hospitality really a theological enterprise?  What follows is a very brief attempt to answer these questions in a way that will help us as a community understand why we do what we do, and how we should go about being hospitable people.

A standard definition of hospitality is, “the friendly and generous reception and entertainment of guests, visitors, or strangers.”  This definition, though quite straightforward, could sustain several pages worth of discussion.  But rather than focus on what hospitality is in and of itself, I wish to address what distinctly christian hospitality looks like.

 A christian view of human persons closely links human self-awareness with theological understanding.  That is to say, as christians we believe that a triune God stated, “Let us create man in our image.”  A result of this belief is that our understanding of the character, mission, and methods of God, including how the members of the Trinity interrelate with one another, will in turn shape our understanding of how humans are to behave, how human beings are called to interrelate with one another.

 In a sense, we could see the entire storyline of the missio Dei, the entire enactment of God’s love to the world as acts of hospitality.  Early in Genesis we see the Triune God creating a universe of beauty and vitality, breathing life into his creatures.  This God creates human beings and places them in a garden that he has prepared for them.  This is God’s world, a place of shalom and majesty, and within this world he invites humanity to enter in to his care for it.  In this garden God walks with man and woman, talking with them.  A friendly and generous reception and entertainment if ever there was one.

 Despite humanity’s eventual rejection of God’s care, God continues to pursue his people.  He invites Abram to journey with him, eventually making his covenant with him, promising him descendants and a land in which to dwell.  At this point a long and sordid history unfolds.  God’s people (Abraham’s descendants) circle in and out, cycling through worship of this generous God and rejection and outright rebellion against His hospitable presence in their lives.  These cycles continue until God himself steps into their lives in a new and unparalleled way: the Incarnation.

The incarnation is a glorious and deep doctrine of the christian faith with far reaching implications that would require an eternity to map out.  The advent of Jesus, this God-in-the-flesh adds layers and layers to our understanding of hospitality and what it means to reach out to those around us. Jesus reminded his hearers regularly that he had not come to be a doctor to those that had no illnesses, but he had come to find the sick, to seek and save the lost, to charge after the one sheep.  Jesus came to receive sinful people, to bring them in to the kingdom he was building, to graft them into the people of God.  Jesus took alienated strangers, people who were enemies of God and made them the sons and daughters of God.

This welcoming of strangers was an act of generosity like the world has never seen.  Hospitality isn’t cheap.  Welcoming others is a costly thing to do.  Jesus models this for us by giving up his own life in order to welcome strangers to the household of God.

 

Toward a Theology of Christian Hospitality, pt. 1

 

What is christian hospitality, and why is it an important practice for christian individuals, families, and communities?  Is understanding christian hospitality really a theological enterprise?  What follows is a very brief attempt to answer these questions in a way that will help us as a community understand why we do what we do, and how we should go about being hospitable people.

A standard definition of hospitality is, “the friendly and generous reception and entertainment of guests, visitors, or strangers.”  This definition, though quite straightforward, could sustain several pages worth of discussion.  But rather than focus on what hospitality is in and of itself, I wish to address what distinctly christian hospitality looks like.

 A christian view of human persons closely links human self-awareness with theological understanding.  That is to say, as christians we believe that a triune God stated, “Let us create man in our image.”  A result of this belief is that our understanding of the character, mission, and methods of God, including how the members of the Trinity interrelate with one another, will in turn shape our understanding of how humans are to behave, how human beings are called to interrelate with one another.

 In a sense, we could see the entire storyline of the missio Dei, the entire enactment of God’s love to the world as acts of hospitality.  Early in Genesis we see the Triune God creating a universe of beauty and vitality, breathing life into his creatures.  This God creates human beings and places them in a garden that he has prepared for them.  This is God’s world, a place of shalom and majesty, and within this world he invites humanity to enter in to his care for it.  In this garden God walks with man and woman, talking with them.  A friendly and generous reception and entertainment if ever there was one.

 Despite humanity’s eventual rejection of God’s care, God continues to pursue his people.  He invites Abram to journey with him, eventually making his covenant with him, promising him descendants and a land in which to dwell.  At this point a long and sordid history unfolds.  God’s people (Abraham’s descendants) circle in and out, cycling through worship of this generous God and rejection and outright rebellion against His hospitable presence in their lives.  These cycles continue until God himself steps into their lives in a new and unparalleled way: the Incarnation.

The incarnation is a glorious and deep doctrine of the christian faith with far reaching implications that would require an eternity to map out.  The advent of Jesus, this God-in-the-flesh adds layers and layers to our understanding of hospitality and what it means to reach out to those around us. Jesus reminded his hearers regularly that he had not come to be a doctor to those that had no illnesses, but he had come to find the sick, to seek and save the lost, to charge after the one sheep.  Jesus came to receive sinful people, to bring them in to the kingdom he was building, to graft them into the people of God.  Jesus took alienated strangers, people who were enemies of God and made them the sons and daughters of God.

This welcoming of strangers was an act of generosity like the world has never seen.  Hospitality isn’t cheap.  Welcoming others is a costly thing to do.  Jesus models this for us by giving up his own life in order to welcome strangers to the household of God.

 

Toward a Theology of Christian Hospitality, pt. 1

What is christian hospitality, and why is it an important practice for christian individuals, families, and communities?  Is understanding christian hospitality really a theological enterprise?  What follows is a very brief attempt to answer these questions in a way that will help us as a community understand why we do what we do, and how we should go about being hospitable people.

A standard definition of hospitality is, “the friendly and generous reception and entertainment of guests, visitors, or strangers.”  This definition, though quite straightforward, could sustain several pages worth of discussion.  But rather than focus on what hospitality is in and of itself, I wish to address what distinctly christian hospitality looks like.

A christian view of human persons closely links human self-awareness with theological understanding.  That is to say, as christians we believe that a triune God stated, “Let us create man in our image.”  A result of this belief is that our understanding of the character, mission, and methods of God, including how the members of the Trinity interrelate with one another, will in turn shape our understanding of how humans are to behave, how human beings are called to interrelate with one another.

In a sense, we could see the entire storyline of the missio Dei, the entire enactment of God’s love to the world as acts of hospitality.  Early in Genesis we see the Triune God creating a universe of beauty and vitality, breathing life into his creatures.  This God creates human beings and places them in a garden that he has prepared for them.  This is God’s world, a place of shalom and majesty, and within this world he invites humanity to enter in to his care for it.  In this garden God walks with man and woman, talking with them.  A friendly and generous reception and entertainment if ever there was one.

Despite humanity’s eventual rejection of God’s care, God continues to pursue his people.  He invites Abram to journey with him, eventually making his covenant with him, promising him descendants and a land in which to dwell.  At this point a long and sordid history unfolds.  God’s people (Abraham’s descendants) circle in and out, cycling through worship of this generous God and rejection and outright rebellion against His hospitable presence in their lives.  These cycles continue until God himself steps into their lives in a new and unparalleled way: the Incarnation.

The incarnation is a glorious and deep doctrine of the christian faith with far reaching implications that would require an eternity to map out.  The advent of Jesus, this God-in-the-flesh adds layers and layers to our understanding of hospitality and what it means to reach out to those around us.  Jesus reminded his hearers regularly that he had not come to be a doctor to those that had no illnesses, but he had come to find the sick, to seek and save the lost, to charge after the one sheep.  Jesus came to receive sinful people, to bring them in to the kingdom he was building, to graft them into the people of God.  Jesus took alienated strangers, people who were enemies of God and made them the sons and daughters of God.

This welcoming of strangers was an act of generosity like the world has never seen.  Hospitality isn’t cheap.  Welcoming others is a costly thing to do.  Jesus models this for us by giving up his own life in order to welcome strangers to the household of God.

 

Romans 10

I was found by those who did not seek me,

I revealed myself to those who did not ask for me

I wonder, do I really believe this? Yes, I know the ordo salutis, I understand and appreciate the doctrines of grace.  But I mean, deep, deep in my imagination, do I really get this, do I really conceive of God like this?

Obviously this would radically reorient my own self-understanding, my identity. I know the right answers here, but I think far too often I live as if I did ask for God, when in reality I've asked for anything but.

Beyond my own self-understanding, how would this realization deep within my imagination chnage my approach to ministry, and to the Christian life in general? How do I maintain a mental balance of a God who can often be blistering in his critique of the religiously self-assured, and yet remains profligate with respect to non-seekers?  Not only this, but how do I emulate a God like that?

My prayer is that those busily not seeking God would be found by him, and that I would have a part in that finding. My prayer is that I would be found as well, again, and again, and again.

Romans 9

I will call them "my people" who are not my people,

and I will call her "my loved one" who is not my loved one.

Romans 9 is a tough chapter.  It's difficult to work through what exactly Paul is saying about Israel, the Church, and above all, God's character as displayed in his actions.  On the one hand, God will have mercy on whom he has mercy, and will harden whom he chooses to harden.  On the other hand, God will gather people that have not been identified as his people, and give them a new identity--he is the one who will call them his own people.

This morning as I read through this chapter, I think the thing that struck me most was that in all my theology classes and bible classes whenever this chapter would get referenced (which was a lot), I don't have a single memory of anyone discussing the verse I quoted above.  Why are we more interested in what exactly "Esau have I hated" means than we are in figuring out what "I will call her 'my loved one' who is not my loved one" means?

How is the Church to understand her mission in light of this? How am I to understand my own placement within God's community, and the tasks that I have been called to?

My prayer for this moring is that I would allow the surprising generosity of God to form me, and to reach into all the world through the people of his Church to reach people that look nothing like them.

Romans 8, and the Copernican Revolution

Well, quite fitting with Josh's readings from the psalter today, I read from Romans 8, a very climactic chapter in Paul's epistle.  There are so many wonderful truths to be found in this short chapter:

• There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.
• The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God.
• If God is for us, who can be against us?
• ...in hope that the creation will be set free from its bondage to decay and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.

 

There is plenty of "me and Jesus" in this chapter, if indeed that is what you're looking for.  Though it cannot be failed to point out that the entire chapter is corporate, not individual. If we allow biblical theology to bleed into Romans 8 (as indeed it should bleed into all our Scripture readings), I think, as Josh pointed out, to not see that God's mission is cosmic, God's mission is about more than just me, is to read Scripture with your eyes closed.

I had a great conversation with a friend recently.  He's quite bright, and quite well read, and he appreciates the traditional Reformed emphasis on justification.  Recently though, he was able to hear some lectures on a biblical theology of the Temple, and was gushing to me about the connections between earth, garden, temple, city, new heavens and new earth, new creation, resurrection.

I told him, 'this is the copernican revolution.'  Though, that's not quite right, because it is a relatively recent phenomenon that Christianity has become so obsessed with personal salvation as the end-all-be-all.  But for a while now we've assumed that the theological solar system orbits around us. Or, if we want to be a bit more spiritual and humble, it orbits around what Jesus has done for us (even if we use the shorthand, "Jesus" as the center of all things, what we emphasize is "what Jesus did for me").

In my own life, the idea that God's mission is cosmic--the idea that God has been on mission since Day One, and that on Day One of the Resurrection, New Creation began squirming its way into God's world that had gone sideways due to human rebellion--is earthshattering, and life-giving. I get to be a part of this mission? I'm being reformed into the imago Dei, to act as a priest, interceding between God and his world?  I get to work for his kingdom in the power of the Spirit and watch as injustice and evil get rolled back? 

Where do I sign?

Romans 6

For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly also be united with him in a resurrection like his.

This morning's passage was incredibly encouraging and convicting for me personally: I have been set free from the enslaving power of sin. This is great news, but it leads to the question, 'why do I continue to live as if I'm a slave to sin, still under the dominion of Satan?'

My prayer for today is that I will live in this reality.  One of the questions this passage raises for me is, what does it mean for me to 'offer myself as a slave to righteousness'?  Clearly Paul is using a metaphor to discuss the cultivation of virtue, but how does one begin, and how does one continue on that path?

Romans 5

But the gift is not like the trespass. For if the many died by the trespass of the one man, how much more did God’s grace and the gift that came by the grace of the one man, Jesus Christ, overflow to the many!

I can still feel the death of sin in my body.  In my mind.  In my heart. In a few more days, I'll agree with Paul's cry, 'wretched man that I am', but for now, this passage gave me great comfort.

I am a sinful man.  My passions and pride cause war and division in my heart, my home, in all my relationships.  But Jesus has given me the gift of life.  I have been made righteous through his obedience. I have received reconciliation to my creator.

My prayer this morning is that I would live as a reconciled child, and that the news of this reconciliation would go forth to all people.

strange negotiations: an open letter to everyone

these strange negotiations, 

man they really are getting me down.

these strange negotiations

i feel like a stranger in my hometown.

 

Somewhere, the Christian world is blooming.  I just know it.  I feel it in my bones, like a change in the weather.  

But I can't see it.

I can't see it because I can't lift my head out of the small corner of evangelicalism where I reside due to the tweeted bullets whizzing past, the blogpost bombs dropping ever closer, ever faster.  This is to say nothing of the closeted conversations of which I am constantly a part, here, and there, and everywhere.

Of course, I'm upset again by more fallout from this insatiable need felt by so many within evangelicalism to "defend" everything all the time. The more I hear these strident defenders blasting out their war calls, the more I picture them constantly yawning like Sarlacc, hoping for a "heterodox" whipping boy to stumble into their jaws in order that they might feed their unending hunger to play knight in shining armor. 

And yes, I'm beginning to feel like a stranger in my hometown.  The more I look around the old neighborhoods, the less I want to stay in town.  I'm not leaving the faith or anything, and my ecclesiology is too robust to sit at home and play church online, I guess I'm just sighing in public.

But here's the problem, boys.  My people read what you write.  They listen to what you say.  They track your tweets.  What may take you a matter of minutes or hours to posta controversial video clip, a dismissive tweet, or a fear-mongering blog, takes me months of sidetracking discussion, confusion, and chaos.  You're creating dissension and dischord in the body, a trait which is much more akin to the false teachers noted in Scripture than any of the theological musings you so obstreperously condemn.

Rather than feed my people something they need in their local context, I'm forced to interact with your prophecies of doom.  Rather than interact with my agnosti-buddhis-atheis-indifferen-tical neighbors and build relationships and start conversations well, I'm forced to answer questions that you have put in their minds.  You put them on edge and drive the conversation into a canyon from which it can barely emerge.

The point is, Christendom is over, and some of us are trying to get on with the mission of Jesus in light of that. In short, what that means is that in the trenches, not only do we not shoot those that uphold the Apostles' Creed, but we count them as sisters and brothers, comrades.

So please, just stop.  Your open letters have become open sores.  Deal with heretics, if they are truly heretics, in your own local context, and just get on with the mission.

Romans 4

"And to the one who does not work but trusts him who justifies the ungodly, his faith is counted as righteousness..."

It's strange to always be coming back to this point in my Christian life: do I really believe that God can/will/does justify me?  Later on in this chapter as Paul describes Abraham's reaction of faith, he says, 

No distrust made him waver concerning the promise of God, but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God, fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised.

Sometimes I feel like my spiritual vitality is about the same as Abraham's 100 year old body ("which was as good as dead").  But Abraham believed that God gives life to the dead and calls into existence things that do not exist.

It is my prayer that I would live this reality out intentionally and daily: I am as good as dead, but God gives life to people like me, because he justifies the ungodly.

God is one.

I'm reading through Romans, and today I read chapter 3. I feel like Romans is one of those books that gets a bit mangled in all of our theological wrangling and wrestling, and in my current frame of mind, I have no desire to jump into that fray.

I've been slowly making my way through Thornton's English Spirituality, and while he hasn't yet made his point, he's circling around the idea that my Scripture study should shape my prayer.  So rather than ask, "what exactly does this mean?", I should begin by asking, "how does this help me pray?"

As for this morning's reading, the verse that jumped out at me was when Paul asks, "Is he not the God of Gentiles also?  Yes of Gentiles also, since God is one."  So, how does this help me pray?

First of all, it gives me joy, so I can praise God that his grace is wider than a thin band of nationalism, I can praise God that I have been brought in to a covenant that he made with a man in a distant land long ago, I can praise God that his mission to the world has not failed, and that I have been captivated by Jesus.

Secondly, I can pray that God's mission would continue.  God is one, and he is the God of all people, so I will pray that all people will come to know him in the gospel, that his kingdom will continue to come in power, and that through his people (myself included), God's world would be reconciled to him.

monday strikes again

well, crap.

thursday. morning. catch-22.

a little Joseph Heller to make the morning more absurd.

 

"Just what the hell did you mean, you bastard, when you said we couldn't punish you?" said the corporal who could take shorthand reading from his steno pad. 

"All right," said the colonel. "Just what the hell did you mean?" 

"I didn't say you couldn't punish me, sir." 

"When," asked the colonel. 

"When what, sir?" 

"Now you're asking me questions again." 

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid I don't understand your question." 

"When didn't you say we couldn't punish you? Don't you understand my question?"

"No, sir, I don't understand." 

"You've just told us that. Now suppose you answer my question." 

"But how can I answer it?" 

"That's another question you're asking me." 

"I'm sorry, sir. But I don't know how to answer it. I never said you couldn't punish me." 

"Now you're telling us what you did say. I'm asking you to tell us when you didn't say it." 

Clevinger took a deep breath. "I always didn't say you couldn't punish me, sir." 

Expression

See the full gallery on Posterous

Gang graffiti annoys me.

Witty graffiti wits me

Also signs.

back. on. the. horse.

the daily is about to start back up.

Doubt vs. Skepticism

Once again, I've strayed for too long.  But I'm still not ready to write.

 

So, read this.

gender contortions

My buddy Scott posted some thoughts in response to NPR's "The End of Gender?".  I was working on a response in the comment box, and realized it got waaaay to long, and decided to write a follow up post (hint: read Scott's post first, it's way better).

Great thoughts, Scott.

I also found NPR's implicit argument in this article to be quite interesting--why does Leonard Sax have an after-thought-sidebar rather than an actual place in the article itself?  Before I address some of the ideas Weeks brings up, I'd like to look at some other comments from the original article.

Dean Spade, the assistant professer at SU School of Law wants to do away with much if not most gender distinctions, yet insists that we hold on to gender distinction in cases of gender-based affirmative action programs. A great thought, but how does it play out practically?  Say Corporation X needs to make a female hire but the best woman for the job identifies as a male?  What if there's a man that identifies as a female in the running?  If gender is meaningless then the job should go to the man-who-identifies-as-a-woman, leaving any serious discussion of gender-based affirmative action left alone in a single-sex bathroom.

It seems that (Mr.? Mrs.? Ms.? Nr?) Spade is running around the kitchen smeared in frosting and cake crums wondering where the hell the cake ran off to.

Professor Eliot posits toward the end,

Also, if parents did not buy into the gender stereotyping of children's toys and clothes, kids would stay open-minded longer during childhood. The goal is to keep girls physically active, curious and assertive, and boys sensitive, verbal and studious.

To me, this sort of bare statement posing as fact brings a whole slew of questions (I'll try to limit them):

1. Is this the goal? The goal of which group, broader society, or the gender-neutral community?

2. If it is the goal, why must an attempt at achieving this outcome be expressed through gender-neutrality rather than say, practices of general human flourishing?

3. Given this statement, I'm left wondering, what sort of narrow ideas about gender does Eliot hold?  If girls are acting like girls they won't be physically active, curious, or assertive?  If boys are acting like boys they'll run around acting like neanderthal cavemen? 

Thank God that when it came to racial stereotypes President Obama had the foresight to ask us to do away with slander rather than race,

eradicate the slander that says a black youth with a book is acting white.

Ms. Eliot, it seems, would rather we embrace slander, and reject gender. 

Taken together, it seems as if the professor wants to paint a picture of those who hold to gender distinction as idiots who want their daughters to be lazy and boring and their sons to be brutish and stupid.  Either that, or Ms. Eliot is herself so narrowly confined within her own ideas about gender that the only solution in her mind is to get rid of gender altogether.

Dr. Sax asks us to consider that,

Ignoring gender won't make it go away. On the contrary: Ignoring gender has the ironic consequence of exacerbating gender stereotypes.

along with the idea that,

You will find that white, black, Spanish-speaking doesn't matter on this parameter; affluent or low-income doesn't matter; urban or rural doesn't matter. Gender is far more important, more fundamental, than any of those other parameters. On many parameters relevant to education, such as attention span, a white boy from an affluent home in Bethesda or McLean has more in common with an African-American male from a low-income home in Southeast D.C. than he has in common with his own sister, a white girl.  

I think the thing most troubling to me is that we seem to be once again shackling ourselves to a new fate in the name of freedom.  What exactly is freeing about having a core part of your identity ignored or kept secret by your parents? Why would a parent feel the need to make their child feel abnormal about being normal?  And what the hell does any of this have to do with progress?

storytelling

For the past few days I've continued doing morning readings in Galatians along with Luther's commentary, but have neglected to do evening readings from the daily office, until tonight.  The readings for this evening included:

• Psalm 105
• 1 Samuel 8
• Acts 6.15-7.16
• Luke 22.24-30

Psalm 105 is a psalm of praise that retells all the mighty acts of YHWH on behalf of his people.  At a certain level it could be seen as nationalistic writing meant to bolster the hopes of the Israelites--but there isn't even a hint that the ancestors were anything special other than they were chosen by YHWH.  He is always the one doing the action, always the hero.  Acts 6 is almost an echo of this kind of storytelling as Stephen (my namesake) is filled with the Holy Spirit and recounts for the Jewish leaders the history of YHWH's work in their midst.

Thankfully, in recent years much of the western Church has realized that 'telling the gospel story' doesn't mean saying, 'Jesus died for your sins so you can go to heaven'.  However, as I read these passages this evening I found myself wondering if we've really gone far enough in our understanding of the holistic gospel story (seen traditionally in the arc of Creation, Fall, Redemption, Restoration).  It feels like we're getting a grasp of the outline, but we've yet to really dive into the story with all of its earthiness and all of its ambiguity.  

I wonder, as we plunge deeper into the grease and grime and glory of the gospel story, will that compel us to get greasy and grimy ourselves in the retelling of it?  And how are we to form ourselves and our people (or, more appropriately, allow ourselves to be formed) in such a way that we understand that the retelling of this story isn't relegated to Sunday morning's like some children's circle at the local library?  How should our accountants and software technicians, doctors, lawyers, baristas, musicians, painters, and plumbers go about retelling the story in their work, families, drinking, and dancing?  

I, for one, don't think I allow myself enough storytelling, and I want to recapture that sense of wonder.

justification

Well, I've not done the daily office for a few evenings, but Lyndsey and I have continued our reading in Galatians and Luther.  Yesterday and today we looked at Galatians 3.9-13

So then, those who are of faith are blessed along with Abraham, the man of faith. For all who rely on works of the law are under a curse; for it is written, “Cursed be everyone who does not abide by all things written in the Book of the Law, and do them.” Now it is evident that no one is justified before God by the law, for “The righteous shall live by faith.” But the law is not of faith, rather “The one who does them shall live by them.” Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us—for it is written, “Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree”.

Luther's thoughts on this section have been great.  This morning he talked about the idea that our sins have been placed upon Christ, everything that we've done.  There was something in the way he described it that gave me pause.  As Lyndsey and I discussed it, we both realized that often we think of Jesus taking our punishment, but we rarely think about him taking our sin--like I actually walk up to him and hand him a bag of trash and feces.  I guess I'm just being struck with the sinfulness of my sin and the humility of my Savior.  My justification has been brought about because Jesus was willing to have my sins laid upon him.

I think above all, at least for now, I need to keep internalizing this, I need to keep reminding myself that the most beautiful, perfect being in the universe has taken on my sin and death.  But the next obvious question is, how should I interact with others because of this? 

feeble bind on strength

Ok, I screwed up the order of my readings the other day, so this morning I did the readings from two days ago...

• Psalm 78
• 1 Sam 1.21-2.11
• Acts 1.15-26
• Luke 20.19-26

Psalm 78 is just heart-wrenching.  Nearly every time I revisit the stories of early Israel I'm struck by how quickly they 'forget' the wonders of God.  As I considered Psalm 78 this morning, and as I survey my own life, I'm starting to leave behind language of forgetfulness, and think in terms of willful disobedience.  The bottom line is we usually want something more than we want God.  Despite the bleak outlook, I feel like these verses capture the core of the Psalmist's convictions:

Their heart was not steadfast toward him;

they were not faithful to his covenant.

Yet he, being compassionate,

atoned for their iniquity

and did not destroy them;

he restrained his anger often

and did not stir up all his wrath.

He remembered that they were but flesh,

a wind that passes and comes not again.

 

The 1 Samuel narrative ended with Hannah's song today.  The poetic description of how YHWH brings about the reversal of fortunes is incredible.  I realize this is a horrible interpretive practice, but as I consider my own life, and my pastoral calling, the line, 'the feeble bind on strength' is an encouraging and stunning reminder that my pastoral posture should always be one of humility, reliance.  My life should be an expression of feebleness binding on strength--the strength that comes from YHWH, given for the purpose of doing his will on earth as it is done in heaven, not to pursue my own agendas.

Finally, some interpretive questions:

1. Regarding Psalm 78 as well as the plethora of other descriptions of God's judgment against Israel for her unfaithfulness, how quickly should we move beyond the original context to understand how God relates to us today?  In other words, does God still judge 'nations' in the same sense/way?  What about the Church?  Obviously this is a bit of a loaded question (think Jerry Fallwell and Pat Robertson).  Should we simply allow these descriptions to fill out our picture of God's character?  Or are we to move beyond that and find modern day examples of the same sort of judgment and restoration (whether individual or corporate)?

2. This one is more just for fun: what do you think was going through Peter's mind in Acts 1.21-22, when he insisted that they must find a 12th apostle to replace Judas?  Was he actively thinking about the early church mirroring Israel?  Was 12 a cultural quorum?  I just found it interesting this morning as I read that passage, he just kind of assumes this was the next obvious step, and given all that they'd just experienced it seems a bit strange to me.

love and law

Last night's readings (note: I somehow screwed up my calendar, so I think these should really be this evening's readings.  whatever.):

• Psalm 119.97-120
• Psalm 81
• Psalm 82
• 1 Samuel 2.12-26
• Acts 2.1-21
• Luke 20.27-40

This morning, rather than continue with Luther, I opted to read all of Galatians to try to get a better bird's eye view of Paul's writing.  I keep coming back to the ideas of love and law, except this time, in Psalm 119, it is the law that is loved, the Word is hope and knowledge.  Honestly the Psalmist begins to sound like a bit of a 'biblicist', proclaiming that he has more understanding than his teachers and the older folks around him because he meditates on the law.  I think it's fairly obvious that the psalmist is simply using 'teachers' and 'elders' to compare the surpassing wisdom of God's Word--not his interpretation of it (an obsession of a later time, I imagine). In other words, this passage should not be used to defend brash youthfulness or individualistic 'biblicism' that generally amounts to nothing more than anachronistic readings of Scripture.

Galatians is Paul railing against circumcision and the Law with regard to salvation and justification.  I've yet to land anywhere in the justification debate (though as a general rule, I love me some Tom Wright), but reading through Paul's ideas here is helpful and confusing--we're getting ready to start a series on the Ten Commandments at Intown, so I'm trying to think through a couple of rather large themes:

1. How does the decalogue fit within the narrative of the Pentateuch?  Another way of asking that question is to ask, when Jesus and Paul and others read the Pentateuch, how did they understand it, and how did they understand the Ten Words within it?

2. How do ethical commands fit with the gospel of grace?  Running along with Luther or a guy like Robert Farrar Capon, I'd have to say that these are two different categories, categories that shouldn't mix: the gospel is grace through and through, and the law is to show you your need, and then much later, it can be used to help you understand what 'right living' is all about, but don't for a second think you actually need to do any of it (slight caricature? :) ).  I'm more inclined to take the view that both Law and Gospel include law and gospel (ie, the gospel includes the command to 'repent and believe' and the law includes the gospel that YHWH brought his people out of Egypt).  We'll see how my thinking straightens out as I dig into studying for this series.  

Josh, you tend to have a great ability to synthesize large categories, so if you could help me out here that would be awesome!

Prayer, and the Power of YHWH | Abraham's Faith, and the Busy Sloth

The evening reading yesterday was:

• Psalm 80
• Psalm 77
• Psalm 79
• 1 Samuel 1.1-20
• Acts 1.1-14
• Luke 20.9-19

This morning we continued in Galatians, 3.7-10. 

Last night's Psalms combined with the introduction of Hannah in the book of Samuel made for a powerful reminder that YHWH hears the prayers of his people, and he is powerful enough to answer.  The theme of Psalm 80 was a cry for restoration to YHWH, Psalm 79 was similar.  My own life is strikingly apathetic when compared with this sort of spiritual groaning.  With regard to the Hannah story, I don't have kids yet, but I imagine my desire for children will keep getting strong.  However, I can easily see myself, should some childlessness take root in our lives, just immersing myself in something else, turning to something other than YHWH for fulfillment.  I don't know that I intentionally distract myself, but I find myself praying for things, and many times my prayers are answered(!), but when they're not, I just kind of...quit.  It's quite obvious that I generally pray when I a) feel guilty, or b) want something.  I've yet to develop a conversational voice with Jesus.  I hope that as the daily reading of Psalms (and other Scriptures) continues, that I will begin to find that voice.

This morning I read this article, and once again, Eugene Peterson just punches me in the throat.  I tend to keep pretty busy doing church ministry, meeting with people, etc. I'm glad to be doing this daily experiment, and convicted that study, prayer, and stillness are not more regular parts of my life.  I'm pretty much a hardworking sloth.

But the final piece for today is this: Luther had some great things to say about Abraham's faith in connection with Galatians 3.  He refused to let us think about Abraham's 'work' with regard to his salvation.  Jesus has done everything for me and counts me as his child.  I have to imagine the daily experiment makes him glad for the most part, but I can't imagine that me beating myself up (too much) for missing a day, or not having a more emotive response to the Word or something makes him happy as well.  A good reminder to not let the daily become about religion, but to let it be a ritual that leaves the door propped open allowing me to catch glimpses of my Savior more and more.

Galatians 3, belief, and habits

I usually write pretty stream of consciousness, and yes, that's code for incoherent.  the daily is meant to be quasi that, but I fear today will be even more so as I have a few things rattling around in my brain.

First, this morning we continued in Galatians, reading 3.3-6 along with Luther's comments.  This study has been quite helpful in thinking through gospel/law distinctions.  This morning Lyndsey had some great questions surrounding the strangeness of faith.  As I continue to reflect on those questions, and my own preaching, it does seem quite odd to issue an imperative to people: have faith!  I'm still not quite clear in my own mind exactly what I expect to happen.  Am I asking people to passively accept the work of the Spirit?  Am I asking them to foment faith?  

I'm quite sure I contradict myself, sometimes asking people to let go of reason or doubt or whatever, and other times I'm asking people to hang on to faith (for a whole list of reasonable reasons).  Are we holding on, or being held onto?  Or is it both?  I'm sure there's some trite analogy out there somewhere (probably involving skydiving), and odds are some model will prove helpful to me in understanding this, but I think my questions are based more out of daily existence.  Does the expectation to 'have faith' mean something different day to day, or even hour to hour?  Is it sometimes active, sometimes passive?  Sometimes holding, sometimes being held?  Or is it just always both?

Segway.

So I didn't do the Daily Office over the weekend, which is causing me to think about habits and how I view the good life.  Obviously on Sunday I read portions of the Word, engaged in prayers, sang praises, etc. corporately, along with the body at Intown.  I spent a good deal of time prior to worship in prayer for my sermon delivery and our entire worship service.  But Saturday, I didn't do much of anything.  Is there such a thing as a sabbath from Bible reading and prayer?  I'm not trying to be flippant, and I really do want to understand how to form habits well.  On the other hand though, I do think that there are 'spiritual disciplines' other than scripture reading and prayer that need to be engaged.  I think the crux of what I'm trying to process is this: I spent the whole day on Saturday having a great time with my wife, and none of it was spent in study and prayer.  Is this legitimate?*  Is it legitimate to happen weekly?  Josh, these are not rhetorical questions :).

*For any who may have stumbled across this blog, please understand I do not mean at all to suggest that if I don't have some form of devotional reading and prayer 7 days a week that I'm somehow less of a Christian.  the daily is an experiment of sorts meant to help me understand how daily liturgical practices help shape my life.  My concern is more, 'what represents a vibrant liturgical rhythm?' rather than, 'what represents a mature Christian life?'.

hesed and the mission of God

Yesterday evening's Daily Office included:

• Psalm 105.
• Ezekiel 18.1-4, 19-32
• Hebrews 7.18-28
• Luke 10.25-37

This morning, rather than read Luther and Galatians, I re-read Ruth (I'll be preaching the final installment of our Ruth series at Intown).  The layers and craftsmanship in this little book continue to amaze me.  I've been continuing to ponder the characters of Boaz and Mr. So-and-So, continuing to ponder bare duty vs. hesed.  In the midst of this, the last few verses of Ezekiel 18 reached out to me as a particularly powerful expression of YHWH's hesed:

Therefore I will judge you, O house of Israel, every one according to his ways, declares the Lord GOD. Repent and turn from all your transgressions, lest iniquity be your ruin. Cast away from you all the transgressions that you have committed, and make yourselves a new heart and a new spirit! Why will you die, O house of Israel? For I have no pleasure in the death of anyone, declares the Lord GOD; so turn, and live.

Make yourselves a new heart and a new spirit? This statement practically begs the question, how is that possible? and/or, are you serious?  As Paul points out, though, the glory of the new covenant is that this new heart and new spirit are given to us,

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation.

What an incredible thing that YHWH has been on mission, tearing after his creation with a fierce, loyal love since the beginning.  And entrusting his message of reconciliation to these new creatures in Christ?  Speechless. 

Back to Virtue

First of all, I'd like to thank both of you for continuing to check this blog every few months when your cubicle is completely void of other distractions, including the cheezit crumbs in your pen tray that have been there for a year.  So, that said... 

I'm working my way through Peter Kreeft's Back to Virtue and have been quite enjoying it so far.  It starts a bit dated and rough (going on and on about something called the 'Cold War'? and some nonsense about nuclear armaments and human stupidity) at the beginning, but smoothes out nicely.  Kreeft builds on C.S. Lewis's analogy of sailing ships for the three great ethical questions: how to avoid collisions (social ethics), how to stay afloat (virtues and vices), and what the hell are we doing out here anyway (ultimate purpose of human life)?

The problem with the Western world at the moment, in Kreeft's mind, really the 'crisis' as he calls it, is that,

[W]e have reduced all the virtues to one, being kind; and we measure Jesus by our standards instead of measuring our standards by him.

But why have we reduced all the virtues to being kind?  Because we have reduced all the goods to one, the one that kindness ministers to: pleasure, comfort, contentment.  We have reduced ourselves to pleasure-seeking animals.

This thought has stuck with me, not least as I've been perusing the sexuality and gender debates raging throughout mainline denominations. Within the context of Kreeft's thought, I think I agree with him, and I think I see his point: society and the individuals that comprise society are having a hard time staying 'shipshape', staying afloat. 

While I think I agree with Kreeft's assessment, I have a hard time articulating it in a similar fashion, largely because I know too many people who are stuck in the parking lot of fundamentalism.  Sure the parking lot looks different, the cars of fundamentalism are a bit newer.  Electric guitars are no longer the direct tool of the Devil, long hair and soul-patches are no longer necessarily signs of rebellion.  But fundamentalism is the fat lady.  It doesn't matter what dress you put her in, she is what she is.  Far too many 'contenders for the faith' see kindness as neither a virtue nor a rhetorical posture to be employed, much less an attitude with which to season conversations.

Meekness, it seems, is weakness. If cleanliness is next to godliness, then testosterone is apparently sitting on godliness's lap (if testosterone was lame enough to do such a thing).  I don't want comfort to lead me around by the nose as I try to navigate the rushing waters of life, trying to stay shipshape, but I equally don't want to devolve into ignorant fighting about who knows what.  On the surface, ignorant fighting seems a bit more animalistic to me, but then I figure that animals usually fight to survive, not to gain some weird pleasure.  I'd posit, that were we to think about things a bit more intentionally, we'd realize that kindness, true kindness, should actually drive us to build a deeper ethical conversation, not a more shallow one.

dreaming small.

Maybe it's the sunshine, or maybe I'm just developing a crush on Jamie Smith.  Either way, take 5 minutes and read this Commencement Address.  I promise it's worth it.

Mondays Are For Deep Thoughts, ep. 3

The PCUSA made some big decisions last week, prompting some good discussion between me and several friends over the last few days.  Good discussion with no conclusions, or at least no solutions.  The complexity of human sexuality is a rushing river unto itself.  Run that water into the rushing-river-complexity of Christian ethics and the water begins to swirl and swell. Of course, we must add to this agitated river the massive rocks of poor rhetoric and political polarization threatening to overturn our rafts and inner-tubes, dumping us into unfriendly waters with an all-too-familiar choice: sink or swim. I no longer know what's more dangerous: rocks and rapids upsetting our inner-tubes, or the riverbed dropping out from under us altogether, leaving us free-falling down a waterfall.

It seems no matter how much apologizing, posturing, or rhetorical sensitivity are employed, the wounds of the LGBTQ community smart under any response other than celebration, or at least unqualified acceptance of not just all people, but all people's sexual identities, choices, and orientations.  The wounds, of course, are actual not imagined, and made worse by the fact that often they've been perpetrated by people who have been called to bring love and healing to those that society has marginalized.  This line of reasoning has been employed regularly in the discussions surrounding this issue in many of the mainline denominations.  The Church has been called to bring justice to the widows, orphans, and aliens--the outcasts of society, those living in the margins.

It goes without saying that the Church has often failed to do this.  It should go without saying that the Church must live out her mission proactively, not reacting in fear to a changing cultural landscape.  As this discussion, like so many discussions in our (post)Christian culture, continues to be just so many hand-grenades being chucked back and forth from camp to camp.  Despite our post-modern sensibilities which allow us to embrace complexity at the beginning of our discussions, sooner or later the rough terrain of Christian love and Christian virtue, of justice and mercy, of acceptance and healing, are smoothed out to the point of being unrecognizable. Brokenness only and always lies with the other group, not our own.

Ok, I'll go first.  My name is Steve, and I'm broken.  My ability to love people that are different than me is horribly broken, I've been unhinged from true, flourishing relationships.  My sexuality is broken, I've mangled it and twisted it from the gift it has always been.  My reason is broken, my rhetoric is broken.  Even my repentance is broken--I always try to appear better off than I am.  The fact that widows, orphans, aliens, outcasts need justice implies that things are broken.  Not broken like a shattered window.  The brokenness of this world isn't nearly so simple.  It's not just that society is broken and has failed the marginalized, and it's not just that individuals make stupid, hurtful choices.  It's a deep, complex brokenness, deeper, I think, than any of us are willing to admit.

I think what I want for all people, for myself, my Christian brothers and sisters (gay and straight), and for those who have yet to be enamored with the grace of Jesus, is to be able to admit more of our brokenness.  Jesus is a masterful physician.  He was wounded that he might bring healing to all of our wounds--wounds inflicted on us by others, and wounds self-inflicted.  For too long, too many of us have covered up our wounds, repeating the mantra, 'I'm fine, I'm fine.'  Infection is running deep, and the complexity of our wounds and brokenness is going to make healing hurt like hell, but it isn't any less necessary.  

If I want to be healed, I have to be willing to be healed of things I didn't know were wrong in the first place.

thanks, Andy Hull.

Trying to learn Greek on a bleak Monday won't keep me down today.  This just happened.

mondays are for deep thoughts, ep. 2: questions and questions

Recently I've been trying to wrap my head around gentrification, HUP, and a host of other non-violent social maladies that, if nothing else, confirm that modernity has done little to curb the self-protective, self-centered stance of humanity.  But the more I've read about gentrification specifically, the more elusive any sort of solution seems to get.  But it's beyond the difficulty of solving the problem, I'm now beginning to wonder if our conception of 'a better life' is even correct.

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We all envision some sort of utopia.  Recently my mailbox received a utopia notice from the city of Portland: we're working hard to build a better city.  What would this better city be comprised of? Safe, walkable neighborhoods with access to parks and good food.  All of which, by the way, sounds great to me.  I love living in inner-SE Portland.  My wife and I walk or bike almost everywhere, we’re surrounded by great coffee, food, and beer, and our dogs have so many parks to choose from we can walk in any direction and stumble upon one within five minutes. But is this what everyone wants?  Is it what everyone should want?

It seems as though the line between wanting people to have a good life and wanting people to live exactly like me is getting blurrier and blurrier.  Don’t get me wrong, I’ll hold out that eating fresh food is objectively better for you (and more enjoyable to eat) than processed or fast food.  I’ll hold out that being even slightly active is objectively better than going from your couch to your car to your cubicle.  But that means nothing, because I’d also be willing to argue that Coava Coffee is objectively better than, say, Skcubrats, or that Manchester Orchestra is objectively better than the Society of Illiterate Poets (my amazing high school band).  The problem is that not everyone cares equally about these things, and, dare I say it, nor should they.

So which aspects of the good life are worth caring about, worth fighting for? And what level of negative impact should be stomached in this fight? Desiring less crime in your neighborhood is a great thing, but is a fast-paced gentrification that results in pushing the criminal element into a poorer area a real solution? If not, how is a slow, methodical ‘urban renewal’ that does the same exact thing at a slower pace any different?

Add to this the fact that I’ve sworn allegiance to a homeless man who was executed as a suspected criminal and my head's on a merry-go-round.  Despite all my questions and questions, I have to assume that what America tells me is desirable for my life, my neighborhood, and my city is going to be at least a little bit different from what Jesus tells me is desirable for my life, my neighborhood, and my city.

mondays are for deep thoughts, ep. 1: historical-critical critics

Studying theology academically (or, generally speaking, just being a post-Enlightened westerner) can have some major drawbacks, foremost among them being the tendency to analyze Christian Scripture into an impotent stew of historical-psychological-sociological lab experiments instead of a double-edged sword to be eyed warily lest we find ourselves actually being (gasp!) remade by its power, or at least offended by its claims. Take it away Jürgen,

I imagine that I step behind the pulpit in a church and preach in order to proclaim the Gospel and, if possible, awaken the faith.  But those who sit in the pew don't listen to my words.  A historian is there who examines critically facts about which I am speaking; a psychologist is there who analyzes my psyche which reveals itself in my speech; a cultural anthropologist is there who is identifying the class to which I belong and as whose representative he believes I am functioning.  Everybody is analyzing me and my context, but nobody is listening to what I want to say.  And the worst thing is: nobody is disagreeing with me, nobody wants to discuss with me what I have just said.

-Jürgen Moltmann, as quoted by Miroslav Volf

This idea finds me at a good moment, as my wife and I are, together, reading some Reflections for Holy Week. The offense of the cross is getting ever more, well, offensive, that is, if I'll let it.  

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Alright, I'm easing back in here.  And by easing back in, I mean, linking to someone else's thoughtful blog post.  I hope to take similar ideas in a few different directions soon.