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The Feast

The Feast is now available on Family Christian Bookstore's website. Click here to order. If you are an Amazon/Barnes and Noble loyalist, I'll update when it's up there. If you are not interested in the book, please forgive my passion..this has been a work in progress for two years.

www.joshuagraves.com

In a few days, this site will become part of a new website (www.joshuagraves.com). When that happens, please change your rss feeds and bookmarks. I'm late to the game but I will also begin living in Twitter land (http://twitter.com/joshgraves) on a somewhat regular basis-- if you are interested. 

The Feast is scheduled to be available next week through Family Christian Bookstores (in store purchases are highly appreciated). LifeWay, Books-A-Million and some other regional stores will carry the book along with traditional avenues (Amazon, Barnes & Noble). These other carriers will have the book at some point during the next few months. I'll update the new site as that information is available.

MEET YOU FURTHER ON UP THE ROAD

Sunday night, friends and family came together to "send the Graves family off Nashville style." For Michigan folks, it was pretty convincing. It was quite a scene. I told Kara, on the way to the gathering, that "there's little chance I'll cry tonight." When I walked into the room to see everyone who'd shown for the event, I made myself a liar almost instantly.

The room consisted of cowboy hats, boots, sweet tea, great country music from Mitch Washer and Paul Bobo . . . Ashley Harrison, childhood friend, brought out tears with his remarks and slideshow/video at the end . . . but the Barton family stole the show.

Not known for their musical abilities, the Barton Family caught us off guard.They took classic Motown music (Seger, Motown, Madonna) and turned them into country songs about Josh and Kara. The highlight for me was John Barton's remake of a well-known Marvin Gaye song. The lyrics will give that song away.

When Josh gets to preaching, we get spiritual healing . . .
Makes us feel so right . . . eous
Helps us walk in the light
Spiritual healing in the body (that's Christ's Body),
it's something that's good for us
Get up . . . Get up . . . lets all go to church
Wake up . . . wake up . . . cause Josh's preaching works.

A close second was Barton's re-do of a Madonna song called, "Like a Theologian" . . . here's an excerpt:

Like a theologian (oooohh), preaching for a really long time
Like a theologian, quoting Brueggemann and N.T. Wright,
quoting Henri Nouwen, Barbara Brown Taylor,
Did I mention Brueggemann?

We're heading down the road in a few days for a new journey. We're taking the friendships and memories from Rochester Church with us to cherish every day. Ministry is a job almost impossible to explain. Because, in most ways, it's not a job, it's your life. It's people. Stories. Difficulty. Joy. Celebration. Disaster. And in the midst of all if it you forget that as you've been giving yourself away week after week after week, others have been doing the same for you and your family.

Mysterious Ways

When I catch myself staring at Lucas (which happens a lot), I can't help, at times, but feel a deep sadness come over me. Don't get me wrong, I love every moment of fatherhood. Especially the ones where I'm exhausted, he's crying and then, all of a sudden, he stops, pauses, and smiles at me. Yes, he's now old enough that I can say, with full biological confidence, he's smiling (it's not just 'gas' anymore).

The sadness comes from knowing how temporary (frail, the poet Shelley would write) life is. Lucas will be 18 before I can say "Gerber baby food." I'm going to wake up one morning and realize I am not nearly as young as I perceive myself to be.

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Some day, maybe later than sooner, Lucas is going to ask me about the mystery of the Spirit. I'm going to do three things. At least, today this is what I'd say.

First, I'd talk about Jesus's conversation with Nicodemus in John's gospel. What an interesting conversation. Of course, I'll save him all the academic interesting tidbits like the difference between Greek, Hebrew, and Aramaic (I'm guessing he won't be interested in that in a long time). I also won't bring up the literary point about when Jesus stops talking and John (the writer) picks up. After all, John's Gospel is a series of conversations. Here's what I'll say: Lucas, do the trees move the wind or does the wind move the trees ("The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, buy you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going")?

If that doesn't satisfy, I'll talk to him about U2's song "Mysterious Ways." If you are not familiar with this song, which I'll assume most of you are, you can click here to read the fascinating lyrics. There are three ways this song is interpreted by U2 experts like my friend Greg. 1) This is a song about a boy falling in love with a girl (and the mystery that lies within this roller coaster ride) 2) An explicit ballad written to describe the role of the Spirit in the life of Jesus follower OR 3) A midrashic commentary on the life and death of John the Baptist. Which one is right? The answer is probably "yes."

If Lucas is still awake at this point, I'll tell him what I should have told him all along.

When your mother and I were newly married, your mother had a dream. She dreamed that she was in a huge building. While walking near the top of this large sky-scraper, an enormous wall of water came crashing over the top of the building. Immediately your mom awoke and told me, in an urgent voice, of the dream.

The next morning I woke up to the news on CNN that a large tsunami had devastated parts of Asia, leaving thousands of people dead, many more without food, water or shelter. One of the worst tragedies of my lifetime. I'm guessing hundreds of people had similar dreams that night.

When you were just a baby, your mom had a dream that she was pregnant with a girl (which was not true). The nurse in this little dream was Kara's friend Sara Whitten. Random. Totally random. She does not work in the medical profession.

The day following the dream, Kara learned that Sara Whitten had herself just learned of her unexpected pregnancy (in real life).

There are other stories. Stories for other days.

The wind moves the trees.

Talk about the things you can't explain.

You hear its sound but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it's going.

HOW MOVIES HELPED SAVE MY SOUL

I read Gareth Higgins's book How Movies Helped Save My Soul over the weekend. Fantastic work. If this interests you, I also suggest Reel Spirituality and Eyes Wide Open.

While reading How Movies Helped Save My Soul, I made a list (without too much analyzing on my part) of movies that have deeply impacted me over the last several years. In no particular order, here's my list:

Glory, Places in the Heart, O Brother, Ray, Losing Isaiah, Shawshank Redemption, Bella, Slumdog Millionaire, Field of Dreams, Cold Mountain, Freedom Writers, Malcolm X, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, The Apostle, Chocolat, Life is Beautiful, Seven Pounds.

NOTE: I am hoping to teach a class at Otter Creek in January on the relationship of film and scripture. It should be fun!

Flags for Jeremy

I am constantly wondering how our churches can minister to military soldiers (both foreign and domestic). Mostly because both of my brothers-in-law have served in the U.S. military. My friend Andy recently shared something that happened in his neighborhood. I can't shake this story. I think you'll like it.

Jeremy has been in the military for a few years . He's newly married (I performed the wedding incidentally) to a wonderful young woman. Military life's been hard on him. Without going into unnecessary detail, his stint serving Uncle Sam has challenged his core identity, outlook on life, and close relationships.

Andy wanted to do something life-giving (first century Christians might call this "gospel") for Jeremy. In the midst of this burden a brilliant idea was born.

Fresh off of a military tour in Afghanistan, Jeremy returned home to Midvale street in Rochester Hills--the house he grew up in, the same street where Andy lives. Andy got word of what was about to go down. So he got his three kids together and hatched a plan: They would hunt local dollar stores in hopes to find as many tiny American flags as they could get their hands on.

They ended up with hundreds of flags.

The next day, Andy and his family walked up and down the street telling neighbors about Jeremy's return from war. Every single neighbor agreed to honor him (I'm guessing . . . even some of those who oppose both the war in Iraq and Afghanistan) by placing flags in their yard.

I walk in the tension of nationalism and patriotism. Nationalism is blind loyalty to the country one lives in over and above all other value claims (like Christianity). This breaks my heart for I am convinced some Christians are more influenced by Rush Limbaugh than Jesus's own teachings in The Sermon on the Mount.

Patriotism is not nationalism. Patriotism is different. Patriotism honors what is good and just about a particular country (e.g. The Allied Forces liberating Jews from Hitler's concentration camps) without handing over one's identity to said country.

I am not a nationalist because I've given my life over to the life and teachings of a rabbi, God-ordained prophet from Israel. I am a patriot however. There are so many beautiful things to love about this country. Equally, there are so many skeletons yet to have been fully brought out of the closet. Patriots talk about the good and the bad . . . the blessings and the curses.

Back to the flags for Jeremy.

When he returned home for this brief visit, he pulled onto the street he knew best: Midvale. As he drove slowly he noticed hundreds of flags lined up and down the entire street on both sides. He realized, in that moment, the flags were for him. I have not talked to Jeremy but I'm willing to bet that it was the first time in a long time he felt as if his life mattered. People noticed. He was a human after all, not a mere killing machine. Jeremy knocked on Andy's door and said, in genuine gratitude, "Thanks."

The flags for Jeremy are one way to make someone feel whole, complete. Whether you are for the current wars or against them, never let your passion for your side supersede your conviction that soldiers are often the pawns of a much larger war.

The church stands poised to expose this truth. One flag at a time.

If this subject interests you, this is a thread that runs throughout my book, The Feast (coming September 1).

Spiritual Food in the Fall

If you are looking for ways to sharpen your thinking and experience as it relates to God's work in the world, let me suggest three conferences for you coming in September and October.

1. Abilene Christian University's SUMMIT. Brady Bryce has done an excellent job in putting together a conference that blends the conversations in the larger Protestant world for the college campus.

2. ZOE Nashville. One of Kara's spiritual highlights, ZOE Nashville promises to be nourishing this year. We have a new format and some other surprises in store. I believe this conference will bless those present. Eric Wilson, Randy Gill, Greg Taylor et al have creatively put together an approach that will challenge and minister to people from a variety of perspectives.

3. Lipscomb's Conference on Preaching. Pound for pound, this is one of the best conferences on preaching/teaching in the evangelical world. David Fleer has put together another outstanding line-up (save me)--diverse in perspectives and background, unified in commitment to the ministry of Jesus.

I know these conferences well and am confident they will give you more energy in your pursuit of God.

Tent City

One of the many reasons I'm excited about my new role with Otter Creek Church (beginning September 1st) is their emerging passion for "invisible people." Check out this short clip in preparation for a special concert by music legend Phil Keaggy. Doug Sanders' passion for the 'least of these' is contagious.

Check it out.

A Night for Tent City - Ministry Moment Video from David Woodard on Vimeo.

The Feast

Thanks to my friend David Woodard for working on this project with me.

SPORTS

After watching my twin brother complete a half IRON MAN (1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike, 13.1 mile run) I don't feel quite as tough saying I've run a marathon. In addition, I thought about all the different sports played between me, Jason, and sister Kelly (through the years): soccer, basketball, football, tennis, golf, softball, volleyball, track, running, swimming, biking and baseball. Because our family has been so "into" sports over the years, I feel qualified in adding this editorial note: The religion with the most adherents in America is not Christianity--it's sports.

Best Athletes

1. Basketball (a 6'10" man has no business being able to dribble a basketball)

2. Football

3. Track and Field

Toughest Performers

1. Rugby

2. Triathletes

3. Football/Hockey

Most Endurance

1. Soccer

2. Marathoners

3. Hockey/Swimmer (that was for Kara)

Toughest Thing To Do in Sports

1. Hit a 90 mph fastball.

2. Golf (if you've ever played, you know what I'm saying).

3. Catch a ball over the middle in football while a stud is about to drop you flat.

CALLING ALL BOOK WORMS

Here's a list of books I've read over the last six weeks or so. Some I've mentioned before on this blog, some are new. I wish I could write a blog about each book.

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Blood Done Sign My Name. Timothy Tyson’s story of growing up during the height of tension in the Civil Rights Movement. His father, a Methodist minister, stood for equality and dialog when it wasn’t popular or kosher.

The Elements of Style. A classic on the basics of writing well. It’s stood the test of time.

Writing to Change the World. A little bit of everything, this books dares you to imagine writing as a form of changing hearts and minds.

How Not to Speak of God. Written by a new favorite author (Rollins)—I love the way in which he holds the world in one hand, and the story of God in the other. If you are not into philosophy, don’t touch this book.

On Writing Well. Another classic, this is the gold standard for the basics of writing.

Bird by Bird. This book is written by Anne Lamott, need I say more?

This I Believe. A collection of short essays, This I Believe captures core principles people live their lives by in five hundred words or less. Excellent stuff.

An Altar in the World. Part-mystic, part post-modern description of spiritual disciplines—BBT has written another provocative book.

Justification. N.T. Wright’s latest work in which he responds to John Piper’s critique of his overall theology. Why Piper wants to spend his last best days of ministry going after Wright, I can’t understand. Piper represents a group of neo-Calvinists (which includes Marc Driscoll) who want to take on the emerging church and other post-modern expressions of Christianity (as if you can do church outside of culture). Scot McKnight sums up Wright’s work in a powerful way: “Tom Wright has out-Reformed America’s newest religious zealots—the neo-Reformed—by taking them back to Scripture and to its meaning in its historical context. Wright reveals that the neo-Reformed are more committed to tradition than to the sacred text.”

The Unlikely Disciple. The best surprise read of the summer, this memoir chronicles an Ivy League students’ journey to Falwell’s Liberty University. Fantastic read. A must for any young adult serious about their faith. Or any person seeking to minister to the young adult demographic. There's enough in this book to offend you, no matter where you find yourself on the political spectrum of church doctrine.

Sitting at the Feet of Rabbi Jesus. Interesting book (in a line of other books put out by Zondervan) providing rich historical background per the Jewishness of Jesus. There are others, better written, but this is excellent popular level reading.

Powerful Preachers

Over the next four weeks I'm working on the final stages of a short film for the Lipscomb Preaching Conference. I'll write more about this project later. For now, I'm curious to know from people of different "perspectives"--who has been the single most influential preacher in your life? It could be a local minister from the church you grew up in . . . or a preacher you listen to or read from long distance.

Help me out. Who rocks your spiritual world?

P.S. You can vote for Jesus but that's not what I'm after here.

Coach Meyer, Cass Park

If you have not seen this clip, you need to watch it. Coach Don Meyer (formerly from Lipscomb) was honored at the prestigious ESPY AWARDS Sunday night. This is vintage Coach Meyer.

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The Detroit News did a little story on the work we've been doing in Cass Park for the last four years.

Wow

LET'S SAY YOU'RE IN A DITCH

I'm teaching today on Luke 10:25ff--one of the most popular stories in all of Scripture: The Good Samaritan.

Some who study this story say that the priest and the Levite are in a bind. They are men of God, but the law of God binds them from helping lest they become “unclean” by touching a dead body. Corpses, in this interpretive framework, are as welcomed as a preacher going to Vegas on Christmas—they just don’t go together. Out of this understanding, some believe that Jesus is challenging their love of keeping the law versus love of people.

Others who study this story say that the Samaritan in this story represents the minority person/group in a given culture. The Priest becomes the “conservative Christian” and the Samaritan becomes the “gay man some love to hate.” Or the Levite represents the “rich” and the Samaritan is the “homeless woman in Cass Park.” Or, the Religious represent “angry citizens” and the Samaritan is the “illegal citizen among us.” While all of those are challenging social constructs to consider, I don’t think they finally get at what is going on in the story.

Something deeper is going on in this story. One Jewish thinker has opened up this parable in drastic ways for me. She writes, “To understand this parable in theological terms, we need to see the image of God in everyone, not just members of our own group. To hear this parable in contemporary terms, we should think of ourselves as the person in the ditch and then ask, ‘Is there anyone from any group, about whom we’d rather die than acknowledge, She offered help or He showed compassion?’ More, is there any group whose members might rather die than help us? If so, then we find the modern equivalent for the Samaritan,” Amy Jill-Levine in The Misunderstood Jew (149).

Kara Kaleen

Today is my wedding anniversary. Kara and I have been married for five years now. I can close my eyes (which I'm happy to do right now since I'm stuck in the Atlanta airport on my way home from Columbia Seminary) and see her beautiful face walking towards me. The Highland Cathedral is playing in the background . . .

The planets were aligned just right that perfect Saturday in July five years ago. My closest friends and family were there to witness the promise Kara and I made to live with each other in times of blessing and times of want; times of excitement and times of boredom; when the doctors report comes back good and when it comes back with a devastating bite.

Just because two people have a wedding license does not mean they are married. Just because you wear a ring on your finger does not mean you are husband or wife.

It's a daily choice. Love is much deeper than a feeling or a motive. It's a daily decision to believe that God is working in the midst of your shortcomings, her shortcomings, and both of your differences.

I've been choosing Kara every day for the last five years . . . and I will for the next fifty to come.

Destruction

Tiger Stadium sits at the corner of Michigan and Trumbull in downtown Detroit.

It’s old.

Old as World War II, worn-down tennis shoes and my grandfather’s nylon mesh General Motors hat. In America, we know what to do with old things. At least we think we know what to do with things that pass their prime. We destroy them. We abandon them until they look shabby enough to justify our destruction.

“Build a mall,” we scream. “Some condos would look nice.” “We could put a highway right there,” says another. “What this city needs is a new skyscraper.”

The wrecking ball rips through the right field wall where all of baseball’s greats once stood. The ground near home-plate—where Cobb, Horton, Greenberg, Cash, Kaline, Gibson, Trammel, and Fielder planted themselves before launching little white balls to the moon— is desecrated because of a city council plan to make condos.

Something’s missing in Detroit. Life is concentrated around work and home. Mundane universes often revolve around job titles, salaries and what’s happening with a son’s third grade science project. This is not bad. Having a job that is meaningful is life-giving and increasingly rare in today’s economic climate. Focusing on one’s family is also good because it’s a core responsibility.

But we don’t have a lot of other places. Church used to be an other place. Starbucks poses as one though I doubt its longevity. Tiger Stadium is a sacred space to so many not merely because of the games won (and lost), the athletes, the drama, and the great hot dogs. Tiger Stadium is a space where, for a few moments on a warm summer afternoon, men not known for their ability to share hopes and dreams were able to hope and dream together. Something to cheer about. Something to grieve. Something to look forward to next year.

The wrecking ball tears the walls, fences, cement, structures of Tiger Stadium. They not only tear what is visible. They also tear the things that are invisible. And, of course, it’s the invisible that is often more real than the visible. It’s the invisible that lasts beyond any of us.

I don’t know the answer. I only know that when our other spaces go down, we are never the same. The park, the library . . . or even Tiger Stadium. When we destroy—whatever it is we destroy—we are never the same. Today, that’s what I believe.

Humble Pie

Tiger Stadium. As I write this, Tiger Stadium is slowly evaporating.

I remember sitting in the right-field bleacher seats with my grandfather and twin brother when I was twelve or so. The Yankees were in town to play the beloved home team, the Tigers. Throughout the course of the game, my brother and I derided the Yankee right-fielder wearing the number twenty-one which had been stitched into the back of his jersey.

“You’re not good enough to have your name on the back of your jersey,” we repeated over and over again. Passionate we were, knowledgeable we were not. It would be at least three more years before I learned of the Yankees tradition to omit last names on the back of jerseys as a nod to the significance of the name of the front of the jersey over and above the name of the back of the jersey. This is a lesson almost completely missing from the modern professional landscape in which baseball players have their names on their jerseys, gloves, and even (depending upon your status) engraved into the wristbands resting on one’s forearms.

On the way home, my grandfather delivered some important news. “Boys, do you know who plays right field for the Yankees?”

“No. All we know is that he does not have his name on his jersey so he must not be that good.”

“His name is Paul O’Neil. He’s one of the best hitters in the game today.” A silence fell over the car. A silence not too different from the silence of a principal entering a classroom in which the substitute teacher has had it, relinquishing all authority to The Principal.

“Oh,” was all I remember offering in response to my grandfather. I made a mental note to myself that I would, at least when it came to sports, do my homework before I would make grandiose claims. By the way, I recently went back and looked up O’Neil’s stats from this year—he won the A.L. batting title.

Humble pie. A big ol’ slice of it.

The Writing Life

I have the luxury of taking a few elective courses in my doctoral program at Columbia Seminary. I've had this class circled on my calendar since the day I got my acceptance letter into the program: Pastoral Writing with Barbara Brown Taylor. I am a student of good writing because a) I love to write b) better writing makes for better speaking and better speaking makes for better preaching and c) writing is a discipline that helps me slow down when I slip into the messianic tendency that plagues many ministers/religious leaders.

BBT (my shorthand for her) is arguably one of the more influential voices in Christian spirituality. Her books, which include, The Preaching Life, Leaving Church, An Altar in the World, find their way into virtually every nook and cranny of American culture. She is read by Buddhists, atheists, Christians, liberals, conservatives, and everyone in between.

Yet, she writes from an unapologetically Christian perspective. She might apologize for the church (and some of its hypocrisy) but she never apologizes for the conviction that Jesus is God's embodied word in human flesh. The way she goes about doing this is pure genius.

I first read Barbara Brown Taylor when I was nineteen. For many reasons, which I won't go into, she has helped me to see, God, neighbors, and myself in a way I would have never would have come to if not for her careful eye, precise pen, and ability to tell the truth, even when it hurt.

BBT's writing is water to the soldier who's been wandering lost for days without drink; the arms of a mother to a crying infant in the middle of the night; the power that comes out of the mouth of a teenage Michael Jackson (Berry Gordy and Smokey Robinson both agreed that Michael had sung one of Smokey's songs better than Smokey . . . and Michael wasn't even a teenager at this point).

So far, in this class, we've discussed: the stages of creativity, embodied language, poetry, disciplines, and creative writing exercises to stimulate the imagination. And this is only day three.

I'll leave you with one of my favorite BBT lines: "Humans do no lose control, we lose the illusion that we were ever in control in the first place." I know I'm not in control of my life. I fool myself from time to time. We're just witnesses. Partners? Yes, but we are not the ones making the first move. After all, it's not our story. It is our story to live in. But it does not belong to us.