I'm in Texas for a few days, presenting at the ACU Lectureships. I'm teaching a class on the relationship between film and faith. So far it's been an interesting discussion. I normally talk about theology, ethics, working with the poor--this has been a great change of pace.
Yesterday, I was on a panel discussing Missional Church Worship. Missional Church is different than the Emerging Movement (Rob Bell, Brian McLaren, etc.) but it is also similar. I'll write more on that later. It is interesting that so many people think they are one in the same...anyways, I digress.
The highlight of the panel was the last 45 minutes. With everyone attending the session, we constructed a liturgy (order of worship) for a group seeking to be inherently missional in language, flow, and experience. Our text was Matthew 24:14ff. The contributions and ideas were outstanding--it was as unique a class as I've ever been a part of.
The best part about being back in Abilene (where I did part of my grad work) is the Mexican food. I got to eat at Los Arcos, favorite eating location of friend and guide, Randy Harris. The time I spent with Randy was invaluable and precious.
Off to teach...
P.S. I'm not giving up on the Tigers. They still have an outside shot.
18 September 2007
14 September 2007
The Good News and Bad News of Blogging
I’ve been thinking about the value/role of blogging lately. It strikes me that there are advantages and disadvantages (or blessings and curses if you like biblical language) in the blogging experience. BTW—blogging and FaceBook are similar in my estimation. One could substitute the word “FaceBook” for “blog” in the coming paragraphs.
Just to show you how new, relatively speaking, this blogging thing is…as I write “blogging” or "blog" in a Microsoft Word document a little red line appears each time, indicating that this word “blogging” isn’t even a real word.
Ok. The possibilities/strengths/advantages/blessings of blogging…
First, blogging keeps you in touch with people from all over the world and throughout the United States. That is truly amazing—our world is ever shrinking.
Second, blogging allows you to consider perspectives of many different people.
Third, blogging can serve as a kind of “diary”, cataloging important events, experiences and thought-patterns on the journey of becoming truer disciples of Jesus.
However, there are setbacks/weaknesses/disadvantages/curses in blogging.
First, blogging can be an artificial way of staying in touch with people. You may have 55 people you stay in touch with via blogging (or FaceBook) but you may not have one authentic, real relationship in the bunch. Or, as my friend Randy Harris likes to say, “The only thing better than a dead friend is a virtual friend.”
Second, blogging, you can get caught in the trap of only reading bloggers who a) you disagree with (hence you must “defend the faith” even if that means you choose blogging over taking your wife out for a great date). Or, b) you only read people who agree with your perspective further cementing your already long-held conviction. In other words, it’s a great forum for group think.
Third, (then I’m done Ashley--he hates my long blogs), There are many things shared on blogs that simply should be kept to yourself or those closest to. It’s amazing (and scary!) what some people will confess to via a blog. It's also amazing what some people think other people care to know.
I’m really sick of the red, squiggly line underneath “blogging”—I’m done.
I told a friend recently that blogging is this generation’s form of French coffee shops which some historians give credit to for catalyzing the French Revolution. Her response… “Yeah, the French Revolution is the greatest secular disaster in human history,” (my paraphrase).
Touche ma copine!
Just to show you how new, relatively speaking, this blogging thing is…as I write “blogging” or "blog" in a Microsoft Word document a little red line appears each time, indicating that this word “blogging” isn’t even a real word.
Ok. The possibilities/strengths/advantages/blessings of blogging…
First, blogging keeps you in touch with people from all over the world and throughout the United States. That is truly amazing—our world is ever shrinking.
Second, blogging allows you to consider perspectives of many different people.
Third, blogging can serve as a kind of “diary”, cataloging important events, experiences and thought-patterns on the journey of becoming truer disciples of Jesus.
However, there are setbacks/weaknesses/disadvantages/curses in blogging.
First, blogging can be an artificial way of staying in touch with people. You may have 55 people you stay in touch with via blogging (or FaceBook) but you may not have one authentic, real relationship in the bunch. Or, as my friend Randy Harris likes to say, “The only thing better than a dead friend is a virtual friend.”
Second, blogging, you can get caught in the trap of only reading bloggers who a) you disagree with (hence you must “defend the faith” even if that means you choose blogging over taking your wife out for a great date). Or, b) you only read people who agree with your perspective further cementing your already long-held conviction. In other words, it’s a great forum for group think.
Third, (then I’m done Ashley--he hates my long blogs), There are many things shared on blogs that simply should be kept to yourself or those closest to. It’s amazing (and scary!) what some people will confess to via a blog. It's also amazing what some people think other people care to know.
I’m really sick of the red, squiggly line underneath “blogging”—I’m done.
I told a friend recently that blogging is this generation’s form of French coffee shops which some historians give credit to for catalyzing the French Revolution. Her response… “Yeah, the French Revolution is the greatest secular disaster in human history,” (my paraphrase).
Touche ma copine!
12 September 2007
Lauren Winner Part Deux
Tonight, Lauren Winner shared some of her material from Girl Meets God. Again, there were many aspects of her story that resonate with my own, facets that will stay with me for some time.
Picking a few too highlight is like picking the best two or three songs from a U2 album. Nevertheless...
Lauren noted that she does not have a definitive moment of conversion. “I cannot say that I became a Christian (like the Apostle Paul for instance) at 8:40 a.m. on a Tuesday. My conversion to Christ has been a series of events; with many ruptures in the narrative,” (my paraphrase). "There are moments when God called me and I accepted--but it's been a process."
She also confessed to being a “yellow-dog Democrat”—which was brave considering she was in a room of 80% Republicans 15% Democrats 4% Anabaptists and 1% Libertarian (that’s for you Patrick).
My wife, the true judge of all things, appreciated “Lauren’s humor mixed with her engaging theology”—I suppose she’s not used to funny thinkers for she's married to me. Kara also noted that she admired Lauren’s ability to be “who she is”—unapologetically honest (see reference above to yellow-dog Democrat).
Perhaps the element that will stay with me in the coming months is Lauren's embodied reminder that Christianity comes out of Judaism. Baptism and Lord’s Supper, for instance, find their roots and meaning in the Jewish story. Of course, I’m not a Universalist Unitarian—I believe Jesus is the way. But I also remember that Paul was Jewish. Jesus was Jewish (he was not a Christian as it were). Many of the first Christians were Jewish who believed Jesus was the Jewish Messiah.
This movement called Christianity, is birthed out of Israel. That we have virtually ignored Israel’s Scripture (The proverbial Old Testament), approach to scripture, and spiritual disciplines—is something that truncates and flattens our faith.
Picking a few too highlight is like picking the best two or three songs from a U2 album. Nevertheless...
Lauren noted that she does not have a definitive moment of conversion. “I cannot say that I became a Christian (like the Apostle Paul for instance) at 8:40 a.m. on a Tuesday. My conversion to Christ has been a series of events; with many ruptures in the narrative,” (my paraphrase). "There are moments when God called me and I accepted--but it's been a process."
She also confessed to being a “yellow-dog Democrat”—which was brave considering she was in a room of 80% Republicans 15% Democrats 4% Anabaptists and 1% Libertarian (that’s for you Patrick).
My wife, the true judge of all things, appreciated “Lauren’s humor mixed with her engaging theology”—I suppose she’s not used to funny thinkers for she's married to me. Kara also noted that she admired Lauren’s ability to be “who she is”—unapologetically honest (see reference above to yellow-dog Democrat).
Perhaps the element that will stay with me in the coming months is Lauren's embodied reminder that Christianity comes out of Judaism. Baptism and Lord’s Supper, for instance, find their roots and meaning in the Jewish story. Of course, I’m not a Universalist Unitarian—I believe Jesus is the way. But I also remember that Paul was Jewish. Jesus was Jewish (he was not a Christian as it were). Many of the first Christians were Jewish who believed Jesus was the Jewish Messiah.
This movement called Christianity, is birthed out of Israel. That we have virtually ignored Israel’s Scripture (The proverbial Old Testament), approach to scripture, and spiritual disciplines—is something that truncates and flattens our faith.
11 September 2007
Lauren Winner Session #1
Tonight, Lauren Winner spoke to our faith community (and some other welcomed guests) about the practice of Sabbath as a needed and viable Christian discipline.
There were many elements of her presentation that impacted me. Perhaps the most interesting was this comment (my paraphrase):
When one compares the ancient near eastern creation accounts with Genesis, some interesting things jump out at the reader. First, in the other accounts, god/gods create the world and then create humans to carry forth the work; they are the labor force.
The Jewish story is different in that humans are called, as in other accounts, to work with and for God but they are also called to rest with God. God desires to spend a day of rest with the unique ones who also bear his image.
Thus, there is something necessary and sacramental about the practice of Sabbath. It isn’t a binding, heavy rule to be kept for Sabbath is when we allow God to have space enough to move and speak into our world (as it is with silence, working with the poor, etc.).
Note: Lauren speaks at Rochester Church tomorrow night at 7pm. She will share her faith journey similar to the material found in Girl Meets God.
There were many elements of her presentation that impacted me. Perhaps the most interesting was this comment (my paraphrase):
When one compares the ancient near eastern creation accounts with Genesis, some interesting things jump out at the reader. First, in the other accounts, god/gods create the world and then create humans to carry forth the work; they are the labor force.
The Jewish story is different in that humans are called, as in other accounts, to work with and for God but they are also called to rest with God. God desires to spend a day of rest with the unique ones who also bear his image.
Thus, there is something necessary and sacramental about the practice of Sabbath. It isn’t a binding, heavy rule to be kept for Sabbath is when we allow God to have space enough to move and speak into our world (as it is with silence, working with the poor, etc.).
Note: Lauren speaks at Rochester Church tomorrow night at 7pm. She will share her faith journey similar to the material found in Girl Meets God.
10 September 2007
I'm not a scientist, mathematician or astronomer. But the following blows my mind.
If, one second after the Big Bang, the ratio of the density of the universe to its expansion rate had differed from its assumed value by only one part in the 1015 (that’s one followed by 15 zeros) the universe would have either quickly collapsed upon itself or ballooned so rapidly that stars and galaxies could not have condensed from the primal matter…The coin was flipped into the air 1015, and it came down on its edge but once. If all the grains of sand, on all the beaches of the Earth were possible universes—that, universes consistent with the laws of physics as we know them—and only one of those grains of sand were a universe that allowed for the existence of intelligent life, then that one grain of sand is the universe we inhabit (from scientist and astronomer Chet Raymo).
If, one second after the Big Bang, the ratio of the density of the universe to its expansion rate had differed from its assumed value by only one part in the 1015 (that’s one followed by 15 zeros) the universe would have either quickly collapsed upon itself or ballooned so rapidly that stars and galaxies could not have condensed from the primal matter…The coin was flipped into the air 1015, and it came down on its edge but once. If all the grains of sand, on all the beaches of the Earth were possible universes—that, universes consistent with the laws of physics as we know them—and only one of those grains of sand were a universe that allowed for the existence of intelligent life, then that one grain of sand is the universe we inhabit (from scientist and astronomer Chet Raymo).
08 September 2007
Be Who You Is
A simple plea.
If you are a Christian, pay for the music you’ve downloaded. Even if that means going back and deleting music you obtained illegally, or outright deleting it from your system.
If you are a person of faith, don’t cheat on your taxes or manipulate cable access.
And…If you are a minister, don’t preach someone else’s message/sermon and pretend it belongs to you. If you are going to preach someone else’s message, give credit to whom credit is due.
I recently heard a pastor give a message that a good friend of mine (someone completely different) delivered over a year ago. The pastor in question never once gave credit to the one who actually wrote the message (along with specific quotes, stories, and key points). Sitting in the audience, stunned, I thought back to grad school, and the numerous discussions we seminarians held concerning integrity, honesty, and character.
The most important reason for not using someone else’s material often goes unnoticed. To be the minister (or accountant, artist, teacher…etc.) God made you to be, you must develop your own voice. You must learn the art of being the best “you God made you to be,”--to paraphrase my close friend and the one who taught me a great deal about preaching and teaching.
Integrity is the one thing a minister possesses. If she/he loses this, you lose everything.
Coincidentally, I’m going to see the pastor, whose message had been pirated, in a week or so while I’m in Texas. I think my opening line when I see him will be—“I didn’t realize that you could be two places at one time. You cracked the time-travel mystery!”
My college basketball coach used to tell us this bit of advice he once saw on a bathroom stall. “Be who you is. Because when you is who you ain’t, you ain’t.”
Notice the fact that coach told us the source of his street wisdom.
If you are a Christian, pay for the music you’ve downloaded. Even if that means going back and deleting music you obtained illegally, or outright deleting it from your system.
If you are a person of faith, don’t cheat on your taxes or manipulate cable access.
And…If you are a minister, don’t preach someone else’s message/sermon and pretend it belongs to you. If you are going to preach someone else’s message, give credit to whom credit is due.
I recently heard a pastor give a message that a good friend of mine (someone completely different) delivered over a year ago. The pastor in question never once gave credit to the one who actually wrote the message (along with specific quotes, stories, and key points). Sitting in the audience, stunned, I thought back to grad school, and the numerous discussions we seminarians held concerning integrity, honesty, and character.
The most important reason for not using someone else’s material often goes unnoticed. To be the minister (or accountant, artist, teacher…etc.) God made you to be, you must develop your own voice. You must learn the art of being the best “you God made you to be,”--to paraphrase my close friend and the one who taught me a great deal about preaching and teaching.
Integrity is the one thing a minister possesses. If she/he loses this, you lose everything.
Coincidentally, I’m going to see the pastor, whose message had been pirated, in a week or so while I’m in Texas. I think my opening line when I see him will be—“I didn’t realize that you could be two places at one time. You cracked the time-travel mystery!”
My college basketball coach used to tell us this bit of advice he once saw on a bathroom stall. “Be who you is. Because when you is who you ain’t, you ain’t.”
Notice the fact that coach told us the source of his street wisdom.
06 September 2007
Pick-Up Lines to Avoid
A friend recently shared a list of the top theological pick-up lines to avoid.
Here are my personal favorites:
“I could not help but notice you were exegeting me instead of the text during the sermon.”
“Until this moment, I thought I had the gift of singleness.”
“Well, gouge out my eyes and cut off my hands. If I hang around you much longer, I won’t have any limbs left.”
During communion say, “Can I get you another drink?”
But, the best theological pick-up line to avoid has to be…
“God may be the bread of life, but you are the butter.”
---
What are some of the worst pick-up lines you've ever heard?
Here are my personal favorites:
“I could not help but notice you were exegeting me instead of the text during the sermon.”
“Until this moment, I thought I had the gift of singleness.”
“Well, gouge out my eyes and cut off my hands. If I hang around you much longer, I won’t have any limbs left.”
During communion say, “Can I get you another drink?”
But, the best theological pick-up line to avoid has to be…
“God may be the bread of life, but you are the butter.”
---
What are some of the worst pick-up lines you've ever heard?
05 September 2007
The last few nights, I’ve been going back and reading through Parting the Waters. It is an instant classic and I suggest this for anyone interested in reading about the life and influence of Martin Luther King Jr. and the greater struggle for justice for minorities in the
03 September 2007
Women in Leadership
Every generation is accountable for "injustices" which are allowed to continue and are often sanctioned by religious institutions. My grandparents and parents (and me to some degree) are accountable for the way our country fell woefully short of the notion that"all men are created equal with certain inalienable rights." "All men" meant "white men who owned property."
It is easy for me to look back and ask older folks, "Where were you when Dr. King was doing his prophetic and ordained work? How could you have missed that opportunity to represent the liberating work of God's kingdom?"
Each time I ask that question, I hear the voices of young children asking me "where were you during the discussion of women being treated as second class citizens and as inferior or unfit for public leadership in the church?"
By public leadership I mean serving as "pastor, minister" or playing the occasional role of preacher and teacher.
I always make it clear that the role of women in the church is far different than the discussion of acapella and/or instrumental worship--a topic of some interest in Churches of Christ.
Women's role is a justice issue because it involves women. The case of “Instruments vs. acapella”, though important, is about style of worship, preference, exegesis and interpretation.
One is about drums, guitars, and forms—the other is about women who equally reflect the image of God.
I should also note that I do not believe that every church in every culture is called to allow for women in public leadership. Some churches would implode were they to alter their current position. Some cultures are still predominantly patriarchal (c.f. most Middle Eastern) and are not in a place to hear the liberating words of Jesus and Paul. At least not yet...
Our community of faith wrestled through this discussion for four years before coming the conclusion that a women could serve in any capacity save senior minister and elder. We have two women on our ministry staff and we have women who use their teaching gifts during our Sunday and Wednesday gatherings. They provide great insight and wisdom and have led us to greater depths of insight and reflection on the nature of faith.
For an outstanding presentation of the egalitarian perspective (by a mostly conservative world-class scholar), click here. Our senior minister gave two oustanding classes on this subject last fall. Click on the link and select one of the teachings on "Women, Worship, and Ministry".
It is easy for me to look back and ask older folks, "Where were you when Dr. King was doing his prophetic and ordained work? How could you have missed that opportunity to represent the liberating work of God's kingdom?"
Each time I ask that question, I hear the voices of young children asking me "where were you during the discussion of women being treated as second class citizens and as inferior or unfit for public leadership in the church?"
By public leadership I mean serving as "pastor, minister" or playing the occasional role of preacher and teacher.
I always make it clear that the role of women in the church is far different than the discussion of acapella and/or instrumental worship--a topic of some interest in Churches of Christ.
Women's role is a justice issue because it involves women. The case of “Instruments vs. acapella”, though important, is about style of worship, preference, exegesis and interpretation.
One is about drums, guitars, and forms—the other is about women who equally reflect the image of God.
I should also note that I do not believe that every church in every culture is called to allow for women in public leadership. Some churches would implode were they to alter their current position. Some cultures are still predominantly patriarchal (c.f. most Middle Eastern) and are not in a place to hear the liberating words of Jesus and Paul. At least not yet...
Our community of faith wrestled through this discussion for four years before coming the conclusion that a women could serve in any capacity save senior minister and elder. We have two women on our ministry staff and we have women who use their teaching gifts during our Sunday and Wednesday gatherings. They provide great insight and wisdom and have led us to greater depths of insight and reflection on the nature of faith.
For an outstanding presentation of the egalitarian perspective (by a mostly conservative world-class scholar), click here. Our senior minister gave two oustanding classes on this subject last fall. Click on the link and select one of the teachings on "Women, Worship, and Ministry".
02 September 2007
I cannot believe that Major League Baseball did this. Moreover, I can’t believe this happened during a Yankees/Red Sox game.
Was this guy really doing his job?
Was this guy really doing his job?
31 August 2007
Chocolat Spirituality
The 2000 film, Chocolat (pronounced Shaw-ko-la, starring Juliette Binoche and Johnny Depp) is an interesting parable of contrasting views toward spirituality.
One of the main characters in the film, the mayor, desires to run a city based on his own understanding of morality and religious responsibility. He seeks perfection with vigor and zest.
The antithesis character of the mayor is Vianne (played by Binoche), a woman of some “mystery” who moves to the small town run by the mayor, with the intention of opening a chocolate shop. That she moves to this small town during Lent is no accident.
One of the main characters in the film, the mayor, desires to run a city based on his own understanding of morality and religious responsibility. He seeks perfection with vigor and zest.
The antithesis character of the mayor is Vianne (played by Binoche), a woman of some “mystery” who moves to the small town run by the mayor, with the intention of opening a chocolate shop. That she moves to this small town during Lent is no accident.
Vianne does not seek perfection from people, but goodness.
Thus, a conversion battle takes place between religion (the search for perfection) and spirituality (the search for transformation and goodness). Each convert people according the tenets of their convictions and the viewer witnesses the results of religion gone bad alongside spirituality’s ability to bring new life and new possibilities.
The film is not a “Christian” film per se, but it does have some fascinating parallels with the Christian story.
Today, in my Introduction to the Christian Faith class, we discussed this film (which our class watched Tuesday night) in great detail.
It’s amazing how much students come alive when talking about stories. They were engaged in ethical discourse without realizing it was “ethical discourse.” That’s what stories do to us. They draw us in because they engage our whole person—our hopes, dreams, fears, and memory—leaving us different. People who rarely talk in this kind of setting weighed on film’s commentary about faith, sex, marriage, parenting, discipline, beauty, and romance.
Bono is often quoted for saying, “Religion is what happens when God leaves.” I pray that the students under my care this semester become the kind of people who bear all kinds of healthy fruit into this starving world. I hope they are spiritually attuned to the presence of God in their lives and the lives of others.
The film is not a “Christian” film per se, but it does have some fascinating parallels with the Christian story.
Today, in my Introduction to the Christian Faith class, we discussed this film (which our class watched Tuesday night) in great detail.
It’s amazing how much students come alive when talking about stories. They were engaged in ethical discourse without realizing it was “ethical discourse.” That’s what stories do to us. They draw us in because they engage our whole person—our hopes, dreams, fears, and memory—leaving us different. People who rarely talk in this kind of setting weighed on film’s commentary about faith, sex, marriage, parenting, discipline, beauty, and romance.
Bono is often quoted for saying, “Religion is what happens when God leaves.” I pray that the students under my care this semester become the kind of people who bear all kinds of healthy fruit into this starving world. I hope they are spiritually attuned to the presence of God in their lives and the lives of others.
30 August 2007
Cass Park Transformation?
The Detroit News ran an interesting article recently regarding the past, present, and future of Cass Park (Cass Corridor) where some of us from the Rochester Church work on a regular basis, serving the poor.
This was an interesting section from the piece.
In the 1970s, the Cass Corridor was filled with Appalachian families and still had an area called Chinatown, said Patrick Dorn, executive director of the Cass Corridor Neighborhood Development Corporation, which rehabilitates and builds affordable housing nearby.
Those with enough money left and the neighborhood started to decay once property owners started selling to negligent owners, Dorn said. The slide worsened in the 1980s when the city made the area home to social service providers such as homeless shelters.
"That was the finishing touch," Dorn said.
"Whenever you have isolationism where there's nobody there, except people you wouldn't want to meet in the dark, you're not going to be the first one to put money in."
The neighborhood is exceedingly poor, especially compared to the rest of the city. Median household income is $8,317, far below the city's median household income of $29,526, according to the U.S. Census.
Jesus wants to send his people to the places no one else wants to go. That's why we work in Cass Park. That's why we pray for Cass Park. That's why we help those who live in Cass Park. That's why even began to think about Cass Park in the first place.
29 August 2007
26 August 2007
Manresa Rest
I spent all day Saturday afternoon at the Menresa Jesuit Retreat Center with some fellow RC faculty and staff and about 35 students.
We listened to encouraging words about spiritual formation and the centered life. I shared some thoughts about the spiritual disciplines in my own life (sabbath, tithing, exercise, working with the poor, and reading). Among other things, we attended a healing service, Taize worship time, and we also practiced the discipline of silence for two different segments of significant length.
The time of silence was exactly what I needed.
Prior to Saturday, the voices in my head were so loud…I didn’t even realize they were talking. Voices regarding work, school, teaching, grad school, family, ego, etc.
Silence creates the space God needs to mute the voices. In silence, God speaks loudest.
---
Sunday, I returned to teach at Rochester Church with Patrick and participated in the baptism of a good friend, Shaun Hover. Six months ago, Shaun was not interested in the spiritual life. Now, he's one of the best young leaders I've ever been around. It is a testimony to God, that people are still moved and changed by the story of Jesus.
I like this photo because it captures the mystery of what God does to us in the experience of baptism...the mystery being that God can only raise us up if we first allow him to bury us.
We listened to encouraging words about spiritual formation and the centered life. I shared some thoughts about the spiritual disciplines in my own life (sabbath, tithing, exercise, working with the poor, and reading). Among other things, we attended a healing service, Taize worship time, and we also practiced the discipline of silence for two different segments of significant length.
The time of silence was exactly what I needed.
Prior to Saturday, the voices in my head were so loud…I didn’t even realize they were talking. Voices regarding work, school, teaching, grad school, family, ego, etc.
Silence creates the space God needs to mute the voices. In silence, God speaks loudest.
---
Sunday, I returned to teach at Rochester Church with Patrick and participated in the baptism of a good friend, Shaun Hover. Six months ago, Shaun was not interested in the spiritual life. Now, he's one of the best young leaders I've ever been around. It is a testimony to God, that people are still moved and changed by the story of Jesus.
I like this photo because it captures the mystery of what God does to us in the experience of baptism...the mystery being that God can only raise us up if we first allow him to bury us.
20 August 2007
Lauren Winner
Lauren Winner,one of my favorite writers, is coming to speak at the Rochester Church.
I first met Lauren in 2006 at the main ZOE Worship and Leadership Conference in Nashville. I've enjoyed trading stories, and ideas with her over the last several months. She's one of the author's I want non-believers and skeptics to read when investigating the spiritual life and thought of modern day Christians.
Here's an excerpt from Girl Meets God.
Evangelical friends of mine are always trying to trim the corners and smooth the rough edges of what they call My Witness in order to shove it into a tidy, born-again conversion narrative. They want an exact date, even an hour, and I never know what to tell them. The datable conversion story has a venerable history. Paul, the most famous Jew to embrace Jesus, established the prototype of the dramatic, datable rebirth. He was walking on the road to Damascus, Luke tells us, off to persecute the zealous disciples of the newly dead carpenter when Jesus appeared to him, and Paul became his follower instead of his foe. Centuries later, John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, was atttending a meeting in Aldersgate Street; listening to Luther's Preface to the Epistle to the Romans, his heart was "strangely warmed." At that instant, Wesley later wrote in his journal, he felt that he "did trust in Christ alone for salvation; and an assurance was given me that He had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death." Less notable personages have dramatic conversion stories, too. My high school physics teacher sat in her kitchen reading the Gospel of Mark one day when, in an instant, she knew that Jesus was God and had died for her sins. My friend Tim dedicated his life to Christ when he was four at a mission's conference at Bibletown, in Boca Raton, Florida. He had seen a puppet show about Jesus knocking on your heart. So he opened it and asked Him to come in.
My story doesn't fit very well with this conversion archetype. A literature scholar would say there are too many "ruptures" in the "narrative." But she might also say that ruptures are the most interesting part of any text, that in the ruptures we learn something new. I had no epiphanic on-the-road-to-Damascus experience. I can't tell my friends that I became a Christian January 8, 1993, or on my twentieth birthday. What I can tell them is that I grew up Jewish. I can tell them about the time I dreamed of Jesus rescuing me from a kidnapping; I can tell them I woke up certain, as certain as I have ever been about anything, that the dream was from God and the dream was about Jesus, about how He was real and true and sure. I can tell them about reading At Home in Mitford, a charming if somewhat saccharine novel about an Episcopal priest in North Carolina, a novel that left me wanting something Christians seemed to have. I can tell them about my baptism.
I first met Lauren in 2006 at the main ZOE Worship and Leadership Conference in Nashville. I've enjoyed trading stories, and ideas with her over the last several months. She's one of the author's I want non-believers and skeptics to read when investigating the spiritual life and thought of modern day Christians.
Here's an excerpt from Girl Meets God.
Evangelical friends of mine are always trying to trim the corners and smooth the rough edges of what they call My Witness in order to shove it into a tidy, born-again conversion narrative. They want an exact date, even an hour, and I never know what to tell them. The datable conversion story has a venerable history. Paul, the most famous Jew to embrace Jesus, established the prototype of the dramatic, datable rebirth. He was walking on the road to Damascus, Luke tells us, off to persecute the zealous disciples of the newly dead carpenter when Jesus appeared to him, and Paul became his follower instead of his foe. Centuries later, John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, was atttending a meeting in Aldersgate Street; listening to Luther's Preface to the Epistle to the Romans, his heart was "strangely warmed." At that instant, Wesley later wrote in his journal, he felt that he "did trust in Christ alone for salvation; and an assurance was given me that He had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death." Less notable personages have dramatic conversion stories, too. My high school physics teacher sat in her kitchen reading the Gospel of Mark one day when, in an instant, she knew that Jesus was God and had died for her sins. My friend Tim dedicated his life to Christ when he was four at a mission's conference at Bibletown, in Boca Raton, Florida. He had seen a puppet show about Jesus knocking on your heart. So he opened it and asked Him to come in.
My story doesn't fit very well with this conversion archetype. A literature scholar would say there are too many "ruptures" in the "narrative." But she might also say that ruptures are the most interesting part of any text, that in the ruptures we learn something new. I had no epiphanic on-the-road-to-Damascus experience. I can't tell my friends that I became a Christian January 8, 1993, or on my twentieth birthday. What I can tell them is that I grew up Jewish. I can tell them about the time I dreamed of Jesus rescuing me from a kidnapping; I can tell them I woke up certain, as certain as I have ever been about anything, that the dream was from God and the dream was about Jesus, about how He was real and true and sure. I can tell them about reading At Home in Mitford, a charming if somewhat saccharine novel about an Episcopal priest in North Carolina, a novel that left me wanting something Christians seemed to have. I can tell them about my baptism.
16 August 2007
A Good Ending...A New Beginning
This weekend, I am honored to perform the wedding of Kelly Sewell and Ray Stemitz. Kelly is my big sister which makes Ray my new brother-in-law.
My sister was married once before. She and her ex-husband have a beautiful daughter together—Alexa Mae Sewell. Lexi is a joy to all of us, a beautiful and spirit-filled young girl.
Though the last several years have been full of chaos and confusion for my sister, she’s now seeing the work of God in her life. Kelly went back to school after her divorce and is now an elementary school teacher in East Detroit—we’re proud of her courage and fight. She could’ve “packed it in” during her ugly and messy divorce, but she resisted that path.
It hasn’t been easy, but I suppose the easy way is the thing we should all be most suspicious of.
Major Ray Stemitz is an answer to prayer; proof that God wants to bring healing and new beginnings in stories of brokenness and deceit.
My sister was married once before. She and her ex-husband have a beautiful daughter together—Alexa Mae Sewell. Lexi is a joy to all of us, a beautiful and spirit-filled young girl.
Though the last several years have been full of chaos and confusion for my sister, she’s now seeing the work of God in her life. Kelly went back to school after her divorce and is now an elementary school teacher in East Detroit—we’re proud of her courage and fight. She could’ve “packed it in” during her ugly and messy divorce, but she resisted that path.
It hasn’t been easy, but I suppose the easy way is the thing we should all be most suspicious of.
Major Ray Stemitz is an answer to prayer; proof that God wants to bring healing and new beginnings in stories of brokenness and deceit.
14 August 2007
It's the Perfect Time of Year...
This is one of my favorite times of the year. School is about to start. Syllabi’s are being written, schedules mapped out. Once dark and dusty dorm rooms are now filled with new TV’s and photos of family and friends who will be missed.
Since kindergarten, my life has been shaped and molded by the pace of the school calendar.
Throughout high school, undergrad, graduate, and now teaching—I feel renewed each August as I anticipate the students who will come to Rochester College for the first time, the students who will take my class for the first time, and for the returning students who are building upon their previous work. I also realize some students are coming back this semester looking for a completely new start.
I met this afternoon with my fellow professors in the religion department for a time of update, reflection, and prayer. I’m honored to serve along side these dedicated people who take seriously the task of equipping students to engage the world in powerful ways.
This semester, I’m teaching a new course with one of my good friends and mentors entitled Introduction to the Christian Faith. I’m teaching the class with the approach that I want our post-modern students to understand the faith in ways that make them come alive to the biblical themes of spirituality, justice, friendship and beauty. This is the class textbook. Check it out, it’s an important work.
Here are the first four lectures of the class.
“Justice: U2, Martin Luther King Jr., and Desmond Tutu” (with clips from Bono at the National Prayer Breakfast)
“Spirituality: Jesus, Buddha, and Dream Catchers” (with clips from the short film The Many Faces of Faith)
“Relationships: We Were Made for Each Other” (with excerpts from Henry Nouwen)
“Beauty: In the Eye of the Beholder?” (with clips from Planet Earth and Life is Beautiful)
12 August 2007
I cannot imagine my life outside of a local faith community.
My good friend Sara Barton was introduced as the new part-time minister for small groups. Dana Spivey (from Atlanta) will join our ministry staff this coming week.
Sarah and Priscilla were also introduced to my summer adult formation class. They are Ugandans who've come to Rochester College to study. We anticipate learning a great deal from them in the coming months.
Two young adults who've been working through a significant forgiveness issue asked me to pray for them during family communion. Imagine that--forgiveness breaking out during the Lord's Supper.
At our third service, a family admitted being at wit's end with their son's drug problem when some of our young adults stepped up and said, "We'll get involved." These young adults are willing to use their story to bless others and it encourages me about the future of our church.
-------------------------------------------
The Tigers just might be getting back on track...Magglioooooooooo!
My good friend Sara Barton was introduced as the new part-time minister for small groups. Dana Spivey (from Atlanta) will join our ministry staff this coming week.
Sarah and Priscilla were also introduced to my summer adult formation class. They are Ugandans who've come to Rochester College to study. We anticipate learning a great deal from them in the coming months.
Two young adults who've been working through a significant forgiveness issue asked me to pray for them during family communion. Imagine that--forgiveness breaking out during the Lord's Supper.
At our third service, a family admitted being at wit's end with their son's drug problem when some of our young adults stepped up and said, "We'll get involved." These young adults are willing to use their story to bless others and it encourages me about the future of our church.
-------------------------------------------
The Tigers just might be getting back on track...Magglioooooooooo!
09 August 2007
Last night we remembered Nic Paradise, a young man from our church who died tragically early Monday morning from a long battle with a drug addiction.
The sixty minute worship and prayer gathering was a rare moment of hope and possibility in these rather dark three days. Several of Nic's friends were on hand to honor the bond and love shared by classmates and skate-partner friends spanning several years.
During the time of remembrance, we played a video of Nic's greatest skateboarding moments. Many of Nic's friends present were skateboarders themselves. I think they appreciated seeing Nic in his primary element; the place where his rather chaotic most made sense. As a former athlete, I have to admit that I was impressed with the danger and athleticism required for skateboarding
I'm not a prophet but I'm willing to guess most of the group present on behalf of Nic had not stepped foot in a church building in quite some time. Perhaps, some were for the very first time.
Liz Trainor, Nic's fiancée', stood up with Shawn Hover and offered some simple but powerful words about Nic's infectious ability to draw people to himself. Nic and Liz had a son together: Carter, a beautiful and healthy (he was nine pounds and nine ounces at birth) boy. Patrick (our senior minister) and the Bryans (the leaders of our pastoral care ministry) prayed over the various groups represented.
For the first time in three days, the numbness is starting to wear off. The pain is slowly rising to the surface.
Nic's immediate family (Mike, Jackie, Sid, Carmen, Aunt Pam and Liz) are mourning the loss of their son, brother and fiancée. But they also know the decade struggle for meaning, purpose and identity has come to an end.
I have been so impressed with the deep spirituality of the Paradise family. Their devotion to each other, their families, local community is something I certainly can emulate in my own life.
After the family and friends who were there to honor Nic left to return back to the viewing service downtown, I encouraged our church in this simple way. At least this is how I remembered what I said.
Saying that we want to connect all people to Jesus is a great thing to write on a piece of paper or post on our web site as our mission statement. I believe it is the ministry God is calling us to...all people. Broken, addicts, confused, cynical, jaded...all people.
But the reality is that is a very difficult project. It certainly isn't for the faint of heart. It isn't sexy. It certainly isn't the most comfortable way to do church.
For some time now, we've been challenging the church to be a people who are willing to follow Jesus to the dangerous places. The places everyone else runs from are the places we believe God is calling us to run toward. If others run from the projects, we run there. If some run from the homeless we run there. If others are running from single moms, we run there. If others are running from skateboarders with drug problems...we run there.
We run to these places because we believe that the one thing God gives us is the one thing we need: The assurance that if the world and this life kill us, God will raise us from the dead.
The sixty minute worship and prayer gathering was a rare moment of hope and possibility in these rather dark three days. Several of Nic's friends were on hand to honor the bond and love shared by classmates and skate-partner friends spanning several years.
During the time of remembrance, we played a video of Nic's greatest skateboarding moments. Many of Nic's friends present were skateboarders themselves. I think they appreciated seeing Nic in his primary element; the place where his rather chaotic most made sense. As a former athlete, I have to admit that I was impressed with the danger and athleticism required for skateboarding
I'm not a prophet but I'm willing to guess most of the group present on behalf of Nic had not stepped foot in a church building in quite some time. Perhaps, some were for the very first time.
Liz Trainor, Nic's fiancée', stood up with Shawn Hover and offered some simple but powerful words about Nic's infectious ability to draw people to himself. Nic and Liz had a son together: Carter, a beautiful and healthy (he was nine pounds and nine ounces at birth) boy. Patrick (our senior minister) and the Bryans (the leaders of our pastoral care ministry) prayed over the various groups represented.
For the first time in three days, the numbness is starting to wear off. The pain is slowly rising to the surface.
Nic's immediate family (Mike, Jackie, Sid, Carmen, Aunt Pam and Liz) are mourning the loss of their son, brother and fiancée. But they also know the decade struggle for meaning, purpose and identity has come to an end.
I have been so impressed with the deep spirituality of the Paradise family. Their devotion to each other, their families, local community is something I certainly can emulate in my own life.
After the family and friends who were there to honor Nic left to return back to the viewing service downtown, I encouraged our church in this simple way. At least this is how I remembered what I said.
Saying that we want to connect all people to Jesus is a great thing to write on a piece of paper or post on our web site as our mission statement. I believe it is the ministry God is calling us to...all people. Broken, addicts, confused, cynical, jaded...all people.
But the reality is that is a very difficult project. It certainly isn't for the faint of heart. It isn't sexy. It certainly isn't the most comfortable way to do church.
For some time now, we've been challenging the church to be a people who are willing to follow Jesus to the dangerous places. The places everyone else runs from are the places we believe God is calling us to run toward. If others run from the projects, we run there. If some run from the homeless we run there. If others are running from single moms, we run there. If others are running from skateboarders with drug problems...we run there.
We run to these places because we believe that the one thing God gives us is the one thing we need: The assurance that if the world and this life kill us, God will raise us from the dead.
06 August 2007
Numb
I try to avoid writing too much about the different people who God continues to bring to the Rochester Church in our efforts to reach people of all different backgrounds and experiences. There’s something dangerous about telling the world, through a blog or what have you, all of the stories and people that emerge in one’s ministry. It can quickly take on the feel of “ministry prostitution.”
But, it’s late Monday night, and I cannot help but write about the events that have unfolded the last twelve hours.
This morning I got several phone calls and text messages from some friends of mine that I had to come to the apartment belonging to a few young adults who are apart of our church. I knew something was wrong but I never dreamed of what I was about to walk into.
I pulled up to the apartments around 10am. The police had just arrived along with a few family members. I walked into the apartment to the reality that a young man (19 years old) had overdosed on drugs (what kind is not that important in this story). His body lay lifeless on the bed in the main bedroom. It had begun to turn a color not normal to my experience with flesh and blood.
“He’s been dead for some time,” I heard someone whisper in a corner.
I will write more in the coming days. There’s family to tend to. Stories to be told. A funeral to be planned.
For now, I’m still in shock. I don’t really have any emotions. I feel numb. I feel empty with little stirring inside.
This young man worshipped with us yesterday. He broke bread with us yesterday. He listened to me preach yesterday. The entire gathering (during our third service) prayed over him yesterday. He repeated a confession from The Book of Common Prayer with his other brothers and sisters in Christ…yesterday.
And today…he’s dead. He’s not sleeping. He’s not in a coma. He’s not hibernating. Yesterday he was alive and today he is dead.
I do a lot of teaching about taking risks. This year I’ve spoken all over the country, by the grace of God. I have encouraged people to take risks for the kingdom of God, seeing people as humans created in God’s image regardless of their plight, skin color or addiction. I insist on this in front of our church in the classes I teach at Rochester College and in private small discussions. Occasionally, I even preach to it to myself.
And I still believe that is the mission we are called to with all my heart and soul.
But sometimes in life, you have to pause, and say “This business of following Jesus is so much harder than I expected it to be. It’s messy, confusing, and downright depressing.”
So today I pause to say exactly that.
Life is hard. Life is as hard as crucible steel. No bumper sticker, proof-text hall mark card, or “God needed another angel” conversation can do anything to change this grim reality.
Today I’m grateful to follow a God who entered into the suffering, pain, addiction, and shame of this world. I’m grateful to serve a God who promises me one thing only: “If this world kills us, I will raise you from the dead.”
But, it’s late Monday night, and I cannot help but write about the events that have unfolded the last twelve hours.
This morning I got several phone calls and text messages from some friends of mine that I had to come to the apartment belonging to a few young adults who are apart of our church. I knew something was wrong but I never dreamed of what I was about to walk into.
I pulled up to the apartments around 10am. The police had just arrived along with a few family members. I walked into the apartment to the reality that a young man (19 years old) had overdosed on drugs (what kind is not that important in this story). His body lay lifeless on the bed in the main bedroom. It had begun to turn a color not normal to my experience with flesh and blood.
“He’s been dead for some time,” I heard someone whisper in a corner.
I will write more in the coming days. There’s family to tend to. Stories to be told. A funeral to be planned.
For now, I’m still in shock. I don’t really have any emotions. I feel numb. I feel empty with little stirring inside.
This young man worshipped with us yesterday. He broke bread with us yesterday. He listened to me preach yesterday. The entire gathering (during our third service) prayed over him yesterday. He repeated a confession from The Book of Common Prayer with his other brothers and sisters in Christ…yesterday.
And today…he’s dead. He’s not sleeping. He’s not in a coma. He’s not hibernating. Yesterday he was alive and today he is dead.
I do a lot of teaching about taking risks. This year I’ve spoken all over the country, by the grace of God. I have encouraged people to take risks for the kingdom of God, seeing people as humans created in God’s image regardless of their plight, skin color or addiction. I insist on this in front of our church in the classes I teach at Rochester College and in private small discussions. Occasionally, I even preach to it to myself.
And I still believe that is the mission we are called to with all my heart and soul.
But sometimes in life, you have to pause, and say “This business of following Jesus is so much harder than I expected it to be. It’s messy, confusing, and downright depressing.”
So today I pause to say exactly that.
Life is hard. Life is as hard as crucible steel. No bumper sticker, proof-text hall mark card, or “God needed another angel” conversation can do anything to change this grim reality.
Today I’m grateful to follow a God who entered into the suffering, pain, addiction, and shame of this world. I’m grateful to serve a God who promises me one thing only: “If this world kills us, I will raise you from the dead.”
05 August 2007
03 August 2007
Summer in Michigan
Cooking brats in your backyard: $6.
Reading a great novel: $15.
Eating a big bowl of ice cream: $3.
Bike ride with your wife: no cost.
Going to a Tiger's game with my wife on a Friday night: priceless.
Reading a great novel: $15.
Eating a big bowl of ice cream: $3.
Bike ride with your wife: no cost.
Going to a Tiger's game with my wife on a Friday night: priceless.
30 July 2007
Hospitality
I was going to write a post about the lesson Kara's grandfather taught me while the family was in South Carolina for Duncan's graduation from boot camp.
But Patrick beat me to the punch and did a great job.
Here's the story as told by Patrick.
The trip to see Duncan graduate was a remarkable one. You can read more about it at Kara Graves’ blog (link on the right of this page) and my other blog. This is a related story.
My father was raised under brutal conditions. His parents treated him in a way that, had they lived in our time, would have sent them to prison. He was the family scapegoat. Desperately poor, uneducated, and without a faith family, they were on their own. When they needed water, Bill was sent for it. When some money was found to buy new clothes or shoes, they were never given to Bill. His parents had favored children and they made it plain Bill wasn’t one of them and never would be. Dad tells me about how he would find trash, sneak it home, and stuff it in the cracks in the walls of his room so that the cold winter wind couldn’t come in. It helped very little; when he would get the water late at night, by the morning it would be frozen solid, right by his cot. By the age of six he was given a bucket and sent deep, deep into the mines, working his way back in crevices that were no more than three feet high, skinning his elbows, hands, and knees so that he could get a bucketful of coal. He’d bring it out and they’d send him back in.
During the summer, he was the only child made to work; and he worked every summer in his memory. He worked in fields, hoeing, pulling weeds, stacking hay, or harvesting hemp (the government used to pay people to raise hemp to use as rope in the war effort!). I’ve seen the only existing photo of my father as a boy. He was eight years old and his eyes were hollow and blank like those of a child in Ethiopia. His stomach was swollen by starvation and worms.
When dad reached the legal age, he volunteered for the US Navy. That caused a great stir in the family. He was roundly criticized and insulted for his decision (they wanted him back home to work for them and weren’t keen on him being in the US forces) but he marched off anyway. This was during the Korean War and he believed there was nothing the Koreans could do to him that would be worse than he’d endured for his first 18 years at home… but he wasn’t sent to Korea. He spent most of his Navy experience in Columbus, Ohio (city motto: Why Do We Have A Navy Base When We Don’t Have Water?) and Bayonne, NJ. He met my mother on a blind date and they married before he was discharged.
He knew he couldn’t go home, but he had no money. He took two and three jobs at a time while going to college — all the time getting nothing but derision from his family. He would walk to classes with rubber jar rings around his shoes to keep them from coming apart, enduring the sneers and snickers of his classmates.
He never forgot. His heart for the poor is so strong, he can’t help himself; it drives everything he does. He has spent his time stateside speaking for poor, small, isolated congregations, taking thousands of tons of good clothes and food to the poor, giving his money and time to them. When he goes overseas it is never on a major campaign with write ups in Christian Chronicle or Gospel Advocate. He goes alone, or with my mother, or Duncan, or a very small team. He goes to unreached areas and, when he returns, he has no luggage, no goods, no extra clothes, books, Bibles, or money. He arrives back with only the clothes on his back and his passport (and, at his age, with essential medication. He’s been known to give most of that away, too).
So there we are at Parris Island to see Duncan graduate, but Dad can’t stay focused. He keeps wandering off, looking for someone who needs something. We packed the rented minivans (nine of us went from four directions so we had to rent vans) with picnic supplies so that Duncan could have a real feast with us on Family Day. Duncan was finally released to spend five hours on base with us the day before graduation and we were so excited! We walked with him and he showed us different parts of the base. Dad kept wandering off. Here was his grandson, graduating from the most intense boot camp in the US Armed Forces, and whom he hadn’t seen in nearly a year… and he kept wandering off.
Finally, he showed up, all excited. He had found four new Marines whose parents were late or unable to come. He had them in tow. He was taking them to the vans to feed them. I tried to pull him aside and explain that we had bought that food for Duncan — our son. You know? The Marine that’s related to you? He heard nothing, no matter how I tried to steer him. I was trying to find a way to feed the new guys he’d found AND Duncan. Maybe I could pay for them to eat with us at one of the base restaurants… but it was too late. Dad was leading the Marines to the picnic tables. Out came the food and they ate.
It was a beautiful thing, really. They were so grateful. They were happy to find people to talk to who would help them as they eased back into society and out of the rigid matrix of Parris Island. Duncan ate some of the food as he visited with his family. Dad didn’t visit with the family. He spent all of his time — and eighty percent of the food — on those four men.
I will confess to some frustration. I didn’t want this time with Duncan to be diluted. I was selfish and wanted to focus on my boy, my man, my Marine. I didn’t want to be faced with the problem of trying to find a restaurant to feed my family; a problem we had tried to dodge by bringing the food with us in the first place. It complicated the day, but Dad can’t help himself. He’s been poor. He’s lived without family support or love. He’s been alone. It isn’t that, when he sees someone in that condition he must help them. No, he looks for them. Constantly. And whatever he has, even if it doesn’t strictly belong to him, will be given to them. Duncan learned that when he took Hardy Boy books to read on a mission trip to Guyana when he was nine. He didn’t get to finish them or bring them back because, since it was within reach of Dad, it was available to be given away. And it was.
He just can’t help it. And that’s not all bad.
But Patrick beat me to the punch and did a great job.
Here's the story as told by Patrick.
The trip to see Duncan graduate was a remarkable one. You can read more about it at Kara Graves’ blog (link on the right of this page) and my other blog. This is a related story.
My father was raised under brutal conditions. His parents treated him in a way that, had they lived in our time, would have sent them to prison. He was the family scapegoat. Desperately poor, uneducated, and without a faith family, they were on their own. When they needed water, Bill was sent for it. When some money was found to buy new clothes or shoes, they were never given to Bill. His parents had favored children and they made it plain Bill wasn’t one of them and never would be. Dad tells me about how he would find trash, sneak it home, and stuff it in the cracks in the walls of his room so that the cold winter wind couldn’t come in. It helped very little; when he would get the water late at night, by the morning it would be frozen solid, right by his cot. By the age of six he was given a bucket and sent deep, deep into the mines, working his way back in crevices that were no more than three feet high, skinning his elbows, hands, and knees so that he could get a bucketful of coal. He’d bring it out and they’d send him back in.
During the summer, he was the only child made to work; and he worked every summer in his memory. He worked in fields, hoeing, pulling weeds, stacking hay, or harvesting hemp (the government used to pay people to raise hemp to use as rope in the war effort!). I’ve seen the only existing photo of my father as a boy. He was eight years old and his eyes were hollow and blank like those of a child in Ethiopia. His stomach was swollen by starvation and worms.
When dad reached the legal age, he volunteered for the US Navy. That caused a great stir in the family. He was roundly criticized and insulted for his decision (they wanted him back home to work for them and weren’t keen on him being in the US forces) but he marched off anyway. This was during the Korean War and he believed there was nothing the Koreans could do to him that would be worse than he’d endured for his first 18 years at home… but he wasn’t sent to Korea. He spent most of his Navy experience in Columbus, Ohio (city motto: Why Do We Have A Navy Base When We Don’t Have Water?) and Bayonne, NJ. He met my mother on a blind date and they married before he was discharged.
He knew he couldn’t go home, but he had no money. He took two and three jobs at a time while going to college — all the time getting nothing but derision from his family. He would walk to classes with rubber jar rings around his shoes to keep them from coming apart, enduring the sneers and snickers of his classmates.
He never forgot. His heart for the poor is so strong, he can’t help himself; it drives everything he does. He has spent his time stateside speaking for poor, small, isolated congregations, taking thousands of tons of good clothes and food to the poor, giving his money and time to them. When he goes overseas it is never on a major campaign with write ups in Christian Chronicle or Gospel Advocate. He goes alone, or with my mother, or Duncan, or a very small team. He goes to unreached areas and, when he returns, he has no luggage, no goods, no extra clothes, books, Bibles, or money. He arrives back with only the clothes on his back and his passport (and, at his age, with essential medication. He’s been known to give most of that away, too).
So there we are at Parris Island to see Duncan graduate, but Dad can’t stay focused. He keeps wandering off, looking for someone who needs something. We packed the rented minivans (nine of us went from four directions so we had to rent vans) with picnic supplies so that Duncan could have a real feast with us on Family Day. Duncan was finally released to spend five hours on base with us the day before graduation and we were so excited! We walked with him and he showed us different parts of the base. Dad kept wandering off. Here was his grandson, graduating from the most intense boot camp in the US Armed Forces, and whom he hadn’t seen in nearly a year… and he kept wandering off.
Finally, he showed up, all excited. He had found four new Marines whose parents were late or unable to come. He had them in tow. He was taking them to the vans to feed them. I tried to pull him aside and explain that we had bought that food for Duncan — our son. You know? The Marine that’s related to you? He heard nothing, no matter how I tried to steer him. I was trying to find a way to feed the new guys he’d found AND Duncan. Maybe I could pay for them to eat with us at one of the base restaurants… but it was too late. Dad was leading the Marines to the picnic tables. Out came the food and they ate.
It was a beautiful thing, really. They were so grateful. They were happy to find people to talk to who would help them as they eased back into society and out of the rigid matrix of Parris Island. Duncan ate some of the food as he visited with his family. Dad didn’t visit with the family. He spent all of his time — and eighty percent of the food — on those four men.
I will confess to some frustration. I didn’t want this time with Duncan to be diluted. I was selfish and wanted to focus on my boy, my man, my Marine. I didn’t want to be faced with the problem of trying to find a restaurant to feed my family; a problem we had tried to dodge by bringing the food with us in the first place. It complicated the day, but Dad can’t help himself. He’s been poor. He’s lived without family support or love. He’s been alone. It isn’t that, when he sees someone in that condition he must help them. No, he looks for them. Constantly. And whatever he has, even if it doesn’t strictly belong to him, will be given to them. Duncan learned that when he took Hardy Boy books to read on a mission trip to Guyana when he was nine. He didn’t get to finish them or bring them back because, since it was within reach of Dad, it was available to be given away. And it was.
He just can’t help it. And that’s not all bad.
24 July 2007
A few people (whom I consider good friends) have asked me recently “how do you prevent from being burned out?” That’s a good question. Since the invention of the light bulb and subsequent inventions (television, internet, etc.) the work day now stretches far passed the past the former marker of “sundown”.
It is no secret that I enjoy working. In fact, much of what I do I do not consider work. Between working with young adults and college students, preaching and teaching, and teaching college religion courses—I’m actually energized by most of this work.
Here’s what I do to prevent burnout.
First, I love to read. I read books other than theology, philosophy and history. I actually prefer a good novel like this one or this one.
Second, I love to exercise by running and lifting weights. Nothing remedies stress like the bench press and a three mile run. One of the great discoveries of living with Kara is that we enjoy working out together.
Third, I love a good movie (too many to name) or the occasional television show (The West Wing, Lost and 24 have been the escape points over the last few years).
Fourth, I love the Tigers and Pistons. Whether it’s going to a game (rare but fun) or watching a game, it gives me pleasure to know who the “good guys” are (the Pistons and Tigers) and who the “bad guys” are (anyone playing the Tigers and Pistons).
There are other ways I “regroup”. How do you relax? What fills you up when you are depleted? What breaths life into you?
It is no secret that I enjoy working. In fact, much of what I do I do not consider work. Between working with young adults and college students, preaching and teaching, and teaching college religion courses—I’m actually energized by most of this work.
Here’s what I do to prevent burnout.
First, I love to read. I read books other than theology, philosophy and history. I actually prefer a good novel like this one or this one.
Second, I love to exercise by running and lifting weights. Nothing remedies stress like the bench press and a three mile run. One of the great discoveries of living with Kara is that we enjoy working out together.
Third, I love a good movie (too many to name) or the occasional television show (The West Wing, Lost and 24 have been the escape points over the last few years).
Fourth, I love the Tigers and Pistons. Whether it’s going to a game (rare but fun) or watching a game, it gives me pleasure to know who the “good guys” are (the Pistons and Tigers) and who the “bad guys” are (anyone playing the Tigers and Pistons).
There are other ways I “regroup”. How do you relax? What fills you up when you are depleted? What breaths life into you?
23 July 2007
God in the City
If Cass Park is a novel, we are constantly being introduced to new and intriguing characters. Yesterday, for instance, was one of the more interesting Sunday’s we’ve had at Cass Park over the last several months.
We had several new Cass Parkers yesterday: Emily, Sean, Alex, CJ, Liz, Andrew, and Jenn came to the Park not knowing what to expect. I gave them a mini tour of the neighborhood, told them a bit of the history, etc. These young women and men did an amazing job: they cooked shared meals with people, listened to stories—they were fully present in the moment.
At one point in the beginning of the afternoon, I told this group, “I love Detroit. I love this city. I love the history, the people, the brokenness, and even the despair. This city is in my bones, it has become a part of who I am. It teaches me, challenges me, and pushes me to think deeper about reality, justice, the poor, and addiction. I cannot tolerate people, to my own demise at times, who bash Detroit and have never spent time in the D save a sporting event.”
I have been developing relationships with two women over the last year who, for the first time, welcomed me into their apartment yesterday. These two women have been fighting addiction and health issues for some time, but are on the path back to recovery. By the way, a little glimpse into life in sections of Detroit—there apartment is known in the neighborhood as the Dog Pound. If that doesn’t disturb you…
I met a man named Mr. Charity. He lives in the ‘burbs (like me) but spends three or four days a week in Detroit working with the poor, particularly with the VETS who live in the various veteran shelters sprinkled all over the city.
One group of Christians, whom we’d never met before, held a powerful worship service as we were ending the meal time.
I met three pastors who have a heart for Cass Park who constantly pray for the addictions to relinquish their control over some of the women and men who call this area home.
John Gresham (veteran Cass Parker) introduced me to a young man who lost his wife approximately a year ago and has been living on the streets while keeping a job as a security guard. We are going to work with him this week to see if we can’t get him into SOS—the best transitional shelter I know of in Detroit or Metro Detroit.
Each afternoon spent in Cass Park uncovers new stories, new people and new possibilities. There will be stories of death and failure…but we hold out hope that there will also be a few more stories of transformation and new life.
God is at work in the places we often ignore.
18 July 2007
My Wife is Smarter Than I Am
Husband: Do you ever wonder what it would be like to have your own brain, thoughts, passions, values, and interests switched with another person?
Wife: I’m not sure I know what you mean.
Husband: Ok, here’s what I mean. What if I had my brain, thoughts and sensibilities transferred to your body and voice. So, essentially, I would be you and no one would know it.
Wife: So, what you are saying is that you and I would switch personalities without switching bodies. Right?
Husband: Exactly. Would that not be crazy?
Wife: If that happened, you’d be the man of the house.
Wife: I’m not sure I know what you mean.
Husband: Ok, here’s what I mean. What if I had my brain, thoughts and sensibilities transferred to your body and voice. So, essentially, I would be you and no one would know it.
Wife: So, what you are saying is that you and I would switch personalities without switching bodies. Right?
Husband: Exactly. Would that not be crazy?
Wife: If that happened, you’d be the man of the house.
16 July 2007
Spanish Eyes
Tomorrow marks three years being married to Kara. We’ve moved from Rochester to Nashville, Nashville to Abilene, Abilene to Nashville, and Nashville to Rochester in the five short years we’ve been dating/married. Hopefully, the next five years is not nearly as disorienting.
God knew it would take a special girl to be able to handle someone who’s constantly dreaming, thinking of new places and ideas…yet; Kara’s handled me with grace, direct and open speech, and consistent love.
So, this girl with “Spanish eyes” (to quote “In a Little While”—one of my favorite U2 songs that describes how I feel about Kara) still takes my breath away, still makes me a believer after all.
10 July 2007
Insanity
I read this in the Free Press today. This is crazy.
According to a June 22 report by Wisconsin-based Runzheimer International, Detroit is the most expensive U.S. city in which to insure a vehicle, with an average yearly premium of $5,072. Philadelphia is a distant second, at $3,779.
Add to that the rising costs of gas and you can understand why it is difficult for the working poor in our country to get out of the danger zone of the cycle.
For many working poor (often single parents)--they are one accident, freak injury away from being completely powerless.
When I have spent time in places like Atlanta, Dallas, and The Bronx, I've learned that food in the city costs much more than food suburbanites buy in their grocery stores.
Injustice is a word that the writers of Torah and the New Testament care about. Perhaps some of us should too.
According to a June 22 report by Wisconsin-based Runzheimer International, Detroit is the most expensive U.S. city in which to insure a vehicle, with an average yearly premium of $5,072. Philadelphia is a distant second, at $3,779.
Add to that the rising costs of gas and you can understand why it is difficult for the working poor in our country to get out of the danger zone of the cycle.
For many working poor (often single parents)--they are one accident, freak injury away from being completely powerless.
When I have spent time in places like Atlanta, Dallas, and The Bronx, I've learned that food in the city costs much more than food suburbanites buy in their grocery stores.
Injustice is a word that the writers of Torah and the New Testament care about. Perhaps some of us should too.
09 July 2007
My favorite preacher/teacher/writer on the planet is Barbara Brown Taylor. She captivated my imagination concerning God when I was 19 years old and I've spent many days and nights wrestling with her words and insights.
Here's an example of Taylor's ability to connect.
"Gradually I remembered what I had known all along, which is that church is not a stopping place but a starting place for discerning God's presence in this world. By offering people a place where they engage the steady practice of listening to divine words and celebrating divine sacraments, church can help people gain a feel for how God shows up--not only in Holy Bibles and Holy Communion but also in near neighbors, mysterious strangers, sliced bread, and grocery store wine. That way, when they leave church, they no more leave God than God leaves them," (from Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith).
Here's an example of Taylor's ability to connect.
"Gradually I remembered what I had known all along, which is that church is not a stopping place but a starting place for discerning God's presence in this world. By offering people a place where they engage the steady practice of listening to divine words and celebrating divine sacraments, church can help people gain a feel for how God shows up--not only in Holy Bibles and Holy Communion but also in near neighbors, mysterious strangers, sliced bread, and grocery store wine. That way, when they leave church, they no more leave God than God leaves them," (from Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith).
02 July 2007
The 313, Or, Why Detroit is the Best Sports Town in America
Detroit is the best all around sports city in the United States. I offer the following top five reasons (and no, I’m not writing this from work…I thought of this while spending too much time on the treadmill this weekend).
#5 The Detroit Lions: Now, before you laugh, hear me out. The Detroit Lions have been one of the worst Pro Football teams in the NFL over the last 20 years. And yet, do you know who is consistently in the top echelon of ticket sales, year in and year out—you guessed, the Detroit Kittens.
#4 The Detroit Red Wings: I don’t know much about hockey but I know the Red Wings are one of the storied franchises in the NHL with three recent Stanley Cup Championships.
#3 U of M Football: One of the oldest and most accomplished programs in the history of college football, Michigan plays in front of 100, 000 people plus every Saturday. While I admit that the Big Ten is not in the same class as the SEC, it is still one of the great football conferences around.
#2 The Detroit Pistons: Three championships over the last two decades, along with five NBA Finals Appearances in that same stretch, and too many Eastern Conference championships to count. Dave Bing, Isaiah Thomas, Adrian Dantley, Dennis Rodman, Joe Dumars, Vinnie Johnson, Grant Hill, Ben Wallace, Chauncey Billups and Rip Hamilton all make this one of the top five NBA franchises. And they play ten minutes from where I live and work. I've written about my obession with the Pistons in previous posts.
#1 The Detroit Tigers: I might have included the Tigers number one even if Leyland et al had not resurrected the Tigers last season. The Tigers play in one of the premiere ball parks (Comerica) with the one of the best (save Tampa Bay) core of young prospects in Brandon Inge, Curtis Granderson, Andrew Miller, Jeremy Bonderman, Justin Verlander, Joel Zumaya, and Cameron Maybin. Not too mention Ordonez, Polanco, Guillen, Sheffield, and Kenny Rogers! One of the original teams of baseball, the Tigers are a joy to watch. Some of my best memories with my grandfather are from the rightfield bleacher seats at Tiger Stadium.
One writer for ESPN agrees with me.
27 June 2007
A new friend of mine, Mitch Albaugh, whom I met at the ZOE Conference in Orlando, wrote the following to me in response to yesterday's blog. I figured this is the kind of insight that must be shared.
It is insightful, prophetic, and true.
Hi Josh.
You’ve probably figured out that I read your blogs. Mainly because I want to know what makes you what you are. You didn’t say much about your friends whose son died.
Twenty-three years ago my first son (coincidentally, named Josh) died in Children’s Hospital in Boston following open heart surgery. He was 6 days old. Three days later, we buried him in our small family plot in Clearwater. Even after 23 years, I can’t IMAGINE hurting that much a second time. In fact, as my 3 living sons (ages 22, 16 and 10) have grown up, I have often drawn peace and security from the belief that God would NEVER allow me to go through that again because it would destroy me.
As I read your blog, I wondered if your friends felt like that, too. My heart and prayers really go out to them.
You probably don’t need to hear this advice, but ...
1. Don’t let appearances fool you; your friends may look like they’re doing ok. They’re not. They will need CONSTANT love and support. You CANNOT overdo, in this respect.
2. Don’t be afraid of making them sad or making them cry. Trust me, there is nothing you can do to make them any sadder than they already are. And crying is GOOD; it’s helpful and healing. This is especially true for the dad if he’s anti-tears. They HAVE to cry ... be there to cry with them. (When Josh died, I had to return to work the day after his funeral. I was a mess. I made a rule for myself that if I felt like crying, I was going to cry, no matter what situation I was in. There were a couple of times when it caught the people around me a little off guard, but they were fine – and sympathetic -- once I explained.)
(On the one-year anniversary of Josh’s death, we were informed by telephone that we were being disfellowshipped by a church in Tampa that we had recently left because of its adoption of the Boston/Kip McKean ideology ... the minister there (the fraternity brother who led me to Christ) was Kip McKean’s brother-in-law. The person who called was a longtime “friend” ... when I mentioned what day it was, he said he remembered, but hadn’t said anything because he didn’t want to remind me. That brother and I are once again close friends, but on that day he was a complete idiot. How could he possibly think he’d remember something that I’d forgot? My point: It is not wrong to bring it up. Your friends will NEVER tire of talking about their sons .... EVER! They’ll appreciate you for wanting to.)
3. Remember that 80% of couples that lose a child end up divorced. I don’t have a statistic for losing 2 children. The reason for this (I think) is because the grief cycles don’t coincide; one is up when the other is down ... and they begin to see each other from a different perspective (“Why doesn’t he/she care?” “How can he/she be so happy?”). Your friends may need someone there to remind them that they will grieve/mourn/heal differently.
It is insightful, prophetic, and true.
Hi Josh.
You’ve probably figured out that I read your blogs. Mainly because I want to know what makes you what you are. You didn’t say much about your friends whose son died.
Twenty-three years ago my first son (coincidentally, named Josh) died in Children’s Hospital in Boston following open heart surgery. He was 6 days old. Three days later, we buried him in our small family plot in Clearwater. Even after 23 years, I can’t IMAGINE hurting that much a second time. In fact, as my 3 living sons (ages 22, 16 and 10) have grown up, I have often drawn peace and security from the belief that God would NEVER allow me to go through that again because it would destroy me.
As I read your blog, I wondered if your friends felt like that, too. My heart and prayers really go out to them.
You probably don’t need to hear this advice, but ...
1. Don’t let appearances fool you; your friends may look like they’re doing ok. They’re not. They will need CONSTANT love and support. You CANNOT overdo, in this respect.
2. Don’t be afraid of making them sad or making them cry. Trust me, there is nothing you can do to make them any sadder than they already are. And crying is GOOD; it’s helpful and healing. This is especially true for the dad if he’s anti-tears. They HAVE to cry ... be there to cry with them. (When Josh died, I had to return to work the day after his funeral. I was a mess. I made a rule for myself that if I felt like crying, I was going to cry, no matter what situation I was in. There were a couple of times when it caught the people around me a little off guard, but they were fine – and sympathetic -- once I explained.)
(On the one-year anniversary of Josh’s death, we were informed by telephone that we were being disfellowshipped by a church in Tampa that we had recently left because of its adoption of the Boston/Kip McKean ideology ... the minister there (the fraternity brother who led me to Christ) was Kip McKean’s brother-in-law. The person who called was a longtime “friend” ... when I mentioned what day it was, he said he remembered, but hadn’t said anything because he didn’t want to remind me. That brother and I are once again close friends, but on that day he was a complete idiot. How could he possibly think he’d remember something that I’d forgot? My point: It is not wrong to bring it up. Your friends will NEVER tire of talking about their sons .... EVER! They’ll appreciate you for wanting to.)
3. Remember that 80% of couples that lose a child end up divorced. I don’t have a statistic for losing 2 children. The reason for this (I think) is because the grief cycles don’t coincide; one is up when the other is down ... and they begin to see each other from a different perspective (“Why doesn’t he/she care?” “How can he/she be so happy?”). Your friends may need someone there to remind them that they will grieve/mourn/heal differently.
26 June 2007
Burying Two Sons, Praying for a Brother
It is a tragedy for a mother to bury one son. It is sheer calamity when a mother as to bury two sons.
This week, we mourn with our sister and brother in Christ, the founders of God's Helping Hands, as they have now buried their second son in five years.
We pray from The Book of Common Prayer:
Direct us, O Lord, in all our doings with thy most gracious favor, and further us with thy continual help; that in all our works begun, continued, and ended in thee, we may glorify thy holy Name, and finally, by thy mercy, obtain everlasting life; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
My other brother (Duncan) is in Marine Boot Camp right now. Yes, The Book of Common Prayer gives us language for this season as well.
Almighty God, we commend to your gracious care and keeping all the men and women of our armed forces at home and abroad. Defend them day by day with your heavenly grace; strengthen them in their trials and temptations; give them courage to face their perils which beset them; and grant them a sense of your abiding presence wherever they may be; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
---
When I asked a world-known theologian who recently visited Rochester College why he was Anglican (where The Book of Common Prayer comes from), he reponded by saying, "I needed more words."
This week, we mourn with our sister and brother in Christ, the founders of God's Helping Hands, as they have now buried their second son in five years.
We pray from The Book of Common Prayer:
Direct us, O Lord, in all our doings with thy most gracious favor, and further us with thy continual help; that in all our works begun, continued, and ended in thee, we may glorify thy holy Name, and finally, by thy mercy, obtain everlasting life; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
My other brother (Duncan) is in Marine Boot Camp right now. Yes, The Book of Common Prayer gives us language for this season as well.
Almighty God, we commend to your gracious care and keeping all the men and women of our armed forces at home and abroad. Defend them day by day with your heavenly grace; strengthen them in their trials and temptations; give them courage to face their perils which beset them; and grant them a sense of your abiding presence wherever they may be; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
---
When I asked a world-known theologian who recently visited Rochester College why he was Anglican (where The Book of Common Prayer comes from), he reponded by saying, "I needed more words."
25 June 2007
Fentanyl (pronounced Fen-ta-nawl)
Here’s an excerpt from an outstanding piece on the devastating results of Fentanyl, a drug that some estimate to be ten times more potent than heroin. Fentanyl is on the streets of Detroit, having killed almost 300 people in the Greater Detroit area. This drug is an equal-opportunity killer—just as many rich folks from the Burbs are dying…
I’ve heard people who live and around Cass Park talk about “Super Heroin” (among other names), but I did not realize its potent destructive power as compared with Cocaine, weed, and heroin.
BY JIM SCHAEFER and JOE SWICKARD
FREE PRESS STAFF WRITERS
In the basement, anything goes. That's where everybody buys their dope. They can shoot it, snort it or smoke it down there. They can turn tricks to earn money for more drugs. It's all good.
Except tonight, something's bad. There are shouts from upstairs, and smacking sounds. And now water is dripping through the basement ceiling.
In this lair of strangers, where Detroiters get high next to users from Sterling Heights, Royal Oak, Pontiac and Ferndale, all of them drawn together by the pangs of heroin addiction, this is something different.
This is something alarming.
"Lauren!" someone shouts from up above, on the ground floor at 20152 Keating St. in Detroit. Then more of those smacks. "Lauren, wake up!"
"Sit her up!"
A guy known as Tommy comes through a side door with bags of ice, which he hauls upstairs.
The basement people watch him climb out of view.
What's going on?
Ralph, the man upstairs selling the drugs tonight, assures the people below that the girl's OK. Ralph is in charge of the dope house right now. And as lawless as a drug den might seem, there are rules. And one of them is: Customers don't go upstairs. She's OK, Ralph tells the basement people.
And so they return to their business. This isn't their sister or their classmate or their daughter. It's just another doper in a dope house, and, reality is, people overdose.
She'll be OK.
And the water drips. Someone moves over a bucket.
But it's not OK.
Upstairs, Ralph is shaking Lauren Jolly, a 17-year-old with a pretty face and light, shoulder-length brown hair, a former Brownie Scout, a junior at Birmingham Groves High School, a heroin addict her friends can no longer help.
It's May 24, 2006, and she is about to become the public face of fentanyl, a nasty laboratory concoction often mixed with heroin that exploded on the streets of Detroit, ending the lives of hundreds of metro-Detroit drug users, and more than 1,000 people nationwide.
The drug stole a once-promising young bowler from Shelby Township, a retired autoworker from Detroit, an ex-logger from out state and the lead guitarist in a rock band.
Inside the house in Detroit, a 21-year-old from Pontiac named Ben puts his fingers to the neck of the Bloomfield Township teen and feels a slow pulse.
Someone draws cold water and pours it over Lauren.
The girl is still breathing, but her pulse is faint, her blood pressure plummeting. Her eyes roll back ... and she is somewhere else.
***
The article can be read here.
I’ve heard people who live and around Cass Park talk about “Super Heroin” (among other names), but I did not realize its potent destructive power as compared with Cocaine, weed, and heroin.
BY JIM SCHAEFER and JOE SWICKARD
FREE PRESS STAFF WRITERS
In the basement, anything goes. That's where everybody buys their dope. They can shoot it, snort it or smoke it down there. They can turn tricks to earn money for more drugs. It's all good.
Except tonight, something's bad. There are shouts from upstairs, and smacking sounds. And now water is dripping through the basement ceiling.
In this lair of strangers, where Detroiters get high next to users from Sterling Heights, Royal Oak, Pontiac and Ferndale, all of them drawn together by the pangs of heroin addiction, this is something different.
This is something alarming.
"Lauren!" someone shouts from up above, on the ground floor at 20152 Keating St. in Detroit. Then more of those smacks. "Lauren, wake up!"
"Sit her up!"
A guy known as Tommy comes through a side door with bags of ice, which he hauls upstairs.
The basement people watch him climb out of view.
What's going on?
Ralph, the man upstairs selling the drugs tonight, assures the people below that the girl's OK. Ralph is in charge of the dope house right now. And as lawless as a drug den might seem, there are rules. And one of them is: Customers don't go upstairs. She's OK, Ralph tells the basement people.
And so they return to their business. This isn't their sister or their classmate or their daughter. It's just another doper in a dope house, and, reality is, people overdose.
She'll be OK.
And the water drips. Someone moves over a bucket.
But it's not OK.
Upstairs, Ralph is shaking Lauren Jolly, a 17-year-old with a pretty face and light, shoulder-length brown hair, a former Brownie Scout, a junior at Birmingham Groves High School, a heroin addict her friends can no longer help.
It's May 24, 2006, and she is about to become the public face of fentanyl, a nasty laboratory concoction often mixed with heroin that exploded on the streets of Detroit, ending the lives of hundreds of metro-Detroit drug users, and more than 1,000 people nationwide.
The drug stole a once-promising young bowler from Shelby Township, a retired autoworker from Detroit, an ex-logger from out state and the lead guitarist in a rock band.
Inside the house in Detroit, a 21-year-old from Pontiac named Ben puts his fingers to the neck of the Bloomfield Township teen and feels a slow pulse.
Someone draws cold water and pours it over Lauren.
The girl is still breathing, but her pulse is faint, her blood pressure plummeting. Her eyes roll back ... and she is somewhere else.
***
The article can be read here.
21 June 2007
Cass Park Meditation
This past Sunday, a group of friends spent the afternoon working in Cass Park hosting a love feast for the poor and homeless. I’ve written about Cass Park several times over the last year. In all, we fed over 400 women, men and children BBQ chicken prepared by Stephanie Corp (one of the most dedicated disciples of Jesus I know).
One person commented to my wife upon seeing the “spread” of great food we brought: “Some days, being homeless ain’t so bad.” Those are words that stay with me through Monday mornings, and Thursday afternoons.
As you know, this Sunday I’m referring to was Father’s Day. Almost every person who came to the love feast knew this and welcomed us with hugs, smiles and “Happy Father’s Day” greetings. I don’t know why but I hadn’t thought about how regular holidays are perceived by those on the margin of society. I also hadn’t thought how grateful our friends would be for the time we gave to them when we could have been hiding out in our air conditioned homes, sipping lemonade (not that those are bad things).
It is easy to point out, as many do, the fact that many of the homeless men we work with are not exactly ideal fathers. Communication with their children is limited at best, non-existent at worst. Some are hooked on crack, heroine, speed, prescriptions drugs. Most are alcohol-dependant. Yet, these men are full of life, love, ideas, and generosity. One man, named Sid, drew a picture of Jesus with this inscription: “Josh, Jesus loves you.” Now there’s a message I never grow weary of hearing.
I’ve been holding on to this treasure from Barbara Brown Taylor’s memoir Leaving Church. Quoting Walter Brueggemann, Taylor reminds herself of God’s mysterious way of working in our lives: “The world for which you were preparing for all these years is slowly being taken from you, by the grace of God,” (my paraphrase).
I never imagined myself becoming a pastor, and teacher. I never imagined that one day I would look as forward to working with the poor and broken of Detroit as I do watching a great movie or attending a Pistons basketball game. I never imagined I would, week to week, stand between humanity and God, communicating to one side on behalf of the other. I never imagined I would cry with some as they bury another child, receive negative news regarding their cancer, or find out about their spouse’s infidelity. But here I am, the young boy who wanted to be a college coach, serving the church that introduced to me Jesus.
The world I was preparing for, by the grace of God, is not the world God was molding me to live in.
One person commented to my wife upon seeing the “spread” of great food we brought: “Some days, being homeless ain’t so bad.” Those are words that stay with me through Monday mornings, and Thursday afternoons.
As you know, this Sunday I’m referring to was Father’s Day. Almost every person who came to the love feast knew this and welcomed us with hugs, smiles and “Happy Father’s Day” greetings. I don’t know why but I hadn’t thought about how regular holidays are perceived by those on the margin of society. I also hadn’t thought how grateful our friends would be for the time we gave to them when we could have been hiding out in our air conditioned homes, sipping lemonade (not that those are bad things).
It is easy to point out, as many do, the fact that many of the homeless men we work with are not exactly ideal fathers. Communication with their children is limited at best, non-existent at worst. Some are hooked on crack, heroine, speed, prescriptions drugs. Most are alcohol-dependant. Yet, these men are full of life, love, ideas, and generosity. One man, named Sid, drew a picture of Jesus with this inscription: “Josh, Jesus loves you.” Now there’s a message I never grow weary of hearing.
I’ve been holding on to this treasure from Barbara Brown Taylor’s memoir Leaving Church. Quoting Walter Brueggemann, Taylor reminds herself of God’s mysterious way of working in our lives: “The world for which you were preparing for all these years is slowly being taken from you, by the grace of God,” (my paraphrase).
I never imagined myself becoming a pastor, and teacher. I never imagined that one day I would look as forward to working with the poor and broken of Detroit as I do watching a great movie or attending a Pistons basketball game. I never imagined I would, week to week, stand between humanity and God, communicating to one side on behalf of the other. I never imagined I would cry with some as they bury another child, receive negative news regarding their cancer, or find out about their spouse’s infidelity. But here I am, the young boy who wanted to be a college coach, serving the church that introduced to me Jesus.
The world I was preparing for, by the grace of God, is not the world God was molding me to live in.
18 June 2007
It is Important to Disagree
I believe it is important to disagree.
Here's a story from the Talmud that illustrates why I feel this way.
And Resh Lakish died. And Rebbe Yochanan suffered his loss greatly. The Rabbi’s said, “Who do we have that hand help settle his mind? Let us bring him Eliezer ben Padat, for he is sharp in his learning.” Eliezer ben Padat went and sat before Yochanan and for everything Yochanan said, Eliezer ben Padat brought a text to support Yochanan’s argument. Rebbe Yochanan said, “You’re not like Resh Lakish. When I said something in front of him, he would challenge me with twenty-four questions which I would have to answer, and from that the Torah would be richer—and you, you just support me! So, I have no way of knowing whether what I’m saying is right!” Yochanan then ripped his cloak and wailed, “Where are you son of Lakish, where are you?” (From the Talmud as recorded in Judith Kunst’s The Burning Word, 44)
Here's a story from the Talmud that illustrates why I feel this way.
And Resh Lakish died. And Rebbe Yochanan suffered his loss greatly. The Rabbi’s said, “Who do we have that hand help settle his mind? Let us bring him Eliezer ben Padat, for he is sharp in his learning.” Eliezer ben Padat went and sat before Yochanan and for everything Yochanan said, Eliezer ben Padat brought a text to support Yochanan’s argument. Rebbe Yochanan said, “You’re not like Resh Lakish. When I said something in front of him, he would challenge me with twenty-four questions which I would have to answer, and from that the Torah would be richer—and you, you just support me! So, I have no way of knowing whether what I’m saying is right!” Yochanan then ripped his cloak and wailed, “Where are you son of Lakish, where are you?” (From the Talmud as recorded in Judith Kunst’s The Burning Word, 44)
13 June 2007
Routine
I am, by experience and choice, a person of routines.
I need routines for they provide a framework of familiarity and transformation in my everyday life. When I pay attention to my life, I notices that God seems to be just as much interested in the minute knitty-gritty as he is the big and spectacular.
Justin Verlander, the phenomenal young pitchers for the Detroit Tigers, threw a no-hitter last night: The first since 1984 for a Tiger pitcher and only the sixth in the 107th season of Detroit Tiger baseball.
Last night and this morning people talked about the routines they kept during the no-hitter. One sportswriter said he kept his hand on his head, without ever moving it, from the sixth inning to the conclusion of the game. For you non-baseball fans, that’s at least one hour of resting one’s hand in the same awkward position. Another writer for the Detroit News made a similar confession in an interview. I confess that I did not move from the sixth inning on from my spot on the floor in my living room. The announcers calling the game never dared mention the phrase “no hitter” throughout the course of the telecast. We slip into routines because it allows us to be fully present in the moment at hand.
Here are some of my most common routines:
Studying/Reading. Reading is what calms my mind and my soul. Reading takes me into unknown worlds, changing my beliefs and awakening my imagination. I rarely go one day without reading.
Writing. Writing is so connected to reading (and teaching for that matter) that it is often difficult to distinguish between the two. I sometimes write so I even know what I think or feel about a particular person or experience. It is not as if I know what I believe and then try to figure out a way to articulate it. No, usually, as I sit down with a blank sheet of paper to prepare a class/sermon/teaching time (after I’ve studied of course) I write to see where my thoughts and convictions will lead. I’m often surprised at some of the things that flow out of me, things I did not know about myself. I rarely go more than one day without writing.
Sleeping. You may not think about sleep as part of your routines but sleeping is a spiritual experience for a few reasons: first, it reminds you that you are not God. Second, it reminds you that God is the one who is able to raise us from the dead (sleep as it were). I never go a day without sleeping.
Exercising. In an era where many sit behind desks, or drive cars, etc. exercise is as close to physical labor as many have the opportunity to experience (home improvement plans notwithstanding). There is a mysterious connection between our bodies and our soul—and that relationship is unlocked in physical exercise.
Working. I love to work. I love projects, problems, ideas, challenges, and yes, even people (one friend is famous for saying, “Church would be great if not for the people”). I believe that work can be redemptive if and when we see our particular vocations as contributing to the betterment of creation and other people. Whether one is a teacher, minister, accountant, or engineer, God gifts us with ways to bring about justice, solidarity, community and good. I rarely go a day without working and I’m working on that.
"Routine is one of God's great gifts to humanity." Fred B. Craddock
I need routines for they provide a framework of familiarity and transformation in my everyday life. When I pay attention to my life, I notices that God seems to be just as much interested in the minute knitty-gritty as he is the big and spectacular.
Justin Verlander, the phenomenal young pitchers for the Detroit Tigers, threw a no-hitter last night: The first since 1984 for a Tiger pitcher and only the sixth in the 107th season of Detroit Tiger baseball.
Last night and this morning people talked about the routines they kept during the no-hitter. One sportswriter said he kept his hand on his head, without ever moving it, from the sixth inning to the conclusion of the game. For you non-baseball fans, that’s at least one hour of resting one’s hand in the same awkward position. Another writer for the Detroit News made a similar confession in an interview. I confess that I did not move from the sixth inning on from my spot on the floor in my living room. The announcers calling the game never dared mention the phrase “no hitter” throughout the course of the telecast. We slip into routines because it allows us to be fully present in the moment at hand.
Here are some of my most common routines:
Studying/Reading. Reading is what calms my mind and my soul. Reading takes me into unknown worlds, changing my beliefs and awakening my imagination. I rarely go one day without reading.
Writing. Writing is so connected to reading (and teaching for that matter) that it is often difficult to distinguish between the two. I sometimes write so I even know what I think or feel about a particular person or experience. It is not as if I know what I believe and then try to figure out a way to articulate it. No, usually, as I sit down with a blank sheet of paper to prepare a class/sermon/teaching time (after I’ve studied of course) I write to see where my thoughts and convictions will lead. I’m often surprised at some of the things that flow out of me, things I did not know about myself. I rarely go more than one day without writing.
Sleeping. You may not think about sleep as part of your routines but sleeping is a spiritual experience for a few reasons: first, it reminds you that you are not God. Second, it reminds you that God is the one who is able to raise us from the dead (sleep as it were). I never go a day without sleeping.
Exercising. In an era where many sit behind desks, or drive cars, etc. exercise is as close to physical labor as many have the opportunity to experience (home improvement plans notwithstanding). There is a mysterious connection between our bodies and our soul—and that relationship is unlocked in physical exercise.
Working. I love to work. I love projects, problems, ideas, challenges, and yes, even people (one friend is famous for saying, “Church would be great if not for the people”). I believe that work can be redemptive if and when we see our particular vocations as contributing to the betterment of creation and other people. Whether one is a teacher, minister, accountant, or engineer, God gifts us with ways to bring about justice, solidarity, community and good. I rarely go a day without working and I’m working on that.
"Routine is one of God's great gifts to humanity." Fred B. Craddock
08 June 2007
Snickers Ice Cream Bars
Today and tomorrow, Kara and I are in Orlando (finishing our vacation) working with the ZOE Group who is putting together the Growing Deeper Worship Conference. Metro Church is hosting the conference—they are a fascinating church with a history of God working and moving them. The ZOE Group and the ZOE conferences are some of the best teaching and worship done in Churches of Christ. If you’ve never been a part of one, you should seriously consider it. The main conference takes place the first week in October in Nashville.
Today, in the leadership conference, I shared the story of Professor Jack along with the short film my good friend Sean and I put together.
Tomorrow, we board the plane to head back to Deeetrooooit—I miss home. I love living in the Greater Detroit Area. I love the people, the smell, the teams (Tigers and Pistons), the vibe—I love everything about it.
Sunday is a big day for the Rochester Church as we continue to move forward with our launch of Christ Church: Macomb.
I wrote the following in one of the books I read this week on the beach.
Kara's plane ticket to Orlando $150
Meals $150
Car Rental $250
Tickets to minor league baseball game: $20
Eating Snickers Ice Cream Bars for breakfast with your wife every morning: Priceless
Today, in the leadership conference, I shared the story of Professor Jack along with the short film my good friend Sean and I put together.
Tomorrow, we board the plane to head back to Deeetrooooit—I miss home. I love living in the Greater Detroit Area. I love the people, the smell, the teams (Tigers and Pistons), the vibe—I love everything about it.
Sunday is a big day for the Rochester Church as we continue to move forward with our launch of Christ Church: Macomb.
I wrote the following in one of the books I read this week on the beach.
Kara's plane ticket to Orlando $150
Meals $150
Car Rental $250
Tickets to minor league baseball game: $20
Eating Snickers Ice Cream Bars for breakfast with your wife every morning: Priceless
03 June 2007
Idolatry
I have a good friend who, every time I mention the Pistons, thinks of the “Bad Boys” he loves to hate. This friend, I’ve concluded, only remembers the Pistons for the era in which they were known for hard fouls, trash talking, intimidation, and a little rough-housing.
I have been a Detroit Piston fan since the 1987-88 season—I was eight years old and the Pistons were the young, upstart team on the NBA block. They were formidable going into the ’87 season, but they were not yet feared.
Isaiah Thomas was the fearless leader. Pound for pound, Zeke is one of the best basketball players in the history of the game.
Joe Dumars was the glue: the team’s best defender and clutch three point shooter. Dumars, according to Michael Jordan, was the best defender he’d ever faced, period. Add to that Dumars character and integrity and you know why this unknown college player from McNeese State, and you can understand why he is one of Michigan’s most respected sports icons. In a blue collar town full of self-made men and women, Dumars epitomizes the Detroit ethos of effort and humility. This is why, for instance, Ben Wallace was adored during his time in the D. Detroit, like Pittsburgh and Cleveland, prides itself on not being “LA”-ish. This also explains why some point out the hypocrisy of adoring any NBA player for the $60 million dollar contracts one can secure in an inflated system.
Back to the Bad Boys.
Vinnie Johnson, the microwave, could come off the bench and score ten points in two minutes. It is said that Vinnie would have started for any team not named Detroit, LA, or Boston.
Adrian Dantley/Mark Aguirre played small forward. Dantley, a great player and rare scorer, was traded during this era to the Dallas Mavericks. Mark Aguirre was a childhood friend of Isaiah—they grew up on the tough streets of Chicago. Aguirre played at DePaul, Isaiah went to Indiana. The two remained close friends and it is thought of by most Detroit sports gurus that Isaiah demanded that Aguirre (his guy) be brought to the Bad Boys. Even if that meant parting with Dantley.
The post players for the Pistons were by “committee”. John Salley, from Georgia Tech, was an athletic shot blocker who brought swagger and confidence. I met Salley when I was in the seventh grade. I though he was a god. Then I touched his ring and I believed I’d received some of his deity. Dennis Rodman (before he went loco) was the energy, diving for loose balls, mixing it up with the other teams elite players. James “Buddha” Edwards was a seven foot small forward, raining fade-away jump shots from anywhere on the floor. Rick Mahorn was the muscles and grit. Bill Laimbeer was the hatchet man, Isaiah’s bodyguard and thug. Laimbeer, much to the chagrin of NBA enthusiasts, might be the best shooting seven footer (save Dirk) in the history of the league.
In all, the Pistons one back to back NBA Championships in 1989 and 1990. In ’89, the Pistons swept the Lakers, and in ’90 they defeated the Trail Blazers in five. The Pistons had to get past the mighty Boston Celtics, led by my earl childhood hero, Larry Bird. By now, ESPN has engrained this fact: every great team/player has to overcome another terrific team. The Celtics had to beat the 76ers. The Pistons had to beat the Celtics. The Bulls had to beat the Pistons. And on and on and on it goes.
Now, the Cavs have beaten the Pistons.
I’ve enjoyed watching, studying, and cheering for the second championship wave Pistons over the last five years. Who could ever forget their upset of Kobe and Shaq in the 2004 Finals, breaking up the best duo in the history of pro ball? Like the Bad Boys (who will be remembered for not shaking the Bulls hands after they swept the Pistons in ’91), there are things about this group I don’t care for (their haphazard attitude, Rasheed’s constant complaining)—but all in all, they have been a rare thing: a true team in an era of superstar promotion and attention.
Now it’s Nash (the best player in the world) Kobe, LeBron, DWade, and Dirk for the next several years. The problem with “team basketball” is that it’s too boring. That’s why the NBA is thrilled that the Pistons and Spurs will not be playing again in the Finals. It’s all about ratings. It’s all about money.
If I have a glaring idol in my life, it’s basketball. I fight it and fight it, and probably always will. “My name is Josh and I’m addicted to basketball.”
Basketball has been a huge part of my life. I’ve spent hours upon hours in the gym either a) practicing b) playing or c) watching (my father took my brother and I all over the state of Michigan when I was in middle school and high school watching other great players such as Chris Webber, Jalen Rose, Robert Traylor, and Howard Eisley). It was the afore mentioned Pistons who captured my imagination with passing, defense, emotion and raw guts.
As trite as it might sound, until five or six years ago, basketball gave me a purpose, something to concentrate on, something to consume my mind.
Basketball has also forged unshakable relationships. A young man can never forget his father spending an entire Saturday, as mine did, installing a light on top of the garage which neighbors came to detest claiming the light “lit up the entire street.” How many cold fall, winter and spring evenings did I spend in the driveway with my dad first shoveling snow (it’s Michigan) then working on 10ft, 12ft, 20 ft jumpshots? Too many to count. A thousand? Five thousand?
I’m still friends with one of my high school teammates, who became a much better college play than I, earning All-American his senior year for a team that was ranked number one in the country.
And I’ll always be close to the guys I played college hoops with, along with the coaching staff. I tell people that this team was one of the best examples of church I’ve ever experienced.
Perhaps that’s why I’ve enjoyed the last five years of my life—playing my last college basketball game in March of 2002. I’ve been able to find new passions: theology (which was emerging as I entered into college and sat at the feet of teachers like David Fleer, Dave Greer and Greg Stevenson), ministry in the church and with the poor, and writing.
Just to show you how engrained hoops is in my soul—I could not turn down the chance to coach college basketball when my friend Klint Pleasant invited me to join his staff at Abilene Christian University. Balancing grad school, work, and Kara (we’d just gotten engaged) proved too much—I only lasted one year at ACU before I returned to Nashville to finish seminary and work with my rabbi, John York.
So, if blogs have replaced journals than this is the closest I’m getting to painful confession. I love hoops. I am a recovering hoops addict. There, it’s out in the open.
I have been a Detroit Piston fan since the 1987-88 season—I was eight years old and the Pistons were the young, upstart team on the NBA block. They were formidable going into the ’87 season, but they were not yet feared.
Isaiah Thomas was the fearless leader. Pound for pound, Zeke is one of the best basketball players in the history of the game.
Joe Dumars was the glue: the team’s best defender and clutch three point shooter. Dumars, according to Michael Jordan, was the best defender he’d ever faced, period. Add to that Dumars character and integrity and you know why this unknown college player from McNeese State, and you can understand why he is one of Michigan’s most respected sports icons. In a blue collar town full of self-made men and women, Dumars epitomizes the Detroit ethos of effort and humility. This is why, for instance, Ben Wallace was adored during his time in the D. Detroit, like Pittsburgh and Cleveland, prides itself on not being “LA”-ish. This also explains why some point out the hypocrisy of adoring any NBA player for the $60 million dollar contracts one can secure in an inflated system.
Back to the Bad Boys.
Vinnie Johnson, the microwave, could come off the bench and score ten points in two minutes. It is said that Vinnie would have started for any team not named Detroit, LA, or Boston.
Adrian Dantley/Mark Aguirre played small forward. Dantley, a great player and rare scorer, was traded during this era to the Dallas Mavericks. Mark Aguirre was a childhood friend of Isaiah—they grew up on the tough streets of Chicago. Aguirre played at DePaul, Isaiah went to Indiana. The two remained close friends and it is thought of by most Detroit sports gurus that Isaiah demanded that Aguirre (his guy) be brought to the Bad Boys. Even if that meant parting with Dantley.
The post players for the Pistons were by “committee”. John Salley, from Georgia Tech, was an athletic shot blocker who brought swagger and confidence. I met Salley when I was in the seventh grade. I though he was a god. Then I touched his ring and I believed I’d received some of his deity. Dennis Rodman (before he went loco) was the energy, diving for loose balls, mixing it up with the other teams elite players. James “Buddha” Edwards was a seven foot small forward, raining fade-away jump shots from anywhere on the floor. Rick Mahorn was the muscles and grit. Bill Laimbeer was the hatchet man, Isaiah’s bodyguard and thug. Laimbeer, much to the chagrin of NBA enthusiasts, might be the best shooting seven footer (save Dirk) in the history of the league.
In all, the Pistons one back to back NBA Championships in 1989 and 1990. In ’89, the Pistons swept the Lakers, and in ’90 they defeated the Trail Blazers in five. The Pistons had to get past the mighty Boston Celtics, led by my earl childhood hero, Larry Bird. By now, ESPN has engrained this fact: every great team/player has to overcome another terrific team. The Celtics had to beat the 76ers. The Pistons had to beat the Celtics. The Bulls had to beat the Pistons. And on and on and on it goes.
Now, the Cavs have beaten the Pistons.
I’ve enjoyed watching, studying, and cheering for the second championship wave Pistons over the last five years. Who could ever forget their upset of Kobe and Shaq in the 2004 Finals, breaking up the best duo in the history of pro ball? Like the Bad Boys (who will be remembered for not shaking the Bulls hands after they swept the Pistons in ’91), there are things about this group I don’t care for (their haphazard attitude, Rasheed’s constant complaining)—but all in all, they have been a rare thing: a true team in an era of superstar promotion and attention.
Now it’s Nash (the best player in the world) Kobe, LeBron, DWade, and Dirk for the next several years. The problem with “team basketball” is that it’s too boring. That’s why the NBA is thrilled that the Pistons and Spurs will not be playing again in the Finals. It’s all about ratings. It’s all about money.
If I have a glaring idol in my life, it’s basketball. I fight it and fight it, and probably always will. “My name is Josh and I’m addicted to basketball.”
Basketball has been a huge part of my life. I’ve spent hours upon hours in the gym either a) practicing b) playing or c) watching (my father took my brother and I all over the state of Michigan when I was in middle school and high school watching other great players such as Chris Webber, Jalen Rose, Robert Traylor, and Howard Eisley). It was the afore mentioned Pistons who captured my imagination with passing, defense, emotion and raw guts.
As trite as it might sound, until five or six years ago, basketball gave me a purpose, something to concentrate on, something to consume my mind.
Basketball has also forged unshakable relationships. A young man can never forget his father spending an entire Saturday, as mine did, installing a light on top of the garage which neighbors came to detest claiming the light “lit up the entire street.” How many cold fall, winter and spring evenings did I spend in the driveway with my dad first shoveling snow (it’s Michigan) then working on 10ft, 12ft, 20 ft jumpshots? Too many to count. A thousand? Five thousand?
I’m still friends with one of my high school teammates, who became a much better college play than I, earning All-American his senior year for a team that was ranked number one in the country.
And I’ll always be close to the guys I played college hoops with, along with the coaching staff. I tell people that this team was one of the best examples of church I’ve ever experienced.
Perhaps that’s why I’ve enjoyed the last five years of my life—playing my last college basketball game in March of 2002. I’ve been able to find new passions: theology (which was emerging as I entered into college and sat at the feet of teachers like David Fleer, Dave Greer and Greg Stevenson), ministry in the church and with the poor, and writing.
Just to show you how engrained hoops is in my soul—I could not turn down the chance to coach college basketball when my friend Klint Pleasant invited me to join his staff at Abilene Christian University. Balancing grad school, work, and Kara (we’d just gotten engaged) proved too much—I only lasted one year at ACU before I returned to Nashville to finish seminary and work with my rabbi, John York.
So, if blogs have replaced journals than this is the closest I’m getting to painful confession. I love hoops. I am a recovering hoops addict. There, it’s out in the open.
31 May 2007
Florida
I have one measure for a good vacation: a stack of good books. Kara has one requirement for a good vacation: a beach on the ocean. So, you can picture me on vacation reading a bunch of books at the beach. Occasionally the old man (me) will venture into the ocean. Occasionally the young girl (Kara) will sit down to read a magazine…neither will give in too much to the other.
I also like scuba diving, good Mexican food, lots of access to Dr. Pepper, and a TV to watch the Pistons struggle through the NBA Playoffs. But, alas, if I have to choose one—give me some books.
On this trip, I’ll be reading The Kite Runner (Hosseini), Leaving Church (Barbara Brown Taylor), The Next Christendom (Jenkins), and No Future Without Forgiveness (Tutu). It’s a good lineup from top to bottom: a novel that’s received critical acclaim by several trusted friends (Kite Runner); a memoir of the paradox that is faith by a preacher/writer bar none and future professor of mine (Leaving Church); a scope of the globalization of Christianity, or…why Christianity isn’t about America and Europe anymore; And…Desmond Tutu’s account of one of the most fascinating achievements of the twentieth century: The Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa.
The truth is actually a bit deeper, I have two requirements for a good vacation: good books and Kara (not in that order).
I also like scuba diving, good Mexican food, lots of access to Dr. Pepper, and a TV to watch the Pistons struggle through the NBA Playoffs. But, alas, if I have to choose one—give me some books.
On this trip, I’ll be reading The Kite Runner (Hosseini), Leaving Church (Barbara Brown Taylor), The Next Christendom (Jenkins), and No Future Without Forgiveness (Tutu). It’s a good lineup from top to bottom: a novel that’s received critical acclaim by several trusted friends (Kite Runner); a memoir of the paradox that is faith by a preacher/writer bar none and future professor of mine (Leaving Church); a scope of the globalization of Christianity, or…why Christianity isn’t about America and Europe anymore; And…Desmond Tutu’s account of one of the most fascinating achievements of the twentieth century: The Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa.
The truth is actually a bit deeper, I have two requirements for a good vacation: good books and Kara (not in that order).
27 May 2007
Small Things
On Friday night, I and a group from the Rochester Church stayed the night with the South Oakland Shelter at St. Philip’s Episcopal Church. Over 70 people from our church worked with St. Philip’s to care, nurture, feed, and share our lives with the 30 or so guests now homeless, trying to get out of the cycle of poverty that is consumes many in the Detroit area.
It was a relatively normal night, at least compared to some of my other experiences. I and two other friends had the distinct honor of pulling an all-nighter—we were tagged security for the night. I learned how to play chess (how I’ve avoided learning this game is beyond me), talked about life, politics, etc.
Three young women were in the shelter with their children. It’s one thing to fend for yourself in those conditions; it’s another to fend for your family.
Charles, Mary, Lucky, Steve, LaKeisha, Justin, Edward, Norma, and Tammy among others. It might seem like a small thing, to give up one night of your week to care for the invisible people of Metro Detroit. But the Gospel is all about the small things. To paraphrase one of Christianity’s greatest ambassadors, “We cannot do big impressive things, only small insignificant things with great love.”
It was a relatively normal night, at least compared to some of my other experiences. I and two other friends had the distinct honor of pulling an all-nighter—we were tagged security for the night. I learned how to play chess (how I’ve avoided learning this game is beyond me), talked about life, politics, etc.
Three young women were in the shelter with their children. It’s one thing to fend for yourself in those conditions; it’s another to fend for your family.
Charles, Mary, Lucky, Steve, LaKeisha, Justin, Edward, Norma, and Tammy among others. It might seem like a small thing, to give up one night of your week to care for the invisible people of Metro Detroit. But the Gospel is all about the small things. To paraphrase one of Christianity’s greatest ambassadors, “We cannot do big impressive things, only small insignificant things with great love.”
25 May 2007
Ramblings...
Tonight, I am staying (with some close friends) at the SOS homeless shelter in downtown Rochester with St. Philip’s Episcopal Church. But before I do that, some reflections on a great week. I hope to be able to relay some of the stories from this week’s work between the Rochester Church and folks at St. Philip’s. More on that to come.
---
The Rochester College Sermon Seminar was a smashing success. Gail O’Day (from Emory University) stole the show with her lecture on friendship in the Gospel of John. She combined great scholarship with deep pastoral convictions.
Richard Hays was, well, Richard Hays—one of the real studs in New Testament studies. Greg Stevenson (RC professor and good friend) was the equivalent of a great Major League pitcher: He throws in the mid-90s, with a great change-up, and is able to stay with those two pitches for all nine innings. D’Esta Love was the first woman to preach at this event. Women scholars have presented for several years, but this was the first time a woman has delivered a focal homily. Tom Boomershine challenged me about the inherent nature of the text. David Fleer and Jerry Taylor also delivered powerful and imaginative sermon’s from John’s Gospel.
Overall, it was a stellar gathering; one of the best events that occurs in Churches of Christ. Where else do Methodists, Presbyterians, Baptists, Catholics, Churches of Christ, Community Church, and Episcopal leaders gather under the umbrella of intense study of Scripture?
---
Seven days until I and the most intelligent and beautiful woman on the planet take our first vacation in a long, long time. The stack of books I’ve ignored in my office are crying out to me.
---
The Tigers continue to win in impressive fashion. This weekend’s series with the Indians will be fascinating to watch. One could make the argument that Guillen, Ordonez and Polanco are the most dangerous trio in any MLB lineup.
---
I’m trying hard to stay interested in the Eastern Conference Finals. Though the Pistons are up 2-0, I find myself thinking one thing and one thing only as this series unfolds: The San Antonio Spurs may as well get their rings fitted for Duncan’s fourth NBA Championship—because it does not matter who comes out of the East the way these Spurs are playing.
I hope I’m wrong, I really do.
---
The Rochester College Sermon Seminar was a smashing success. Gail O’Day (from Emory University) stole the show with her lecture on friendship in the Gospel of John. She combined great scholarship with deep pastoral convictions.
Richard Hays was, well, Richard Hays—one of the real studs in New Testament studies. Greg Stevenson (RC professor and good friend) was the equivalent of a great Major League pitcher: He throws in the mid-90s, with a great change-up, and is able to stay with those two pitches for all nine innings. D’Esta Love was the first woman to preach at this event. Women scholars have presented for several years, but this was the first time a woman has delivered a focal homily. Tom Boomershine challenged me about the inherent nature of the text. David Fleer and Jerry Taylor also delivered powerful and imaginative sermon’s from John’s Gospel.
Overall, it was a stellar gathering; one of the best events that occurs in Churches of Christ. Where else do Methodists, Presbyterians, Baptists, Catholics, Churches of Christ, Community Church, and Episcopal leaders gather under the umbrella of intense study of Scripture?
---
Seven days until I and the most intelligent and beautiful woman on the planet take our first vacation in a long, long time. The stack of books I’ve ignored in my office are crying out to me.
---
The Tigers continue to win in impressive fashion. This weekend’s series with the Indians will be fascinating to watch. One could make the argument that Guillen, Ordonez and Polanco are the most dangerous trio in any MLB lineup.
---
I’m trying hard to stay interested in the Eastern Conference Finals. Though the Pistons are up 2-0, I find myself thinking one thing and one thing only as this series unfolds: The San Antonio Spurs may as well get their rings fitted for Duncan’s fourth NBA Championship—because it does not matter who comes out of the East the way these Spurs are playing.
I hope I’m wrong, I really do.
20 May 2007
Rochester College, Rasheed, Birthdays, and the Tigers
The next three days marks a highlight event of the year for me: the 10th Annual Rochester College Sermon Seminar. One of my key mentors in undergrad studies (David Fleer) is the director. This seminar has had such teachers as Fred Craddock, Tom Long, Barbara Brown Taylor, Will Willimon, Stanley Hauerwas, Charles Campbell, and Walter Brueggemann. Evangelicals, Main-line, and Roman Catholics have come together to study Scripture, wrestle with contemporary situations, creating unexpected community.
This is the final Sermon Seminar as David Fleer is going to be teaching and working at my alma mater (and Kara's favorite school), Lipscomb University. I feel at a loss to see a mentor and friend move, but I know he'll bless the school richly.
This year, I’m leading a panel discussion on “The Many Faces of Faith”—Sean Stockman helped me write, produce, and film this video. Sean is extremely talented and I learn something new each time I work with him.
This morning, Tom Boomershine taught a special adult class at the Rochester Church on the power of Scripture being heard thus experienced in community rather than read as a scientific document to be examined. It was a powerful morning indeed. It was interesting sitting next to Tom and Amelia (his wife) during our Mosaic worship gathering. You do not realize how low church/charismatic you are until you are in a tight space with an ordained Methodist minister and an ordained Methodist elder/scholar. I will post the link to his class in the coming days.
----------------------------
Tonight, several of our friends threw a surprise bday party for the most beautiful woman on the planet. It was a great time of food, conversation, jokes, and music. What would a gathering of friends be without music?
-----------------------------
The Pistons are one the path for a re-match against the Spurs. It would be sweet vindication to beat the Cavs (to the dismay of NBA officials who are enamored with King James) and then take down the Spurs. I’m not convinced it will happen, but the prospects are fun to consider. If Rasheed plays like he did in Game 6, the Pistons could have their second championship in four years.
Meanwhile, the Tigers continue to win despite having a depleted pitching staff.
As for the Red Wings, I’ve never gotten “hockey”—sorry, it’s too hard to follow the puck. If they make it to the Stanley Cup, I’ll be a frontrunner, cheering.
This is the final Sermon Seminar as David Fleer is going to be teaching and working at my alma mater (and Kara's favorite school), Lipscomb University. I feel at a loss to see a mentor and friend move, but I know he'll bless the school richly.
This year, I’m leading a panel discussion on “The Many Faces of Faith”—Sean Stockman helped me write, produce, and film this video. Sean is extremely talented and I learn something new each time I work with him.
This morning, Tom Boomershine taught a special adult class at the Rochester Church on the power of Scripture being heard thus experienced in community rather than read as a scientific document to be examined. It was a powerful morning indeed. It was interesting sitting next to Tom and Amelia (his wife) during our Mosaic worship gathering. You do not realize how low church/charismatic you are until you are in a tight space with an ordained Methodist minister and an ordained Methodist elder/scholar. I will post the link to his class in the coming days.
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Tonight, several of our friends threw a surprise bday party for the most beautiful woman on the planet. It was a great time of food, conversation, jokes, and music. What would a gathering of friends be without music?
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The Pistons are one the path for a re-match against the Spurs. It would be sweet vindication to beat the Cavs (to the dismay of NBA officials who are enamored with King James) and then take down the Spurs. I’m not convinced it will happen, but the prospects are fun to consider. If Rasheed plays like he did in Game 6, the Pistons could have their second championship in four years.
Meanwhile, the Tigers continue to win despite having a depleted pitching staff.
As for the Red Wings, I’ve never gotten “hockey”—sorry, it’s too hard to follow the puck. If they make it to the Stanley Cup, I’ll be a frontrunner, cheering.
16 May 2007
You Would Do What?
Recently, I went to lunch with two friends and an acquaintance, Jeff Patton. Jeff is a hard guy to describe. Prophet is really the only word I know that comes close. Jeff talked about a lot of things with us over chips and salsa and quesadillas. Everything from preaching to politics, immigration to the recovery process of clergy post seminary (moving from experts to pastors).
At one point in the conversation, Jeff quipped: “Did you know the ten largest churches in the world are not in the West? They are in places like China, South Korea, Peru, and West Africa? Here in the U.S. we are impressed is a church can get a thousand people into a building on a Sunday morning. In some of these churches (in the margins—my word) they have tens of thousands meeting several times a week in homes, underground and above.”
After sipping on some (ok, a lot) Dr. Pepper, Jeff turned to me and said:
“Imagine this scenario. A man walks into your office completely at the end of his rope, he’s hit rock bottom. His annual salary, before losing his job, was $250k. In a span of 30 days, this man spent over $100k on alcohol, gambling, and food. That’s one hundred thousand dollars… His wife left him and took their children. He’s lost his house, cars…everything and now lives on the streets and in shelters sorting rags for $25 a week. This guy walks into your office and tells you this information, how would you respond?”
I thought for a minute, cutting through all the weak answers I could offer.
One person at the table chimed in, “I’d tell him to call someone who cares.”
I immediately felt something inside saying, “Ok, that’s not the best answer.”
So, I attempted to respond to my prophetic peer. “I would ask him if he wants to stop drinking.” I come from a family where alcohol addiction has been talked about openly. I know the first rule to addiction is that the addict has to desire change. “If he’s serious about changing, then I can help him.”
Jeff abruptly responded, “You all are such Westerners. I asked my friend from Africa what he would do and he said he’d grab the man right then and there in the office and start praying that God would release his soul from the bondage and captivity that was oppressing him. I don’t care if he wanted me to or not. I’m a Christian and I believe in the power and authority of Jesus.”
He continued much to my dismay.
“So, the next time this guy came into my office, that’s what I did.” Apparently this was a real situation!
“I grabbed him and started praying for the Holy Spirit to invade his life and create transformation, real change.”
“What happened?”
“I grabbed the guy as hard as I could, hanging on to him, praying with passion and fervor.”
“Then what?” I was quite the reporter.
“He ran screaming into the night.”
“Oh.”
“But you see…it’s not about being successful, it’s about being faithful.”
At one point in the conversation, Jeff quipped: “Did you know the ten largest churches in the world are not in the West? They are in places like China, South Korea, Peru, and West Africa? Here in the U.S. we are impressed is a church can get a thousand people into a building on a Sunday morning. In some of these churches (in the margins—my word) they have tens of thousands meeting several times a week in homes, underground and above.”
After sipping on some (ok, a lot) Dr. Pepper, Jeff turned to me and said:
“Imagine this scenario. A man walks into your office completely at the end of his rope, he’s hit rock bottom. His annual salary, before losing his job, was $250k. In a span of 30 days, this man spent over $100k on alcohol, gambling, and food. That’s one hundred thousand dollars… His wife left him and took their children. He’s lost his house, cars…everything and now lives on the streets and in shelters sorting rags for $25 a week. This guy walks into your office and tells you this information, how would you respond?”
I thought for a minute, cutting through all the weak answers I could offer.
One person at the table chimed in, “I’d tell him to call someone who cares.”
I immediately felt something inside saying, “Ok, that’s not the best answer.”
So, I attempted to respond to my prophetic peer. “I would ask him if he wants to stop drinking.” I come from a family where alcohol addiction has been talked about openly. I know the first rule to addiction is that the addict has to desire change. “If he’s serious about changing, then I can help him.”
Jeff abruptly responded, “You all are such Westerners. I asked my friend from Africa what he would do and he said he’d grab the man right then and there in the office and start praying that God would release his soul from the bondage and captivity that was oppressing him. I don’t care if he wanted me to or not. I’m a Christian and I believe in the power and authority of Jesus.”
He continued much to my dismay.
“So, the next time this guy came into my office, that’s what I did.” Apparently this was a real situation!
“I grabbed him and started praying for the Holy Spirit to invade his life and create transformation, real change.”
“What happened?”
“I grabbed the guy as hard as I could, hanging on to him, praying with passion and fervor.”
“Then what?” I was quite the reporter.
“He ran screaming into the night.”
“Oh.”
“But you see…it’s not about being successful, it’s about being faithful.”
14 May 2007
Chutzpah
Thanks to my friend Wade for suggesting The Burning Word by Judith Kunst. I’ve been doing extra reading the last year or so in Jewish studies. I find Jewish approaches to faith, community, interpretation and creation to be refreshing and invigorating. If you are looking for a place to start that’s not too intimidating, I suggest you read Girl Meets God by Lauren F. Winner. I have had the privilege of working with Lauren at two ZOE Conferences recently—she’s simply one of the best Christian writers I know of. She was raised Jewish, and in many ways, still considers herself as such. She is also a follower of Yeshua (Jesus), which means she’s had to think carefully about the relationship of Judaism and Christianity.
Back to The Burning Word…here’s a story from the Talmud about Abraham. I used this story recently to describe the word chutzpah—rare bravery in the face of opposition (think valor or courage).
“…Abraham was pious too, though not quite so well behaved. In fact, one legend holds, he was prone to rather violent confrontations with heresy, even when the heretic was his own father,” (Judith Kunst in The Burning Word, 99):
Abraham’s father was an idol maker. He would make stone images and sell them in a shop in the market. One day, Abraham’s father asked him to watch over the idols in his shop while he was away. While he was gone, Abraham seized a stick, smashed all the statues, and placed the stick in the hand of the biggest of them. When his father came back, he asked: “Who did this to the gods?” Abraham answered: “The biggest of them rose up and smashed all the others.” His father replied: “Are you making fun of me? They cannot do anything! They are merely pieces of stone!” Abraham answered: “Let your ears hear what your mouth is saying!” (From Genesis Rabbah).
Back to The Burning Word…here’s a story from the Talmud about Abraham. I used this story recently to describe the word chutzpah—rare bravery in the face of opposition (think valor or courage).
“…Abraham was pious too, though not quite so well behaved. In fact, one legend holds, he was prone to rather violent confrontations with heresy, even when the heretic was his own father,” (Judith Kunst in The Burning Word, 99):
Abraham’s father was an idol maker. He would make stone images and sell them in a shop in the market. One day, Abraham’s father asked him to watch over the idols in his shop while he was away. While he was gone, Abraham seized a stick, smashed all the statues, and placed the stick in the hand of the biggest of them. When his father came back, he asked: “Who did this to the gods?” Abraham answered: “The biggest of them rose up and smashed all the others.” His father replied: “Are you making fun of me? They cannot do anything! They are merely pieces of stone!” Abraham answered: “Let your ears hear what your mouth is saying!” (From Genesis Rabbah).
08 May 2007
Pepperdine, College Church, Pistons
I just returned from being in California at the Pepperdine Lectures (I'm still trying to get back on this thing called Eastern Standard Time). One of the highlights for the trip, besides being with my wife for a rare occasion on a trip such as this, was spending time with the College Church of Christ in Fresno, CA.
College Church might be one of the most diverse Churches of Christ in the country with members and leaders in its family ranging from white, black, Hispanic, Jamaican, Hawaiian and Asian (Chinese, Japanese, and Hmong). And…they are the only Church of Christ I know that has a female worship leader, Sandra Henderson.
I first met this church while teaching for a ZOE Conference. It has been a blessing to see the many ways in which God is at work in churches all over.
In other news, I owe the Pistons a public apology. I told a good friend and sports confidant recently that I am certain the Pistons are near the end of their glorious NBA Playoff run (Nearly five consecutive Eastern Conference Finals, two NBA Finals appearances, one championship).
Well, it turns out I might be wrong. Thanks to Ben Wallace and the (very) Baby Bulls, the Pistons seemed to have found the edge and focus they boasted in 2004 when they defeated Kobe and Shaq and in 2005 when they nearly upset the Spurs after going down 2-0.
Hats off to Chauncey, Rip, Rasheed, Tay, C-Webb et al—they are handling these playoffs like true pros. I hope they have one more championship run in them. And…I hope Joe Dumars can figure out a way to bring Chauncey back after the summer.
College Church might be one of the most diverse Churches of Christ in the country with members and leaders in its family ranging from white, black, Hispanic, Jamaican, Hawaiian and Asian (Chinese, Japanese, and Hmong). And…they are the only Church of Christ I know that has a female worship leader, Sandra Henderson.
I first met this church while teaching for a ZOE Conference. It has been a blessing to see the many ways in which God is at work in churches all over.
In other news, I owe the Pistons a public apology. I told a good friend and sports confidant recently that I am certain the Pistons are near the end of their glorious NBA Playoff run (Nearly five consecutive Eastern Conference Finals, two NBA Finals appearances, one championship).
Well, it turns out I might be wrong. Thanks to Ben Wallace and the (very) Baby Bulls, the Pistons seemed to have found the edge and focus they boasted in 2004 when they defeated Kobe and Shaq and in 2005 when they nearly upset the Spurs after going down 2-0.
Hats off to Chauncey, Rip, Rasheed, Tay, C-Webb et al—they are handling these playoffs like true pros. I hope they have one more championship run in them. And…I hope Joe Dumars can figure out a way to bring Chauncey back after the summer.
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