A Jesus Story . . .

Two men decide to go to church one Sunday. One is a preacher, the other, a biker.

The preacher gets to church early. He turns his computer on in his cozy office. He checks over his notes one last time, combing every last detail and transition. Feeling a twinge of doubt creep into his gut he looks up at his wall to view his theology degrees hanging in great pride.

The preacher walks into the sanctuary prepared for worship. He holds his hands high in the air and declares, “God, thank-you for making me a leader of leaders. I teach, tithe, and volunteer with the homeless. It’s good to be me.”

The other man, the biker, comes into the worship service ten minutes late. Several pairs of eyes meet his. He doesn’t fit the church-going look. Unsure of where to sit, the biker walks close to the front—greasy jeans, tattoos, big black boots and all. As he walks toward the front the chain attached to his hip smacks against his leather coat.

During one of the worship songs (“Who would’ve thought that a lamb would rescue the souls of men?”), the biker drops his head, and presses his right hand against his chest. “God, I sure have made a mess of my life—please, please, forgive me.”

Two men went to church to pray. One was a minister with all the right credentials. The other was a man who loved Harley’s more than the air in his lungs. The man who’d lived a hard life went home justified. The minister just went home. Why? Jesus gives us the answer, “For whoever thinks highly of himself will be humbled. Whoever is humbled will be justified.”

Jesus told that story. It’s in Luke’s gospel. I like it, but some stories Jesus told really irritate me. Actually, some stories haunt me, and keep me up at night. Christianity becomes something different when Jesus begins to keep you up at night. It’s one thing when the Tigers or your shopping list keeps you awake. It’s another when it’s Jesus that won’t allow you a peaceful night’s rest.

Pain

I'm back from spending a few days in Tulsa. The workshop was a great event. Terry Rush, Danna T. et al do a remarkable job putting such a big event together. They truly have the spiritual gift of organization. Also, I have to give a shout-out (that's what we say in Detroit) to the Priest family. Not only are they great lunch partners, their hospitality knows no bounds.

---

Here's another great snippet from Levine's The Misunderstood Jew (see two posts ago). Towards the end of the book she tells a rabbinic tale from the nineteenth century which recalls a conversation between two neighbors. This conversation serves to remind Christians and Jews that true reconciliation will only happen under one condition . . .

The first said: "Tell me, friend Ivan, do you love me?"
The second: "I love you deeply."
The first: "Do you know, my friend, what gives me pain?"
The second: How can I, pray, know what gives you pain?"
The first: "If you do not know what gives me pain, how can you say that you truly love me?"

"Understand, then, my sons," continues the teacher, "to love, truly to love, means to know what brings pain to your comrade."

. . . true reconciliation happens when we know what "pains" our neighbor.

Live from Tulsa . . .

I'm in Tulsa for a few days speaking at the Tulsa Workshop. It is supposed to be 80 degrees today. I know, please pray for me as I endure this time of trial and tribulation. P-Middy and I are doing the keynote together tonight. Should be intersting!

----

Here are my top five favorite American cities based on where I'd like to live (culture, diversity, sports, museums, university access, vibe, friends, family, etc.).

5. New York
4. Dallas
3. Atlanta
2. Nashville
1. Detroit (though I may not always live here, it will always be home)

What are your top five? (Denver just misses out at #6)

The Queen of One-Liners Lives in My House

Josh: "Kara. Ever since I turned 29, I feel old. Every time I look in the mirror, it's like I don't recognize myself. It's got me down and depressed."

Kara: "Really? I'm sorry honey."

Josh: "Yeah . . . ahh . . . what should I do? I'm down. "

Kara: "Don't look in the mirror."

NCAA Tourney

The three weeks that comprise the NCAA Hoops Tourney is superior to almost any other sport (save the NBA Finals).

I heard this on ESPN last night. Of the 3.1 million brackets submitted, only 12 predicted the current Sweet 16.

That's crazy. Actually, that's madness. That's why this time of year has become a cultural phenomenon.

Easter

Since eighth grade, I've collected quotes. Here are a few that have been on my mind lately. 

I love this quote from Bono. "I'm a believer, but religion is the thing when God, like Elvis, has left the building. But when God is in the house, you get something else. I'm happy in a Catholic cathedral or a tent show down in the South with gospel music."

I like this quote from Dr. King. "Human salvation lies in the hands of the creatively maladjusted."

I am still trying to fully understand this line from Annie Dillard. I really like Annie Dillard. "So once in Israel love came to us incarnate, stood in the doorway between two worlds, and we were all afraid."

--------

I re-told the story of the resurrection in John's Gospel four times today (three times at Rochester Church of Christ and once at Christ Church: Macomb). Here's the thing that strikes me every time: In the Gospel of John, women are key characters in the narrative. Jesus' mother initiates his public ministry (ch.2); Jesus reveals his true identity to a scandalous woman (ch. 4); Jesus stands up to the religious power-brokers who want justice over mercy (ch. 8); and Jesus tells Mary and Martha "I am the Resurrection and the Life," (ch. 11). 

We should not be surprised that Mary Magdalene is tending the tomb (ch. 20). She does not equate an empty tomb with resurrection. Yet, she wants to remain near Jesus, because, he is "the Lord."

Jesus comes to her as a gardener. He speaks her name and she instantly knows who stands in her midst.

Unlike the men of power (Pharisees, Sadducees, Herodians), and the men concerned with reputation (disciples)--the women in Jesus' day had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Perhaps, that kind of sociological "thing" happens today. 

But those are the questions we usually avoid asking. 

Jesus Was Not Russian

One of the benefits of doing my grad work at Lipscomb (in Nashville) was access to the Divinity Library at Vanderbilt, just a few miles down the road. Known as one of the best theological libraries in the United States, my “clergy” card got me unlimited access to every journal and book I wanted to get my nerdy hands on. I spent many a Saturday afternoons in a little cubby with a stack of books on theology, history, geography, etc. I said my hands belonged to those of a full-fledge nerd.

It was there, that some of the students told me about a prof from Vandy named Amy-Jill Levine.
I’ve finally been able to dive into her work (some three years later) and I’m kicking myself for waiting this long. She's one of the leading scholars of our time.

Levine is Jewish, but teaches New Testament background at Vandy. In a recent book, The Misunderstood Jew, Levine highlights and emphasizes the “scandal of particularity”—the historical context in which God became flesh. Here are a few sound bytes.

“ . . . The time and place therefore matter. Christianity follows Jesus of Nazareth, not Jesus of Cleveland or Jesus of Mexico City; the incarnation dates to the first century, not the twenty-first. Further, the Jewish tradition into which Jesus was born and the Christian tradition that developed in his name were ‘historical religions,’ that is, their foundational events took place in history and on earth . . .”

Regarding the development of Christianity, “At this point, matters get dicey. To preach to Jews the idea of a crucified messiah is dangerous enough, or, as Paul puts it, a ‘scandal.’ To speak of the ‘son of God’ or ‘god from god’ or ‘savior’ and to mean Jesus rather than Caesar (for these were titles given to the Roman emperor) was to suggest disloyalty to the state. To tell Gentiles that there were certain religious or social practices that they would have to give up was not only ‘folly’; it was seditious.”

All around the planet two billion people will celebrate the Jewish Prophet from Nazareth who died for Israel and Gentile alike. The Jewish man on whom the destiny of the world depends. The one who transformed the cross of condemnation into the cross of hope.

Wineskins Interview

Here's an interview I did for Wineskins Magazine. Dry Bones Ministry is absolutely powerful and compelling. 

Kierkegaard and the NCAA Tourney

The Luke-Acts course I’m teaching this semester had to wrestle with this little ditty tonight from Soren Kierkegaard, whom scholars and preachers love to quote, “ . . . sermons should not be preached in churches. It harms Christianity in a high degree and alters its very nature, that it brought into artistic remoteness from reality, instead of being heard in the midst of real life, and that precisely for the sake of conflict (the collision). For all this talk about quiet, about quiet places and quiet hours, as the right element of Christianity, is absurd. So then sermons should not be preached in churches but in the street, in the midst of life, of the reality of daily life, weekday life.”

Is Kierkegaard right?

---------

Kansas/Carolina
Kansas
Duke/Texas
Duke
Kansas over Duke

Is Josh right?

1979, 1997, 2008

The year was 1997. I was eighteen years old. Because my brother, Jason, was my twin, he was subsequently the same age. Those two go together in this discussion.

The month was August. It was, if I recall accurately, a hot muggy Michigan Summer day. The kind you long for on a cold March Thursday as the writer looks out his window and still sees several inches of snow on the ground.

Back to August, 1997. A large R.V. is parked in the driveway. It’s full of Jason’s belongings: trophies from tennis, John Stockton memorabilia, posters, shoes, belts, tennis gear, nice clothes (Jason’s always had a taste for good clothing), photos, and tennis rackets.

The R.V. under examination is bound for Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Specifically: Oklahoma Christian University in Edmond. Jason has accepted a scholarship to play tennis for the N.A.I.A powerhouse.

Josh, (the other side of the “twin coin”) cannot bring himself to getting on the R.V. He knows why he can’t but he’s too proud and scared to articulate this to anyone in his family. Mom and Dad load the R.V. with their normal zeal and passion. Then, they look at Josh and say, “We’re about to leave Josh. Come say good-bye to your brother.” Those words pierced a portion of Josh’s heart that had been off limits to even Josh himself.

With those words, eighteen years of callousness, sibling rivalry, and good ol’ fashion competition came crashing down like an unexpected avalanche in Aspen. I could not speak. I could barely breathe. I could not move. My body and spirit were paralyzed.

This was Jason we’re talking about. This is the biological play-mate provided by God himself. This was my great ally and my great foe for eighteen years. This was the brother who spent hours in the driveway playing one-on-one basketball until one of us came inside the house with a bloody nose or a black eye. This was the brother who rushed the court as the clock went to zero when I won a state tournament basketball game against our bitter rival, Chippewa Valley High School. This was the guy I’d shared a tiny room with for seventeen of those eighteen years.

This was the man who once chased me around the house with a weapon of mass destruction (which shall not be revealed) leaving me convinced that he was much crazier than I. This was the young boy whom I fought for when kids in our neighborhood started calling him “four-eyes” (one of the more clever childhood sound-bytes in my opinion). And these are the merely the memories I’m allowed to say in public.

For the first eighteen years of my life, I was a poor friend to Jason. I teased him. Pushed him. Mocked. Provoked. Chided. I cannot recall ever showing any emotion towards him that could have been construed “love.” I’m sure that’s not true, but I honestly can’t remember.

That all changed in August of 1997.

As the R.V. pulled out of the driveway to make the long trek from Detroit to Oklahoma City (may as well have been Spain)—I realized that one of God’s greatest gifts was slipping through my fingers.

And I did something I had not done up until that point in my young life. I sat down in the living room of the house which sat at the corner of Michelle Ann St. and Elena Marie St. No one was home save me. Just me and a thousand memories; a million regrets. This is why many Jewish thinkers remind us that "memory is God's great gift and curse to mankind."

I sat on the floor and wept. Hard. Loud. For a long time.

I did not “cry”, shed a tear, or “tear-up” (as Kara likes to say)—those terms domesticate what I did. I wept bitterly. I wept for what felt like two or three hours. I still can’t possibly put into words the suffocating feeling that consumed me that August afternoon in 1997.

But I do know this. Since that day, our relationship changed permanently. Now, we would express our love daily. Now we would encourage each other. Now we would root for each other. Now, we would think of the other one first instead of our own individual need. Now, things were different. Now, we had space. And space, if nothing else, creates perspective. And perspective allows the possibility for change.

I’ve sought the forgiveness of my brother for the way in which I treated him. Now, I consider him my close friend, mentor, cheerleader, coach, and confidant. Moreover, I learned to change in all of my other relationships because of my relationship with Jason.

God does his best work through the people he places in our lives.

It’s no longer 1997. Thank God that in 1979, twenty-nine years ago today, (March 13th to be precise), Katherine and Phil Graves found out that she’d had, not one child, as the doctor had promised, but two. Two boys who’d put her through all kinds of drama, joy, stress, hope and chaos. Two boys, however, who, no matter what, decided that it was in the cards for them to do life together, come hell or high water.

I Only Play Gospel

Friday night was our last night to stay in Cass Park, a place I’ve written about on several different occasions. Friday night is the night we came back from hosting an “emerging artists” night at Hope Community Church on the east side of Detroit.

Before we left, we invited some of our friends who live in Cass Park to come with us to the concert. Two (Chris and Elena) said, “Sure. Count us in.” It was truly a magical night. We experienced worship, slam poetry, guitar solos—it was as powerful a night as I’ve been a part of in a long time.

After the festivities, I did not have the heart to drop our friends from Cass Park back off at their pre-selected shelter. I just couldn’t, in that gut-driven moment, believe that Jesus would drop off his friends back at the shelter after a night of experiencing God as the original artist.

“Eleya. Chris. Y’all want to hang out with us. Play some more music.”
“You know it Bishop Josh,” (that’s what Chris calls me).

We stayed up until 3a.m. playing hymns, worship on the piano and drums. At one point, I looked at Chris and said, “Hey man . . . let’s do some Ray Charles. ‘Georgia . . .Georgia . . The whole day through.’”

“Nah,” Chris replied. “I only play Gospel.”

Both friends stayed the night with us. By the time I woke up Saturday morning, Chris was gone. All his stuff packed as if he'd been sent by God to bless us and leave before the morning sun appeared on the horizon.

Love

A good friend of mine sent this to me recenly. Anyone else think of B.B. King's "When Love Comes to Town" when viewing this photo?

The Bible and The Color of Water

Tonight, I begin co-teaching Luke-Acts for ministry majors at Rochester College. I usually begin the class the way I was taught by one close friend: we talk about Scripture.

I will inevitably talk about two important elements of reading and interpreting the Bible. By the way, simply reading is interpretation. First, we’ll discuss location. Physical location is crucial for, as is the case with real estate, it’s all about location, location, location. Where you read shapes what you read. Most people read the bible individually in a cozy space. However, what if you read, for instance, Jesus words about wealth and simplicity in the slums of Calcutta? Or the suburbs of Dallas, Texas? One’s physical location directly determines one’s “found meaning.”

Also, we will discuss social location. Who you are, shapes what you read. I’ve now taught for three years at the college level with students from all different perspectives. I can tell you that white men read the bible quite differently than black women (just one example). The point: we must read the bible in various spaces with various people to experience the rich depth and power of God’s story. I will never forget the time an African American female student twice my age stood up after I retold the Ruth/Boaz story and declared, "Josh, I'm still looking for my Boaz."

After talking about “location” we’ll discuss “nature.” I’ll deconstruct the myth that the bible is a rule-book or collection of timeless principles and (attempt to) make the case that the Bible was meant to be reading as a holy unfolding drama in which you and I are just as vital to the Message as was Lydia, Phoebe, Paul, and Peter.

----

I was able to read The Color of Water last week during the early morning hours of life in the city. It’s an amazing piece of American cultural life. This biography is about the life of a white Jewish woman who marries a black man during the 1940’s in New York City and her subsequent journey of raising “mixed” children in a politically divisive world. The author, James McBride, is the product of this woman’s determination and love for he is one of her sons.

The book challenges many assumptions that under-girds politics in these United States, both left and right, political and conservative. It’s a story of family, suffering, poverty, identity, faith, Jesus, and hope. I suggest it to anyone wrestling with the question, “What does it mean to be human?”

The "D"

I just returned from our annual Rochester College/Rochester Church of Christ Urban Formation Week.

It was, to say the least, a great week. I'm worn out. 

I'll write more in the coming days (I think).

For now . . . I'll simply say this. Perhaps more than most places, Detroit is the ultimate paradox. There is an abundance of life, creativity, history, energy, diversity, talent, light and hope. And yet, there is an equal amount of death, stagnation, despair, idleness, homogeneous tribalism, darkness, and depression. I love Detroit and I mourn for Detroit--all in the same breath. 

God is on the move. I saw that truth up close and personal.

Out of the ashes . . . God does his best work.  

Confession and Baptism

Carol Bates, a woman who's visited our church for the last several months and studied on Tuesday afternoons with yours truly, was baptized tonight. After the pre-baptism instruction, a few nervous jokes, one powerful confession, the actual baptism, a few prayers from friends a reading from the New Testament, Carol looked at me and said, "You asked me if I believed that Jesus was the son of God."

Yes, I remembered asking her this question as it happened approximately 90 seconds previously.

A pause ensued. I didn't know what would come next. After all, Carol and I had discussed many elements of faith (suffering, incarnation, hope, Israel) in our Tuesday study time. Was she regretting her decision already? Was she unsure?

She calmed my ill-founded fears in the next breath.

"Well . . . it's taken me my whole life to be able to answer that question. Seriously. My whole life. My answer is yes. Josh, my answer is yes."

---

Last Sunday, Andrew, a young adult from our church, was also baptized. He read a powerful statement of faith to the entire gathered community. He was a little nervous being under the watchful eye of so many. Plus, his entire family was present. But he spoke powerfully of the necessity to make this public declaration.

After his baptism he squeezed me so hard I thought all the blood in my body was going to push up to my head. Lukcily, I survived with all my motor skills in proper working fashion.

I think baptism is the greatest confession. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense. I mean, letting someone hold you under water in front of a room full of people. Now, that's faith.

One Master Writer

I consider Anne Lamott to be one of the best spiritual writers of our day. Traveling Mercies, Plan B, and Bird by Bird have been great models of spiritual writing done well while avoiding the pitfalls of fundamentalism (that tends to use religious words the way a bowler smokes cigarettes) and liberalism (avoiding sacred words at all costs so that faith becomes the psychological equivalent of "differentiation.")

"I wish I had a secret I could let you in on, some formula my father passed on to me in a whisper just before he died, some code word that has enabled me to sit at my desk and land flights of creative inspiration like and air-traffic controller. But I don’t. All I know is that the process is pretty much the same for almost everyone I know. The good news is that some days it feels like you just have to keep getting out of your own way to write it. It is a little like when you have something difficult to discuss with someone, and as you go to do it, you hope and pray that the right words will come if only you show up and make a stab at it. And often the right words do come, and you—well—“write” for a while; you put a lot of thoughts down on paper. But the bad news is that if you’re at all like me, you’ll probably read over what you’ve written and spend the rest of the day obsessing, and praying that you do not die before you can completely rewrite or destroy what you have written, lest the eagerly waiting world learn how bad your first drafts are." From Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird, pg. 7-8

Upside Down Leadership

If you want to be a viable Christian leader in the emerging postmodern world you have no other option than to practice what you preach. The days of Star Search Leadership (when people followed because the leader was slick or dynamic) are dead. And that's a good thing.

Period.

Some churches are led by ministers/leaders who do not consistently put themselves in risky “scenarios”—their intellectual faith might be strong, but the embodiment of said faith is non-existent. And, at last, Christians and non-Christians alike are calling their bluff.

I’m preparing to lead an urban plunge formation retreat this coming week to downtown Detroit. For an entire week, we’ll be living in Cass Park at the Hope Baptist Center with a group of Christians from Michigan State University and Grand Valley State University.

Myself and several college students/young adults from Rochester College and Rochester Church of Christ will spend our time: working with a diverse church (Hope Community Church), volunteering in shelters, attending worship gatherings with diverse groups of believers, hearing lectures/presentations on the history and “world” of Detroit, social class simulations, museums, one underground railroad visit, repairing homes, Love Feast in Cass Park (our normal tradition), tutoring for students, reading, journaling, hosting a music conference, sleeping in shelters, living among the homeless in Hart Plaza and hosting a basketball tourney with a local church (you know who’s excited about that).

These are some of the things we’ll be engaged in throughout our stay.

This is an urban spiritual formation retreat. The focus is on the spiritual development of those who’ve given their week to hear the rhythms of Jesus’ teaching and how they intersect with the rhythms of life in a complicated city like Detroit. This is not about “fixing” Detroit. It’s about understanding what God might in fact already be doing.

This is the third urban spiritual formation trip I’ve led. The last two were hosted in the Bronx. Now, we take seriously the call of God to be immersed in our own backyard.

Pray for us.

-----------------------

Last night, 30 of us from my church gathered in a home to say “good-bye” to one of our beloved sisters in Christ. This new follower is going to join a holistic community in Arizona to focus on her emotion, spiritual and psychological self.

The blessing time was amazing. Skaters. Preachers. College Students. Auto Executives. Uncles. Family. Young Adults.

All under the liberating name of Jesus blessing our fellow sister to find out what it is in this life that “makes her come alive.” For the world needs people who’ve come alive.

Will the Real Jesus Please Stand Up?

In, Brian D. McLaren’s A Generous Orthodoxy, written a few years back, he sketches the “seven different depictions of Jesus in his faith journey.” On page 64, he includes this summary:

1. Conservative Protestant: The human race is guilty of sin therefore Jesus’ death pays the full penalty for human sin.

2. Pentecostal: The human race is held down by disease and poverty. Jesus teaches us to receive miracles and healings from God through faith in God’s promises.

3. Roman Catholic: The human race is enslaved by the fear of death. Jesus’ resurrection defeats death and liberates humanity.

4. Eastern Orthodox: The human race is spiritually sick and needs healing; it has dropped out of the “dance” of creation. Jesus’ entry (or incarnation) into humanity and history brings God’s healing to the human race and all of creation.

5. Liberal Protestant: The human race suffers from ignorance of the teachings and ways of Christ. Jesus’ example and teachings inspire us to work compassionately for social justice.

6. Anabaptist: The human race is divided and violent and needs to learn the ways of Christ in community. Jesus convenes a learning community of disciples who seek to model lives of love and peace.

7. Liberation (nonviolent): Humanity is oppressed by corrupt powers, systems and regimes. Jesus commissions and leads bands of activists to confront unjust regimes and make room for the Shalom of God.

Growing up, I saw Jesus as #1. In High School, because I lived in suburban Detroit, I began to appreciate #3. My first two years of college were all about #2. My last years of undergrad and first year of seminary were focused on Jesus #5. Second year of seminary was #6. The last year of seminary was #7. For the last three years, I've been preaching and (attempting) living out a combination of Jesus #7, #4.

-----------------------------------
I don't think any one version or emphasis is necessarily "better" than the other. In fact, I don't think I would've appreciated Liberation Jesus had I not been raised in a family that worshipped Jesus #1.

Which Jesus do you currently subscribe to? Which one would you like to learn more about? Is there one that you deem "heresy"?

Shaun Hover

Serving a local church if full of failure and success. In fact, the failures often seem to outnumber the success stories by a good margin.

When God does get a hold of a persons life, it's important to share those stories. In less than 8 months, Shaun Hover went from local skateboard legend with no purpose, drifting through life to local skateboard legend sharing the ancient story of God with the people of China.

Above are some pictures of Shaun's recent missionary journey to China. To read two posts I've written about Shaun click here and here. Tomorrow, Shaun will lead our church to Christ's table for the Lord's Supper, reminding all of us, that the story of Jesus is good news for everyone.

Praying for Kenya

A dear friend of mine, Henry Oyer, sent this to me earlier in the week. Henry is a leader in our local church, with an incredible kingdom perspective. Henry is from Nairobi, Kenya. To read more about what's happening in Kenya, click here.

Jambo!

Most of you are familiar with the situation on in Kenya. After spending a good Christmas party with the homeless kids, this was immediately after the election, most part of the country turned into a battle zones, I was there when everything just started. I could tell from the people that they would love to switch their positions with me. I remember a gentleman at the airport stated to me that "you are lucky you are leaving, it's going to be really bad here, and where are we going to go?" he asked. I didn't know what to tell the gentleman, I was just as confused as he was. Of course going to the States was so much better than staying in Kenya.

I will never forget the sadness and uncertainty I saw on the people's eyes there. Here I was, with my ticket heading back and the plane was leaving in a few hours. It was tough and still is. I think of everyone at home, I spend so sometimes trying to reach them but the phone would be ringing some but no one will pick it up. When I wake up in the morning I don't hear gun shots like I did in Nairobi, we used to watch the 7 o'clock news at night in Kenya and we would see people on the streets shooting each other in countries like Somalia, Ethiopia and Sudan but never thought it will one day come this close to us. I probably don't have the right words to express the feeling of my people who are there right now, I don't worry when I drive down the main roads M-59 or I-75 that I maybe stopped or pulled over by the militia group to check what tribe am I from (NOTE: those are two major thoroughfares in Metro Detroit).

You all have probably heard that the government and opposition are working with the former UN secretary general - Kofi Annan to come up with a solution to end the violence. Both parties (government & opposition) appointed 4 members to represent them at the Kofi Annan's mediation group. Whatever they discuss in this meeting, they are therefore to go back and discuss with their parties and agree before coming back to the Annan's group and move forward. This last week Kofi Annan proposed a coalition government that will include the opposition to be part of the government. The mediator’s argument is that the government will not be able to run any business since it is a minority party in the parliament. The opposition won most of the seats in the parliament. Meeting continues this next week. The opposition felt cheated on the vote counting. They are working on a transitional government so that in 2 yrs from now, the country will go for a general election.

There is still hope; especially if the opposition agrees to be part of the government that they feel was unconstitutionally formed. Let’s keep praying that the lord will humble both parties and put the Kenyan people first and not their own interests.

Skateboarding for Jesus

Yesterday, a local Metro Detroit skateboard legend, Shaun Hover, stepped off of a plane from Los Angeles to Detroit. Under normal circumstances, this would not elicit a blog posting. Shaun, just two years removed from being a teen, recently returned from training as a missionary in China with Y-WAM. Youth With a Mission is one of the best teen/young adult ministries I know of.

While in China, Shaun used his skateboarding abilities to draw crowds and befriend some of the thousands of teens who roam the streets of her large urban centers.

Eight months ago and because of other details I won’t get into, Shaun started attending our worship gatherings with a group of his friends. From day one, it was clear he was the leader. I knew, “If I get Shaun interested in authentic Christian spirituality, I’ll get the whole group.”

I’ll never the forget the day he called to tell me. I was speaking at a leadership retreat at a monastery not far from Rochester when I noticed I had seven or eight missed calls on my cell phone. The missed calls were all from Shaun. Monks don’t like it when you walk around the retreat center with your Ray Charles ring (“Georgia”) turned to level six.

Immediately, I thought, “Oh, my God. Something is terribly wrong.” So, I walked outside and called Shaun back conjuring up as many different tragic possibilities as I could imagine. Car accident. Death. Overdose. For some reason, I could only imagine tragedy.

“Shaun, this is Josh.”
“Yeah?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Dude. Relax. I just wanted to let you know I want to get baptized.”
“Oh.” My heart settled back to where it was supposed to be.

Here’s what I wrote the balmy Sunday in August in which we baptized Shaun.

We don’t know what the future holds for Shaun. The possibilities are endless. One thing I do know. One of the greatest joys of following Jesus is taking risks and watching different people come alive to his presence and mission in the world.

Sir Charles Stirs the Pot

Iraq

Speaking Jesus (Out of Both Sides of Your Mouth)

Part of the focus of my doctoral studies at Columbia deals with the way language shapes reality, truth, and experience. Much of my reading so far explores this topic in relation to White and African-American Communities.

For instance, students are taught in Communication 101, that the first rule of public speaking is to know your audience. The second rule, then, is to speak in a way your audience can understand without compromising your material, and objective.

I find this fascinating. It takes great skill to communicate to a white affluent church as well as a road rally in Cass Park, Detroit. It takes intentional reflection and practice to walk into a public high school and effectively speak as it does to conduct a funeral for a family of first generation Americans. I recently did a funeral for a young man whose entire family comprised of artists. I had to figure out how to communicate in a way that spoke the truth of God’s mercy and justice to them . . . not to the accountants and engineers in the room.

Our world has changed. It isn’t that our world is changing for the world has come to us. Every nation, tribe, race, culture can be found all around us. If we are serious about being people who speak a word of grace, we’d better pay attention to the ones we are speaking with.

We must be able to speak to/with people according in a matter than connects and sparks the imagination. This doesn’t mean one is being “fake”—quite the opposite. To speak to people in a way that allows them access to what you are saying authenticates their story, experience, and plight. It is affirming and honorable.

There is biblical precedent for this. Paul once wrote, “Though I am free and belong to no man, I make myself a slave to everyone, to win as many as possible. To the Jews I became like a Jew, to win the Jews. To those under the law I became like one under the law (though I myself am not under the law), so as to win those under the law. To those not having the law I became like one not having the law (though I am not free from God's law but am under Christ's law), so as to win those not having the law. To the weak I became weak, to win the weak. I have become all things to all men so that by all possible means I might save some. I do all this for the sake of the gospel that I may share in its blessings.”

Jesus had an amazing ability to communiate to the elite (Pharisees, Herodians, Sadducees) as well as the ones who found themselves on the fringe (parables and personal accounts shared with sinners, tax collectors, sick, diseased, and divorced).

If you are interested in this discussion (which, by the way, relates to teachers, loan officers, insurance salespersons, nurses, lawyers, doctors, as well as ministers) Henry Mitchell has written a fine essay entitled, “Black English”—it’s been used in reading and communication textbooks all over the United States.

Winzell

Last night, just before going to bed, Kara and I watched the local news. That's part of our normal routine. Channel 4 (NBC). 11 p.m. Pretty much every night.

Unless Anderson Cooper has something interesting going on.

One of the leading stories focused attention on the plight of homeless men and women throughout Detroit on this unusually cold Saturday night (it got down to 0 degrees; with the wind chill, negative twenty degrees).

The reporter, rather excited for such a gloomy piece, interviewed a man. His name is Winzell Jarrell. The reporter (nor the TV screen) did not indicate this. But I knew who it was. I've known Winzell for almost a year now. I can't believe he's still alive. Honestly.

Winzell, and hundreds of other homeless citizens , defy the odds. I don't know how they do it. I really don't. I'd jump off a bridge.

Needless to say, I was messed up after seeing my friend on television. I woke up six or seven times last night from a deep sleep. Partly because it was just one of those nights. Partly because Winzell doesn't have a home.

Daughters

father's be good to your daughters
daughters will live like you do
girls become lovers
who turn into mothers
so mothers be good
to your daughters to


Last night, Kara and decided to spend our Friday night at the health club, getting’ a little work out in. Last night, at the health club, was also the annual “Daddy-Daughter” Valentine’s Dance.

There were a few hundred Dad’s and Daughter’s covering two small basketball courts. It was a sight to behold. Dad’s dressed up in their best suits, on the dance floor with their young daughter(s). Daughters who'd wouldn't want to be anywhere else than right where they were. Hair all done up. Corsage on the wrist. The color pink abounding. Little girls believing they were Cinderella, or Snow White; some kind of princess to be sure.

So much of my time working with college students is undoing or bringing healing to the wounds caused in the lives of young people by their parents. Wounds that are the result of Christian homes as much as non-Christian homes. In fact, sometimes the aftermath of growing up Christian (especially the fundamentalist stripe) is worse for there is no more dangerous combination than legalism, hypocrisy, guilt, and shame, mixed with religion.

If we are going to change the world, one good friend likes to say . . . we’d better first start by loving the family given to us by God.

Priceless (v.2)

Reading a great novel on your day off: $19.95 (price of the book).

Eating two huge bowls of cereal ($4.95).

Finishing writing an exam: one headache.

Getting beat by your wife in Phase 10: one trip to the kitchen to make ice cream.

Going to the shooting range with your father and father-in-law: priceless. To read a bit about that, click here.

Super Tuesday, There Will Be Blood, Lent

Things get real interesting now.

Hillary and Obama are in for a "heavy-weight" fight. Many so-called experts are giving Obama the edge, but I don't buy it. Hillary isn't going away that easily . . . If Hillary gets the nomination, I don't know if I could vote for her.

McCain, now likely to get the Republican nod, is creating all kinds of waves within the more conservative wing of the party. One friend pointed out this article to me recently--Rush Limbaugh is now saying he'd rather have a Democrat in office than McCain. This is better than anything else on television.

I guess I'll have to change my election final four in the left-hand column.

---------

In other news, I watched There Will Be Blood (Daniel Day-Lewis) last night with a group of friends. No, I did not go to this movie to off-set the recent Chick Flick-Gate. I was sincerely interested in the plot and I was not disappointed. The film is a great comparison of two opportunists--one a pastor, the other an "oil man." Both are relentless in their thirst for power, money, and influence. Besides a rather weak ending, this movie deserves Oscar considerations.

----------

Lenten Season is upon us. A time to focus on the things that distract us from encountering God in our daily lives. Some people give up chocolate. Some abstain from sports, gambling, drinking, and the consumption of specific foods. Last year, I gave up Dr. Pepper (a harder task than I thought it would be). This year, I'm working on my speech: I want to speak only that which love requires. I want to avoid the occasional cuss word, cynical remarks, and negative "put-downs" (my sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Cizmas, used to say, "NO killer statements").

I have a feeling that giving up Dr. Pepper will prove to be an easier mountain to scale than the one I've selected.

Chick Flick

What constitutes a Chick Flick?

I taught at our mid-week service recently on being “in the world, but not of it.” At one point I used the film Chocolat as an example of different ways of engaging culture. The two main characters, the Comte and Vianne, provide a rich example of the difference between religion and spirituality. (NOTE: I’m using those two words as they’ve emerged in our current postmodern lexicon).

At lunch this week, some of my fellow staff members (Patrick, Dana, and Chris) suggested that this film is of the proverbial “Chick Flick” genre. And an ensuing assault upon my masculinity occurred. I'm over it. Really. I am.

I disagreed vehemently.

During the teaching time under consideration, I asked the church “Who’s seen this film?” About a hundred hands went up—of the hundred, approximately eighty-five were women.

Afterwards, a few men came up and said, “Hey, Josh. We’re going to see 27 Dresses at 9:45 p.m.—want to come?”

So, I’m asking you . . .the educated, savvy cultural aficianado—what are the criteria that must be present for a film to be labeled “Chick Flick"?

Kwame's Confession

The Mayor of Detroit, Kwame Kilpatrick, made a public confession last night for all of Detroit to experience. Below is an excerpt from the transcript. What do you make of it? To read the entire transcript go to FREEP.COM. I took out Carlita's (Kwame's wife) comments.

--------------------------


KWAME KILPATRICK: Good evening, Detroit. I want to start tonight by saying to the citizens of this great city, I'm sorry.


To all of you who have believed in what we've been doing here since 2002, to all of you who have believed in me, in my leadership, to all of you who have stuck with me through very difficult times, to all of you who prayed for me: I'm sorry.

For the embarrassment and the disappointment the events of the past few days have caused you, for what you as my supporters, many of you, have had to hear as you traveled around our city to beauty shops and barbershops, what you had to hear when you were in church this past Sunday from people who know that you have supported me.

For those of you who have not always been Kwame Kilpatrick supporters, but who lift up our city, who live in our city, who support this town in various ways, I truly apologize to each and every one of you individually and to the whole city.

Most of all tonight, I want to make a public apology to my entire family, and specifically to the four people who I love the most in this world.

First, I want to apologize to my sons, Jelani, Jalil and Jonas. For the first time in my life, I had to have a conversation with my 12-year-old twin sons about very grown-up things. It was, without a doubt, the hardest conversation that I've ever had in my entire life.

Finally, and most importantly, I want to make a public apology to my wife, Carlita, who I fell in love with when I was 19 years old. We decided to build a family together, and we did that.

Our marriage has not been perfect, but it has been great. Now, I put her in a situation which many couples deal with in the privacy of their own homes, but in our case, it's on the front page of the newspaper. This dynamic, strong, caring woman has been forced to go through this very difficult experience because of me. I truly apologize to you.

As many of you know, I'm not the type of person who displays my emotions in public, but I have to tell you I've felt more emotion in the last week than I have in the past 20 years. I've been truly hurting. I've been hurting because I know that many of you are hurting. And most of all, I've been hurting because I know my family is hurting. And I'm responsible for that.

Fresno and Phil

The Fresno ZOE Conference was a great event. The College Church of Christ has become a special place of rest, friendship, and family for me these last two years.

I returned from Fresno late Sunday night (Monday morning) . . . well . . . late for me . . . 3 a.m. As I was driving from the airport home, I thought, there’s one person I can call right now that would not shoot me: my dad.

For the last twenty-plus years, my dad has worked the midnight shift at Children’s Hospital as a respiratory therapist. In fact, when I was younger, he worked two jobs—always the midnight shift.

I have many friends who lament that “my dad never made time for me” or “my dad was great with everyone except his own family.” I empathize with these people . . . but I cannot relate.

My father was always around. He was always there. Always present. Always willing to play catch, go for a jog, watch hoops, play one-on-one.

From seventh to twelfth grade he (nor my mom) never missed one sporting/church event. We played football, baseball, soccer, basketball and tennis and he was there for every single game. Of course, the post-game “Dad-nalysis” was part of the experience, but I’d gladly take that than a dad who’s out of town on business, the dad who’s on the golf-course five days a week with clients and no time for his family. My father did not spend his time thinking about his own career, education, or “dreams”—he was fully invested in developing his family.

I can honestly say my dad was one of my closest friends in High School. I was never embarrassed to have him drop me off some where. Never ashamed to hang out with him at the movies or the mall.

He used to write me little notes before big games: “You can do it.” “I believe in you.” “You the man.” Little pieces of paper I still have in a box in my basement. He’ll never know how much those little pieces of paper meant. I get emotional just thinking about our game day breakfasts at a local joint, or our pre-game meal at Subway.

Anyways . . .

I called my dad on the drive from the airport Monday morning. Sure enough, at 2:54 a.m. he answered as he always does, “Respiratory--Phil Graves.” We talked about my trip, grad school, his upcoming adventure to Alaska (he’s going to camp by himself in the wilderness for two weeks).

To all the fathers out there: You don’t know what it means when a son knows he can call you at any hour of the day, knowing that for one brief moment, the person on the other end of the phone is your biggest fan and confidant.

To all the sons out there: You don’t know what it means when a dad knows that his son loves him so much, that the person he wants to talk to when he’s going on four hours sleep is…well…his dad.

My biggest fear in life is that I won’t be half the dad my father was. I am so engrossed in my education, plans, dreams, work, vocation, and opportunities . . . I pray I will honor Phil by being the encourager and man he was/is in my life.

Kwame

Seriously?

I can't believe Kwame Kilpatrick, mayor of Detroit, could be this incompetent. Not only is he in danger of prison time, he's not even capable of breaking the law in an effective manner.

2007 was the year of big political scandal--Republican or Democrat notwithstanding. It looks like 2008 will continue the same song; albeit...with a different verse.

He didn't learn from Nixon, Clinton, or Barry Bonds. America is one of the most forgiving nations in the history of the world. But...one has to confess. Instead, Kwame lied under oath (federal offense) and is now hiding out in his Florida villa (I don't even want to know how be purchased that home).

I love Detroit. I want to see it make a comeback. This kills me.

So, I'm pleading with you, Kwame.

Kwame...please come clean with it. Face your demons. Let the chips fall where they may. If you care about the city more than the little kingdom you've created...this is exactly what you'll do.

This isn't a black thing. This isn't a white thing. This isn't a left thing. This isn't a right thing.

This is about being a man and a leader.

Springsteen, Herod, and One Hot Preacher's Wife

. . . That just might be my favorite blog title to date.

If you want to have a thin-space moment (the British phrase for the times and places in our lives when heaven and earth kiss), listen to these three songs on Bruce Springsteen's LIVE IN DUBLIN: When the Saints Go Marching In, This Little Light of Mine (yes, you read that correctly), and We Shall Overcome.

The third verse of When the Saints goes like this: "When the new world is revealed . . . when the new world is revealed, oh when the new world is revealed. Lord, how I want to be there on that morning . . . when that new world is revealed."

-----------------

I just finished reading Eugene Peterson's THE JESUS WAY: A CONVERSATION ON THE WAYS THAT JESUS IS THE WAY. The last three chapters are vintage Peterson: He looks at the historical/biblical characters of Herod (and his counterpart: Essenes), Caiaphas (his counterpart: the Pharisee's), and Josephus (and his counterpart: the zealot's) in light of the spirituality Jesus embodied in his hown life. This completes his trilogy on "spiritual theology"--it's a must read for anyone who's interested in following Jesus in a world as complex as ours.

-----------------

The last three months has been a great time for family, friends, local church work, reading, writing (draft one of my first book, Jesus Feast, is complete!), and Sabbath Rest. Like all seasons, that time is now coming to an end.

Writing projects are intensifying, travel increases, and new church endeavors are just on the horizon. I feel rested and ready to see what God is up to in 2008. However, things are a changin'-- the next six months is going to be a great adventure: ZOE, DETROIT MISSION WEEK, TULSA WORKSHOP, TEACHING AT RC, TWO MAJOR WRITING PROJECTS, UGANDA TRIP, and LIPSCOMB SERMON SEMINAR, DOCTORAL WORK AT COLUMBIA--it all heats up now. Too bad the state I live in can't say the same.

I'm just glad I get to share the path with the most beautiful woman in the world.




Seriously, she's a hot preacher's wife.

The Peculiar Institution

Slavery, as it came to be in the United States of America, was quite the "peculiar institution." Here lies the major place where preachers and theologians (both Northern and Southern) went wrong in their exegesis/hermeneutics (interpretation) per the Bible: Slavery in America was different than slavery in many ancient cultures (including Israel and Rome). Period.

The belief that God preferred America over all other nations (hence, many viewed America as the New Israel; Manifest Destiny)only complicated things. I'll save that discussion for another day.

The conviction that ancient slavery and modern American slavery are two completely different entities is true in (at least) three major ways.

First, slavery in America was for life. In most ancient cultures, slavery was a fixed sentence. In fact, in Israel's life, God makes his chosen nation release the slaves after a fixed period of time. In America however, once you were a slave it was virtually impossible to break out of the shackles that bound (save Frederick Douglas).

Second, slavery in America tore apart family systems. Marriages between slaves were not honored . . .children were torn apart from their mother's and father's as an afterthought. If you want to get a sense of the moral corruption this produces, read the Pulitzer Prize Winning novel, The Known World.

Third, slavery in America was primarily relegated to one race: Africans/Blacks. This is perhaps the greatest tragedy of Social/Religious life in America. This is what many "smooth" over, turning their privileged noses in apathy. The slave system that fueled southern life was based upon the belief that blacks were inferior to all whites. Blacks, in this epistemology, were non-human; animals despised by their superior counterparts.


The Civil War (and the Emancipation Proclamation) may have dealt with slavery but it did not . . . it could not . . . deal with the pervasive attitude that Blacks were an inferior being.

This is why Martin Luther King is such an important leader in American/World History. He reminded one of the greatest civilizations in the history of the world that her foundational documents declared every person equal under the eye of the all seeing God. He challenged America to live up the very ideals she dared to boast to the rest of the world. He called America to actually be who she thought she was: a land where all men and women are recognized as persons created in the image of God.

The question that keeps me up some nights: What will my children point out in thirty years, "Dad . . .how did you miss that? How did you not see God moving in that area . . . among those people?"

I'm told by many scholars today that there are more persons living in slavery (e.g. sex slavery in Asia) today then there were during just prior to America's bloody Civil War.

Another Sunday in the "D"

Today was a record day in Cass Park--our (not so) routine work of feeding and spending time with our friends (the homeless and poor) in this section of Cass Corridor. Actually, three records were set today. 1) We had the most college students ever for one activity in Cass Park 2) We had the most food ever prepared by dozens of women and men from our church and 3) It was 12 degrees outside. And . . . since we were in the city . . .it felt like -5 degrees (tall buildings block the sun and allow "wind tunnels" to swirl about).

One man said to me, "We sho' do appreciate you coming out on a day as cold as today." That made ever minute of preparation, every moment in the city worth it.


Since we're on the eve of honoring one of the great leaders of American history (Dr. King), it's appropriate to remember one of his prophetic lines:"A religion which cares about men's souls but not men's bodies might be a religion but it is not the Christian religion," (paraphrase).

A Day's Work

I’m interested to learn how people organize their daily lives. I'm very interested in schedules, meetings, projects, renewal time, etc. (A friend of mine used to schedule his day in 15 minute increments. He does not do that anymore.)

A few people have said to me recently, “What do you do all day, Josh?” Churches deserve to know what their ministers are up to. At the same time, ministers need the trust of their churches.

So . . . Here's exactly what I did yesterday. WARNING: Wednesday's are usually my busiest day. Therefore, don't assume everyday is like yesterday. Most days, I’m usually home by 6pm (usually).

9am-930am: Responded to about 20 e-mail’s related to my ministry with young adults and college students (small group's, pastoral care issues, ministry linkage, future opportunities, short-term mission, and Cass Park).

930am-10am: I worked on a 2008 "Timeline" for all of the ministry projects I'm responsible for in this calendar year (South Oakland Shelter, Bob Russell, Retreat, Detroit Mission in Cass Park, Uganda, Teaching Plan with Patrick, etc.) Kelly Harrison is a great co-worker who keeps me on task and on track.

10am-1045am: Made a handful of pastoral calls to people who are hurting, disconnected, searching, etc.

11am-1130am: Worked on my “Introduction to the Christian Faith” course (Rochester College).

12pm-2pm: Met with Rubel Shelly, John Barton, and a team of local ministers in planning the upcoming RC Resource! Seminar. It’s going to be a great event (I even managed to have a conversation with a fellow minister about Barak Obama).

230pm to 4pm: Finished my 2008 "Timeline" project, discussed upcoming teaching series with Patrick, did some research for a lecture I'm giving today at Rochester College "Reflections on Pastoral Care in Our Complex World."

400pm-405pm Banana break (I'm a banana junkie).

405pm-430pm: Prep for my Uganda Mission meeting, and South Oakland Shelter meeting for the evening.

430pm-545pm: Did my training "work-out" for my Triathlon in June. I swam for twenty minutes (500m) and ran 2.5 miles.

545pm-6pm: Printed off a fundraiser letter for Uganda trip.

6pm-7pm: Met with RC Students about a six-week Uganda internship.

7pm-8pm: Wednesday worship gathering (Connections).

8pm-845pm: South Oakland Shelter Leaders Meeting.

9pm-1130pm: Dinner and Great Conversation with Kara. American Idol. Intervention. Book. Bed.


As you can tell, my least favorite line from friends and family, "Well, you only work one day week." Or . . . "Josh isn't doing anything, he can help." It's true: ministry tends to attract extreme personalities: a) the lazy/just-do-enough types and b) the perfectionist/I-wish-there-29-hours-in-a-day types. Both are equally dangerous.

Our time is one of the most sacred gifts God provides. How we spend our time is our gift back to him. Work, exercise, pastoral care, reading, organization, and REST, are all important in our lives as spiritual beings.

What did you do on Wednesday? My work is no more important than the work of a mother, teacher, lawyer, doctor, administrator, etc. I’d love to hear what your day consists of.

Church Numbers, The Nation of Islam

Last night, I sat on a panel with ministers and pastors from various evangelical denominations to discuss “Big Church/Small Church: A Conversation about Church Growth, Evangelism, and Church in the Age of Marketing.”

Once again, Calvin Moore has done an excellent job with putting together this series (House of God).

Some of the ministers represented pastor mega-churches (22,000 and 6,000 respectively). I represented the medium-large church (1,000—less than one percent of all American churches are larger than 850 people). Three other pastors represented “small churches” (200, 20, and 15 respectively).

I toyed with idea of beginning the panel with this quote, “I think—tide turning—see, as I remember—I was raised in the desert, but tides kind of—it’s easy to see a tide turn—did I say those words?”—President Bush in Washington D.C.; June 14, 2006

Or, I could've turned to Michael Scott for wisdom: ". . . Am I a great leader? Yes. Yes I am."

The conversations ranged from whether or not Joel Osteen’s church is “orthodox” to Barak Obama’s UCC ties in Chicago (c.f. African emphasis); to the marketing that takes place in the confines of the “evangelical Christian ghetto.” It was a spirited conversation, full of wisdom, passion, experience, and (some) humility.

When discussing the mystical (my word) relationship between the people of God and the gathering of God’s people, I told this story.

Along with one other college friend, I once went to hear Cummings debate two Muslim ministers, over a two day period, concerning the reliability of Scripture versus the truthfulness of the Koran. I went to hear Cummings the first night by myself. I was the only white person “in the house.” I was treated with great respect and dignity by the Christians hosting this event. The second night was the debate/dialog session between Muslim Ministers and Christian pastors.

It was quite a scene.

There were only two white guys in the standing-room only auditorium—yours truly and Mark Johnson (who was probably wondering what I’d talked him into exactly). For the most part, the dialog was amicable. Many fine philosophical and theological points were highlighted and debated. What I remember from this night, however, had little do with the former and everything to do with identity.

Near the end of the session, a middle-aged black man sitting next to me, stood up in front of the all-black gathering, mixed with Christians and Muslims, and pointed his long finger in my face saying, “You mean to tell me…you Christians…that you don’t see who this man is.” My heart began racing. He was staring down at me. “This man is the devil. The white man is the devil.” I’m quite sure my face was red as I slumped deeper and deeper into the old wooden pew which, thirty seconds previously, was a fine piece of furniture. Now, it was the most uncomfortable chair in the history of the world.

The crowd grew silent. The place, all of the sudden, was eerily empty.

Just when I thought my heart was going to burst, an older African-American woman put her arms around me and said with great passion, “Excuse me, sir. This man (referring to me) is my brother in Christ. I have more in common with this man because we were baptized into the same Lord Jesus.”

For one of the few times in my young life, in that moment, I felt like I belonged to something spiritual, something other-worldly. Never had I been so convinced of the truth and power of the story of Jesus for a modern and complicated society like ours in these United States.

Never had the word “my” sounded so good to me.

Michael Scott and George W. Bush

Wise words of wisdom from two of the more entertaining people in American culture: Michael Scott (The Office) and George W. Bush (President of the United States). Of course, one of these men is "made-up" . . . one of these men is real.

You decide.

"Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we."--George W. Bush in Washington D.C.; August 5, 2004

"Am I gonna tell them? No, I'm not going to tell them. I don't see the point of that. As a doctor, you would not tell a patient if they had cancer."--Michael Scott, on downsizing

CC:M Has a Home!

One of the most rewarding elements of local church ministry is to watch a group of men and women come together to take risks for the kingdom of God.




Good work putting this together Ashley.

Blank Sheet

O.K. Here's the deal.

You get to start a church "from scratch" (note to the theological purist in you--I don't mean "scratch" as in with no understanding of history, experience, etc). You have been empowered by the leadership team of your local church to begin an extension worship gathering/community in an area lacking strong evangelical churches.

Two questions.

What characteristics do you strongly desire to see embedded in the DNA of the church?

What unique practices would be important for this community to reach non-followers of Jesus?

If you are interested to see what our faith community is thinking and dreaming . . . check out THIS SITE.

UPDATE: This link has a more complete description of CC:M's mission and vision.

The Ohio State University

I heard this on the radio today and laughed really hard. Sorry Buckeye faithful. Sports is, I'm afraid, the civil religion of the United States.


Dear Ohio State:

Sometimes in life you have to admit that being good is acceptable. Only a small minority can say they are the best; the elite. So, it's all right to admit that you've been demolished the last two years, exposing the weakness of the Big Ten and the fallacy of your own "mystique." Being second isn't so bad.

Sincerely,

Canada

Hoop Dreams

I'm going to throw a change-up into the normal discourse on this blog. I went to the Celtics/Pistons game with my brother Saturday night. The two best teams (in theory at least) squared off in a conference-finals-like atmosphere. Jason and I realized that we've now been Pistons fans since 1988--this is our twentieth season. We fell in love with the Bad Boys when we moved from Wichita to Metro Detroit as young boys. We traded the soccer field for the hardwood.

The joint was jumpin'.

Being at the game with my brother reminded me of something I'd written this summer when the Cavs beat the Pistons in the Eastern Conference Finals.


---

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 jump shots? 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 ingrained 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.

Iowa

Fascinating story-lines in last night's events in Iowa.

Is it me . . . maybe I'm crazy . . . but both Obama and Huckabee sounded like preacher's in their victory speeches?

So, let me ask a question that might stir the pot a bit: Would you rather listen to Huckabee preach at church on Sunday . . . or Barak Obama? This does not necessarily indicate who you would vote for. Huckabee is a former Baptist minister; Obama got his start working for the poor in Chicago. And, despite what some are reporting--Barak Obama is a Christian. He's a member of the United Church of Christ.

One person said to me recently, "But he's got a Muslim name! It sounds like Osama." That's about as smart as assuming that the people who live on my street in suburban Detroit are Jewish/Christians because their name is Joseph, Sara, Mary, Deborah, Jacob, or Samuel. That Barak can't be a Christian becuase his name is Osama is the kind of prejudice that runs deep in W.A.S.P. Americana.

I have to admit: I'm impressed with Huckabee as a person. I don't agree with him on some key issues (more on that in the future). However, I find him to be authentic, sincere, transparent, and honorable.

The Shack

I read several good books in 2007. I read a few great books. And then, due to a friend's strong urging, I read a book that I'll cherish for a long, long time.

The book is simply titled The Shack. Click here to read more about the project and impact of the book.

Mackenzie Allen Phillips' youngest daughter, Missy, has been abducted during a family vacation and evidence that she may have been brutally murdered is found in an abandoned shack deep in the Oregon wilderness. Four years later in the midst of his Great Sadness, Mack receives a suspicious note, apparently from God, inviting him back to that shack for a weekend.

Against his better judgment he arrives at the shack on a wintry afternoon and walks back into his darkest nightmare. What he finds there will change Mack's world forever.

In a world where religion seems to grow increasingly irrelevant The Shack wrestles with the timeless question, "Where is God in a world so filled with unspeakable pain?" The answer Mack gets will astound you and perhaps transform you as much as it did him.

I would give this book to a Ph.D. as well as the blue-collar factory worker. It's that good.

New Year’s Resolutions (ok . . . the publishable ones)

1. Eat out less often and learn to make my own meals. Odds of this happening: moderate.

2. Spend more time doing cardio than weight-lifting. Odds of this happening: good.

3. Get less upset at the Piston’s and enjoy them for the great team they are. Odds of this happening: slim.

4. Speak that which only love requires. Odds of this happening: in January (great); February through December (slim).

A Little Christmas Story . . .

These are a few . . .

of my favorite things . . .

hot fudge sundae with bananas
argyle socks
Pistons basketball
anything by Barbara Brown Taylor
Detroit
The Office
sweatshirts
Rochester College
lazy Saturday’s with Kara
the Detroit Tiger’s batting lineup (are you serious?)
any book on Martin Luther King Jr.
home cooked meals
hitting the “stepper” at night before dinner
Barak (we're on a first name basis)
listening to Kara’s great stories/jokes (she’s an amazing preacher)
trading funny e-mail’s with close friends
witnessing a baptism
eating cereal for dinner
Lipscomb University
taking a nap (never happens)
watching RCC family members enact “the priesthood of believers”
learning from different ethnicities and cultures
telling childhood stories with my brother and sister
reading a great book
Gospel of Luke
watching a good movie
Denzel Washington (who’s a better actor than Denzel?)
sharing lunch with friends while debating theology/faith
dancing with Kara in our living room to a song only I can hear
ZOE Leadership/Worship Conferences (Wineskins too)
catching up with my prof’s from grad school (some of whom I consider my close friends)
experiencing a great sermon (usually not by me)
being present for Patrick’s propensity to shock people
getting articles/essays from my friend Andy (a.k.a. E-VA)
competing with my twin brother like we’re 13 (we’re doing a Triathalon in May)
hearing my niece laugh
working with talented men and women in ministry
spending time with RC students
assigning nick-names to close friends
thick, comfortable socks
my small group
Kara’s sweet tea
trying new restaurants
Cass Park
people who take risks for Jesus

Lusoga Waters

Tonight, Sara Barton baptized Priscilla-- a member of our church family and student at Rochester College. I taught Priscilla and Sara Ageno (another Ugandan who's a member of our church and student at RC) this semester and was constantly impressed with their intellect and contributions to the broader discussion of global faith.

Priscilla and the Barton family go way back . . . as far back as the first day the Barton's spent as missionaries in Uganda. John, Sara's husband, met Priscilla's father while shopping for some mattresses for everyone to sleep on their first night. He became their primary language teacher their entire tenure in Uganda.

Some fifteen plus years later, John, Nate, Brynne, and Sara were able to administer the baptism of Priscilla on a cold night just north of Detroit. Before Sara baptized Priscilla she said, "I'm reminded of the way we sometimes baptize in Uganda. If we are not near water, we dig a hole, a grave really . . . and fill the make-shift grave with water. It's a reminder to me that God must first kill us before he can make us new," (my paraphrase).

The body of Christ is not bound by color, language, gender, nationality, political party, or ethnicity. It truly is the one community of people that transcends all things. That's probably the biggest reason, despite many faith struggles, why I love the church . . . why I am a follower of Jesus. In a country suffocated by tribalism (red state/blue state, white/black, rich/poor, etc.)--this is a source of good news!

Springsteen

Christmas was good this year.

I got several books I really wanted: some books chronicling the history of Detroit, Taylor Branch’s trilogy, etc. For the last ten years, I've used Christmas as the number one avenue to build my library!

Among other gifts, Kara got me a great photo of Detroit that I’ll cherish for a long time. Some of our best memories together since moving to Michigan have been at Comerica Park, downtown, and near Cass Park (just a stone’s throw from Ford Field and Comerica Park).

But the sleeper pick for “surprise Christmas present of the year” goes to PMiddy—aka Patrick Mead. He got me the new Springsteen album: Magic.

I’ve admired Springsteen from afar, knowing that he writes out of a deep spiritual place, not afraid to pick a societal or political fight ( . . . or two).

What was your surprise Christmas gift this year?

Imagine Christmas

Check out Kara's blog for great photos and commentaries per our big Christmas musical/production/play/worship gathering!

This Christmas I am grateful that "God is more for us than we are for ourselves."



Peace.

Josh