Doors

"Well . . . it's a door . . . but it's not a door. You know what I mean." This is just too perfect. My friend, Adam Hill, one of the best teachers of N.T. Christianity I know, showed this to me.

Knocking on Doors: More on Spiritual Friendship

Assumption: Post-moderns would never go door knocking.

Not so fast.

For the last two years, I've heard a whisper as I drive down Avon Road coming/going to the synagogue (a.k.a. the Rochester Church building) . . . "What does it look like to live locally for Jesus? What does it look like to live locally here, in this particular context?" People get fired up to go to the City, Uganda, Rio, etc. But, what would it mean to see Rochester Hills as a unique space for God's rhythm to break into the daily grind?

Rowan Williams (I tell my students at RC, "Not Robin Williams . . . but Rowan Williams . . .") reminds us that "the hardest place to live is right where we are." I live in an affluent part of Metro Detroit--Oakland County. That's not bad or good, it simply is. But it is sometimes way too easy to live somewhere else. To dream that God wants to work in only the dramatic and spectacular settings.

The sexy places.

Directly across from our church facility is an apartment complex in which Indian, Hispanic (not "Spanish" as some like to say), Latino, White, Black, and Asian call this area "home." It is, pound for pound, probably one of the more diverse, in every sense of the word, spaces in Rochester Hills.

As far as I know, our church has done little to connect to the real needs of the people living here. Well, that's all about to change. I don't know what it's going to look like, but I'm going to spend the next few months provoking the leadership and body of Rochester Church to develop "Sunday eyes" for this neighborhood. "Friday eyes" look at the world as it is. "Sunday eyes" look at the world as it can be. This is not to say we will infiltrate the neighborhood as if we posses God (because we're the church folks) with a conquering spirit of imperialism. Rather, we are compelled to love our neighbors as Jesus loves them. Remember, for Jesus everybody is a somebody. Everyone is a someone. There are no strangers or enemies in The Jesus Way. Also remembering that God is already out "there" and that we are simply called to join God to see what God is up to.

This happens through conversation.

Listening.

Eye contact.

Personal touch.

Feeling uncomfortable.

This morning, ten of us from Rochester Church spent 30-40 minutes walking the premises of the apartments across from us. We asked the people we met if we could a) do anything to help their families in this tough economic time (Michigan's the eye of the storm right now)? and/or b) prayer for them in any specific way? We did not go with any ulterior motive other than to be a tangible blessing in their life.

I jokingly quipped to one person "We should have worn short, black dress pants with white dress shirts. I could have brought a few bikes from my house." My friend, Shaun Hover (one of the coolest people I now because he does not try to be cool), looked at me and uttered the infamous slogans of 20 somethings across our great nation, "Not so much. Not so much, Josh."

When Jesus ascends to heaven at the beginning of Acts, the angels say to his disciples, "Why are you staring up to the heavens?" Barbara Brown Taylor says it is because the disciples then (just as disciples do now) want to look up to the heavens for God. But God is not "up" . . . he's "out" . . . in the highways and bi-ways, in the nooks and crannies of our world. If only we take the time to see through different eyes.

Living someone else's life is easy. Living in a made-up scenario is fools gold. Living in hopes of God meeting your every need is shallow. Living right where you are, seeing yourself, and others around you as tiny evidence that God still does miracles each morning in the cry of the infant, the rising of the sun, the hug of a teacher, the tear of a grandmother--that's the the Christianity of Christ. It's the difference, as many have noted, of having faith in Jesus and having the faith of Jesus.

Evangelism: Being Good VS Being Right

Talking to a Cop About Healing

Sometimes ministers wish for a do-over. We find ourselves in some of the most awkward conversations at some of the strangest times of the day. I recall as a graduate student in Nashville on my way to preach for a church early one Sunday morning. I was driving my little Saturn Ion from Nashville into the country down I-40 towards Memphis. Now, if you don’t know this stretch of highway, it’s some of the most breathtaking stretch of landscape in all of Tennessee. It is truly holy ground. Normally, I would time it right so that I could find myself in the midst of rolling hills just as the sun was coming up on the first day of the week.

As I made my way down I-40, a large S.U.V. (bad traffic stories usually involve a S.U.V.) swerved off the road, and before I could think one simple thought, I saw a re-tread tire coming, like a boomerang) right for my head. I ducked, swerved off of the highway and ended up 30 feet below in a huge ravine that divided the highway. As I pulled glass out of my face and walked up towards the top of the hill I spotted the projectile that had knocked me off course. It was an almost full tire tread with the metal wires still inside the tire. This thing could have killed me on the spot.

A few moments later, a police officer showed up on the scene. He was a tall, young, heavyset fellow. I’m not saying he ate a lot of donuts, but he sure was eating something. He got me cleaned up pulling more of the glass from my face, ears, scalp, and head. As we sat in the back of his police car (I wasn’t under arrest, I was writing a report so that had something to go on when they finally caught the Semi-truck illegally using re-tread tires on a warming Tennessee summer morning)—he asked nonchalantly, “So where you headed this early in the morning?”

“Headed to church,” I said.
“That’s nice. Real nice.” This was Tennessee after all, not Detroit. Going to church is what socially sophisticated people do. “You know a lady was killed last week in the same kind of accident. You’re lucky.” I didn’t respond.
“What kind of Church?” he asked.
“Oh, a real loving, caring church?” A pause ensued.
“Say, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Are you . . . no . . . any chance . . . are you a preacher?” Here I am still pulling glass out of my face, heart racing, calculating the cost of the damage to the car, wondering who’s going to preach for me, and I could feel an ad hoc counseling session about to take place. I can see these things coming a mile away.
“Well, yes sir, I am. I am a minister. I was on my . . . “He interrupted me before I could finish.
“Man have I had a difficult last five years.” I sank lower in my chair, realizing I wasn’t going anywhere, hoping no one who knew me would drive by in gawking fashion. “My life’s a mess. I’ve really messed things up. I’ve conned friends, cheated family, made my wife so upset, we’re getting divorced next month. Says she’s keeping the kids. My life’s breaking into a million little pieces.”

We chatted for a bit. I assured him that life has a way of giving us second, third, and fourth chances. I gave him my card. We would talk at least one more time that week on the telephone.
Here’s what I wish I would’ve said. If I had a “do-over” (a mulligan for golfers), this is what I’d say.

"Officer, I need a word with you.” I would lock eyes with eyes and I’d say, “I’m going to tell you something that’s truer than you and I sitting in this car this morning. Something more real than the cut marks on my face. If you think that God roots for the perfect, got-it-all-together, pious, BIG ONES of this world, well, you are wrong. You have to get real before God. No more posturing. No more spin-zone. No more hiding. No more deceit. You have to deal with the mirror you try to avoid. Deal with who you really are, not who you want others to think you are. You gotta come to grips with truth, not who you portray yourself to be on the stage of life. Before you can pray 'I am not who I should be, or who, by the grace of God I will one day become . . .but thank God I’m not the person I used to be.' Before you can pray that prayer, you have to get painfully transparent. And when you find yourself in that moment, when you feel you are at your lowest, your littlest . . . that’s when you have the space and grace to meet God for the very first time.”

If I had a do-over that’s what I would say.

Explaining Yourself

Tonight, I ate dinner with my friend George. George is a minister from South Africa. A great thinker, George is able to make things simple without simplifying. It dawned on me as we sat down to eat dinner and watch North Carolina vs Clemson, that I don't know how in the world I would explain basketball (or baseball or football for that matter) to George. At least, explain it in a meaningful way.

George had seen basketball before so he was "roughly familiar."

Imagine trying to explain three seconds, double bonus, what constitutes a foul and what is simply good defense, or zone vs. man-to-man defense. Or, try explaining the infield fly rule to someone who'd never seen baseball (what's an out? What the difference between a pop-up and a grounder?) Or, try explaining the "first down system" to someone who's never witnessed (American) football.

I remember trying to figure our cricket when I was training for a triathlon at a nearby park. I was dumbfounded.

Sometimes, when I'm talking to someone who knows very little about Christianity, I feel like I do when I am explaining a foreign sport. I realize that all of my analogies, metaphors, and connecting points are biased based upon my years among "church culture." I'm grateful the story of Jesus comes to us in, well, story form . . . the story carries the weight. Thank goodness, God didn't give us a bullet point list of doctrines. Rather, a story in which we all can find our plot in a plotless world.

Dancing with Both Legs

I use the phrases "personal piety" and "social justice" not because I personally use them often but because I hear them used often by theologians, ministers, students, and other people interested in religious/spiritual conversations.

I've noticed that people who are primarily passionate about personal piety (reading the bible, devotionals, keeping a journal and other daily rituals) do not always place nice with those who are strong advocates for the poor, homeless and invisible among us. And the same is true of the latter regarding the former. Anne Lamott once wrote, "You know you've created God in your own image when he hates all the same people as you."

I'm perplexed about this.

There are two examples within Torah/Pentateuch (first five books of the Hebrew Scriptures) that seriously challenge the separation of personal piety and social awareness.

First, the entire book of Leviticus. Many OT scholars now read Lev. 19 (specifically, love your neighbor as yourself) as the center or crux of the entire work. Anyone who's read Leviticus knows that the decrees are nuanced, detailed, and seemingly overbearing. OT scholars now suggest that Leviticus is an argument that to care for social issues, means one will take personal piety seriously. Therefore, the only way you can love your neighbor as much as you love yourself (and how many people do not truly love themselves) is if you keep the daily requirements. If that does not convince you, perhaps you should remember that Jesus himself said that loving God and loving neighbor was the heart of true religion.

Second example comes from the Sabbath. The Sabbath (shabbot) is God's commandment to humanity to rest just as he rested after creating the earth. In Torah, Sabbath is a part of a cycle of life leading up to Jubilee (something Jesus again picks up on in Luke 4 as he is preaching to his hometown congregation concerning the essence of his ministry). Jubilee was the time in which land, slaves, and debts were forgiven. It was God's radical act of justice in a world that was primarily concerned with profit, exploitation, and economic gain (like our world today). Therefore, if you wanted to end injustice, the way to do so, was to keep Sabbath. You rested on the seventh day. Sabbath created the space for humans to remember God's role as Creator. And to remember that there will be a day when all peoples of the world will rest, what some call "heaven."

You can't separate personal piety from social awareness. At least, not if you want to be a person who is formed by the Torah, and the teachings of Jesus.

The two largest groups of Christians in the United States (evangelical and mainline) seem to be interested in opposite sides of the same coin. Most evangelicals are interested in bible study, prayer, journals, book clubs, bible classes while many mainline churches are interested in slavery in Uganda, wars in the Sudan, poverty in India.

Of course, this has radically changed in the last twenty years. But it's still the overwhelming legacy of the twentieth century.

Mainline churches went wrong because they equated the Gospel primarily with social issues. Evangelicals went wrong because they privatized faith. Both are equally offensive. The product of personal piety and devotion is engagement with the world and neighbor. The sustaining force for those passionate about social issues is personal piety. If one is missing, it's like dancing with one leg. It can't be done.

The Future of the Church

Many bemoan the future of the church in America.

I'm not one of them. The church might get smaller . . . but I trust that, in the fullness of time, God will do what God wills. By "church" I'm not referring to a specific tribe (Church of Christ, Community, Catholic, Baptist, etc.) but, rather, to the church universal.

Last night, I spoke at Hope Community Church in Detroit to about 40 young adults regarding faith, Christian history (skeletons and bright spots alike) and evangelism. Their questions were outstanding, candid, honest, and authentic.

The top question of the day, to paraphrase one Christian thinker, is not whether Christianity is rationale, true, or logical. The top question . . . is rather . . .can Christianity prove itself to be redemptive, authentic, and "good news" for those who do not subscribe to the tenets of Christianity?

Driving home last night, I thought of this quote from one African scholar.


"It is not often recognized in Christian circles that theological affirmations about Christ are meaningful ultimately, not in terms of what Christians say, but in terms of what persons of other faiths understand those affirmations to imply for them. In other words, our Christian affirmations about the uniqueness of Christ achieve their real impact when they are subjected to the test to establish their credentials and validity not only in terms of the religious and spiritual universe in which Christians habitually operate, but also and indeed especially, in terms of the religious and spiritual worlds which persons of other faiths inhabit. For it is, after all, in those ‘other worlds’ that the true meaning of the unique Christ is meant to become apparent and validated.”

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.

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.

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"?

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.

Liars Go to Hell

Just this week, standing on the corner of Auburn and Rochester Road, was a middle-aged white male. Some of you know who I am talking about.

Normally, this would not draw the attention of onlookers as Rochester is predominantly white. This person was doing something unusual for he wore a large sign that read:

Revelation 21:8
LIARS GO TO HELL!

Kara first sited this man and reported to me via cell phone. This happened about a week ago. I responded to her journalistic reporting by stating, “Can you get a picture?” She was driving at the time, and thus, could not get a discernible picture.

As if the story could not get any stranger . . . my “liars-go-to-hell-sign-wearing-friend” held, in the hand not supporting the large sign under discussion, a miniature Santa Clause holding a camera.

“I suppose it is Christmas,” I muttered the first time I noticed, as I drove through Rochester, the figurine of the man from the North Pole.

I’ve heard several people comment on the new Rochester messenger throughout this week.

On Friday, I met a friend for lunch in Troy, the town right next to Rochester. I was early, for once, and noticed the “liars-go-to-hell-sign-wearing-friend” standing at a main intersection.

Santa was also with him, I should add. In his hand. With the previously mentioned photograph device.

I looked at my watch. “He won’t be here for another few minutes,” I thought remembering that my lunch partner had to stop at an ATM machine before meeting me for some Mexican food.

I’ve been thinking, reading, and writing a lot about reconciliation lately. The one constant in all of my reading is “going to the other.” Whether it’s the Tutsi going to the Hutu (Rwanda), the uptight urban-city-slicker going to the rural simpleton (work) or the victim approaching the perpetrator (countless scenario’s)— there’s something profound about one person, despite tension or awkwardness, going to another in genuine respect, searching for authentic understanding.

While some think it's the passive/weak/idealistic way . . . I think it is the harder way. What's easier: to avoid confrontation and tension or to embrace it? Nine times out of ten we choose the former while the latter offers the greatest potential for insight and, on the rare occasion, healing.

So I walked. Carefully. And slowly. Towards the man wearing the loud sign.

“Sir, can I talk to you?” I asked. No response.
“I’m not here to argue. I just want to talk. My name is Josh. I’m a minister.”

Apparently, the “minister angle” didn’t bring me anymore credibility. He only stared beyond me.

“Will you talk to me? . . . You won’t talk to me?” I was getting a bit agitated. I mean, I came all the way out here to . . . well, this story isn’t about me.

Then our eyes met. And I knew it when I saw it. It’s almost impossible to explain what “it” is. It’s like the innate ability of a point guard to find the open man in a critical juncture of the game. Or the negotiator, in the moment of intense drama, who knows the precise words that need to be spoken.

I did not find anger in his eyes.

I did not stumble upon arrogance.

I did not even locate confusion.

Instead I found the most dangerous thing in the world when mixed with religion.

I found fear.

So, I walked away knowing what is so true in all of us. Deep down, all of us wrestle fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of failure. Fear of mediocrity. Fear of . . .

Tonight, before I sleep, I’ll pray for this man, whoever he is. Because, ironically enough, he’s not afraid of me or you or Rochester. He’s afraid of God. I know plenty of people in that boat. Just because he’s rather transparent about it, doesn’t mean I should love him any less than I love my wife, or you.