A while back, I resolved to post more often, even if it was just to link to other blogs that I find interesting. Since my last post was in March, it looks like I've failed miserably. But here's a post with some interesting thoughts by Scot McKnight about the most recent book from the pen of N. T. Wright. Scot's blog is worth following, if you don't already.
www.patheos.com/blogs/jesuscreed/2013/10/10/rome-as-empire-and-emperor-worship/
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Be. With.
In my job as a volunteer coordinator with a local hospice, death and sadness are always around. That's a little bit the nature of the work. On a daily basis we deal with families who have lost, are losing, or will lose a loved one. And while that comes with the territory in hospice, it doesn't make it any less sad.
Today I made a visit to some friends who are just beginning to take in and care for elderly/dying people in their home. It was a little bit of a work trip -- they were having an open house to show off their home -- but I made it mostly to say hey to some friends. As they were showing off their house, they took me to one of the bedrooms. The room was still decorated with their family stuff, including a picture of their son-in-law who recently took his own life. While the friend played it off pretty quickly, the nature of her words showed me that there was still a good deal of pain and sadness associated with that memory.
Once a month at our company, we have an all-staff meeting. As a part of that meeting, we have a prayer time and allow people to share prayer requests. This month's prayer requests included a local teenager who had ended his life and another teenager who was being taken off of life support so that his organs could be harvested. The people that shared these requests were casual acquaintances, yet the sadness was evident. I can't imagine the feelings held by the immediate families. What profound sadness.
I have noticed in my years of ministry that churches and Christians don't typically do sadness very well. Not that we aren't sad; it's just that we don't know what to do with our sadness or the sadness of others. We somehow believe that it is the job of the follower of Jesus to offer some sort of encouragement that will make the person grieving magically "get over it." Rarely do we acknowledge that there are usually no good solutions to such sadness.
In the book of Job there is the story of a very righteous, successful man who has his life crash down around him. In one horrific day, he loses everything that is dear to him. After everything is taken away from him, he sits in ashes and mourns the losses. A group of his Christian friends come to offer their insight. (Yes, Mr. Smartypants Theologian, I know that Christians are a New Testament creation and this is an Old Testament book. But in the story, these friends want to speak conclusively on behalf of God, so they're playing the role that most of us Christ followers believe is ours to play.)
These friends came from a worldview that offered only one plausible solution when life crashes down. Clearly, Job had some deep dark secrets that he was hiding that only God could see and thus punish him for. So for chapters and chapters and chapters and chapters the friends argue with Job in an attempt to get the "truth" out of him. My hope would be that their quest for the "truth" is a deep desire to see Job redeemed and restored. My experience with such "truth" seekers is that they are usually wanting to get the good dirt on someone so that they can pass that along. Maybe during their next prayer group.
I have lots of things that I could say about these "friends," but they actually did one thing right. When the story of Job's calamity first reaches them, the hustle to Job's side, where they sit with him.
In silence.
For days.
No canned responses. No soothing platitudes. No misinformed opinions.
Just sit.
And be.
With.
Much of the sadness in our society comes from the fact that we are a disconnected people. We have such amazing connectivity tools like iPads and smartphones, Facebook and Blogger, but we have lost the ability to be with someone. We forget what it was like when we were sad. We knew that no one could bring back what was lost, but we needed someone to be with us. Not because they had answers. Not because they had a similar experience. We just wanted our sadness and pain to be recognized. We wanted to know that, despite the profound loss we had experienced,
we were not alone.
Someone was there to
be
with
us.
It's not that misery loves company; it's that unless misery has community, it will never move on. It will never transform. It will never be redeemed.
And that is perhaps the deepest sadness there can be.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
First Feast Day
Probably the only reason that this Lenten fast works for me is because of the weekly feast day. I didn't realize until three years ago that, even though a typical Lent observance is 40 days, the actual time period from Ash Wednesday to Easter is 46 days. Some Christian traditions use those extra days (typically Sundays) as feast days in the midst of the fast. That's the beautiful thing of the A Place at the Table fast. The Sundays are feast days.
It may be because those first four fast days seemed so long, but this first feast day of Lent was glorious. As was my tradition last year, my feast day began with a Reese's product (this time a PB heart) just after midnight. While this is probably cheating, it has become one of my favorite Lent traditions. This time, the Reese's product was washed down with a Woodhouse Cider, meaning that I consumed almost as many calories before going to bed as I typically did in an entire fast day. Then, I woke up to a fresh cup of coffee (with creamer!!) and waited for our community to come over. The plan was pancakes, eggs, bacon, and fruit for breakfast, and it was fantastic. All of the four core families are doing some sort of fast this year, so it was a wondrous Sunday morning for us. The smell of bacon (and the knowledge that I could eat some!) was a sacred thing! I never even needed a plate. I picked up a piece of bacon every time I walked past the serving plate, thus allowing me to have no real idea how much bacon I ate.
Breakfast was so good that, despite the fact that feast day only comes once a week, we skipped lunch. We were still full from bacon! It didn't help that church went until around 1:30. We made plans to meet some of our favorite people for dinner, and that turned out to be a great joy. The Milners are some mentors of ours and we just never seem to have time in our schedules to hang out. So an evening at 50th Street Caboose was just perfect. The grilled chicken sandwich (with bacon and cheese) was perfect with sweet potato fries. The conversation was fantastic, the Milner kids kept T occupied, and it was nice to have some adult time.
As I was finishing up the day with some laundry and cleaning, I reflected on my first feast day. And it might have been that bacon was what made it such a great day. Bacon makes most everything better. But I think it was the people that made Sunday so great. Singing songs in my living room with kids screaming out that "God's not dead, He's surely alive, and he's living on the inside, roaring like a lion." Standing around the griddle making pancakes and bacon while laughing. Hanging out after "church" for an hour to just catch up. Eating a good meal with some of our favorite people. It was a reminder of what is truly important. I can live without most of the food pleasures of life. But I could never survive without community. Without friends. Without people.
That's what life is truly about.
It may be because those first four fast days seemed so long, but this first feast day of Lent was glorious. As was my tradition last year, my feast day began with a Reese's product (this time a PB heart) just after midnight. While this is probably cheating, it has become one of my favorite Lent traditions. This time, the Reese's product was washed down with a Woodhouse Cider, meaning that I consumed almost as many calories before going to bed as I typically did in an entire fast day. Then, I woke up to a fresh cup of coffee (with creamer!!) and waited for our community to come over. The plan was pancakes, eggs, bacon, and fruit for breakfast, and it was fantastic. All of the four core families are doing some sort of fast this year, so it was a wondrous Sunday morning for us. The smell of bacon (and the knowledge that I could eat some!) was a sacred thing! I never even needed a plate. I picked up a piece of bacon every time I walked past the serving plate, thus allowing me to have no real idea how much bacon I ate.
Breakfast was so good that, despite the fact that feast day only comes once a week, we skipped lunch. We were still full from bacon! It didn't help that church went until around 1:30. We made plans to meet some of our favorite people for dinner, and that turned out to be a great joy. The Milners are some mentors of ours and we just never seem to have time in our schedules to hang out. So an evening at 50th Street Caboose was just perfect. The grilled chicken sandwich (with bacon and cheese) was perfect with sweet potato fries. The conversation was fantastic, the Milner kids kept T occupied, and it was nice to have some adult time.
As I was finishing up the day with some laundry and cleaning, I reflected on my first feast day. And it might have been that bacon was what made it such a great day. Bacon makes most everything better. But I think it was the people that made Sunday so great. Singing songs in my living room with kids screaming out that "God's not dead, He's surely alive, and he's living on the inside, roaring like a lion." Standing around the griddle making pancakes and bacon while laughing. Hanging out after "church" for an hour to just catch up. Eating a good meal with some of our favorite people. It was a reminder of what is truly important. I can live without most of the food pleasures of life. But I could never survive without community. Without friends. Without people.
That's what life is truly about.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
A Place at the Table, Year 2
Two years ago, Wendy and I were visiting one of my favorite people who happens to work at our favorite church (www.ecclesiahouston.org) when we were introduced to a new way to view Lent. Having grown up in a good, evangelical, protestant church, I had never really given Lent a whole lot of thought. It was chalked up as "one of those odd things that Catholics do." However, one of the men that I admire greatly, Chris Seay, was in the midst of a Lenten experiment that later became chronicled in a book entitled A Place at the Table: 40 Days of Solidarity with the Poor (buy it on Kindle here: A Place at the Table).
Last year, a group of us from the 8th Day Collective jumped into Lent with both feet. If you search back through my blog, you can find last year's thoughts. It was an amazing, painful, bonding experience for me personally and for us as a church. The basic premise of the challenge is this: Lent is the 46-day period from Ash Wednesday to Easter. During the 40 days (excluding the 6 Sundays), the challenge is to eat only foods that your Compassion/World Vision/CRF/etc. child would have access to. Then, on Sundays, you can eat whatever you want in whatever quantity. (You'd better believe that there was a lot of BACON consumed by our church on Sundays!) The hope of the challenge is that, through the experience and the devotional at the back of A Place at the Table, we would develop a deeper appreciation for the plight of those around the world who live in poverty. (Interesting side note: Apparently there is a movie coming out of the same title that explores the plight of some 50 million Americans who don't know where their next meal will come from.) Then, you take the money that you would have regularly spent on food and give it to a charitable organization of your choice, preferably one that is doing something about the plight of the poor.
Even though it seems like just yesterday that we did this, it has been a year, and the Lenten season is back upon us. So, the challenge is back as well. And with two days of the fast over, I'm not sure I'm gonna make it. I don't remember beans, rice, potatoes, bread, and black coffee being quite this boring. (Actually, I DO remember the black coffee being this boring.) On Ash Wednesday, I walked out of lunch hungry, wondering how long it was until dinner. And at dinner, that baked potato with nothing but salt was about as bland as a Physics lecture. Wendy assures me that it was just as bad last year, but this has a different feeling. Maybe I should go back and read my own blog from last year and remember just how miserable I was.
It's pretty disappointing, really. I have gotten so used to whatever I want whenever I want it that there seems to be no need for discipline. No need for Jesus. No need grace. Whereas last year's challenge led me into a deep appreciation of the plight of the poor, maybe this year's challenge will lead me deep inside my own psyche to remind me just how poor I really am. How much I need Jesus. How much I should depend on grace.
But I sure am hungry today.
Last year, a group of us from the 8th Day Collective jumped into Lent with both feet. If you search back through my blog, you can find last year's thoughts. It was an amazing, painful, bonding experience for me personally and for us as a church. The basic premise of the challenge is this: Lent is the 46-day period from Ash Wednesday to Easter. During the 40 days (excluding the 6 Sundays), the challenge is to eat only foods that your Compassion/World Vision/CRF/etc. child would have access to. Then, on Sundays, you can eat whatever you want in whatever quantity. (You'd better believe that there was a lot of BACON consumed by our church on Sundays!) The hope of the challenge is that, through the experience and the devotional at the back of A Place at the Table, we would develop a deeper appreciation for the plight of those around the world who live in poverty. (Interesting side note: Apparently there is a movie coming out of the same title that explores the plight of some 50 million Americans who don't know where their next meal will come from.) Then, you take the money that you would have regularly spent on food and give it to a charitable organization of your choice, preferably one that is doing something about the plight of the poor.
Even though it seems like just yesterday that we did this, it has been a year, and the Lenten season is back upon us. So, the challenge is back as well. And with two days of the fast over, I'm not sure I'm gonna make it. I don't remember beans, rice, potatoes, bread, and black coffee being quite this boring. (Actually, I DO remember the black coffee being this boring.) On Ash Wednesday, I walked out of lunch hungry, wondering how long it was until dinner. And at dinner, that baked potato with nothing but salt was about as bland as a Physics lecture. Wendy assures me that it was just as bad last year, but this has a different feeling. Maybe I should go back and read my own blog from last year and remember just how miserable I was.
It's pretty disappointing, really. I have gotten so used to whatever I want whenever I want it that there seems to be no need for discipline. No need for Jesus. No need grace. Whereas last year's challenge led me into a deep appreciation of the plight of the poor, maybe this year's challenge will lead me deep inside my own psyche to remind me just how poor I really am. How much I need Jesus. How much I should depend on grace.
But I sure am hungry today.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Anyone need encouragement?
It's not often that I post other people's stuff, but this video was just too good not to share. Reminds me of the "mission statement" from Bob Goff's Love Does. Be awesome.
Enjoy! And pass along the encouragement! Be awesome!
Monday, January 21, 2013
An almost perfect "church" day
Wow, it's been a while since I last blogged. For those of you following us on this journey, I apologize for the radio silence. I have hopes and new resolve to be more consistent in my posts.
A small group of us have been on this "church" journey for almost a year now. It seems unbelievable that it has been that long, but it indeed has. I feel like we've finally begun to turn a little bit of a corner. We decided a little while ago that it was time for us to expand our vision and begin to invite new people into our faith community. We've been very hesitant to do so, primarily due to the fact that we really didn't know where we were going, so why would we invite others into our uncertainty?
Yesterday was the first morning of our "growth." We had three "new-to-us" families that showed up at our house for a morning of worship, teaching, communion and prayer. I listened as our children on the "front row" sang at the top of their lungs that "Our God's not dead; he's surely alive." We shared about our wrestlings with grace and forgiveness and service. We prayed prayers of thanks for the blessings in our lives. Whereas for most of my church-going life, I was always concerned about what time it was so that we didn't offend anyone by gathering for too long, I had no idea what time it was, nor how long we had been there. It is a glorious feeling!
We parted ways and then made plans to get back together in the evening for a family game night. After an afternoon of football, we gathered back together at a friend's house for pizza, dominoes, Monopoly, more football, laughter, and community. Our "senior member" schooled us in dominoes. We told stories of mission trips past. We laughed at the Pintrest acumen of one of our male friends. Our kids watched movies together. It was a beautiful night.
I'm not sure we're much closer to understanding our "mission" and "strategy" than we were a year ago. But we've started to spread our wings and try some new things. We've begun to believe that a vital element of the spiritual life is that it is lived together, in community and on mission. And I couldn't be more grateful that God has brought together this little group that we call the 8th Day Collective. At least for one Sunday, it felt like everything was just perfect.
A small group of us have been on this "church" journey for almost a year now. It seems unbelievable that it has been that long, but it indeed has. I feel like we've finally begun to turn a little bit of a corner. We decided a little while ago that it was time for us to expand our vision and begin to invite new people into our faith community. We've been very hesitant to do so, primarily due to the fact that we really didn't know where we were going, so why would we invite others into our uncertainty?
Yesterday was the first morning of our "growth." We had three "new-to-us" families that showed up at our house for a morning of worship, teaching, communion and prayer. I listened as our children on the "front row" sang at the top of their lungs that "Our God's not dead; he's surely alive." We shared about our wrestlings with grace and forgiveness and service. We prayed prayers of thanks for the blessings in our lives. Whereas for most of my church-going life, I was always concerned about what time it was so that we didn't offend anyone by gathering for too long, I had no idea what time it was, nor how long we had been there. It is a glorious feeling!
We parted ways and then made plans to get back together in the evening for a family game night. After an afternoon of football, we gathered back together at a friend's house for pizza, dominoes, Monopoly, more football, laughter, and community. Our "senior member" schooled us in dominoes. We told stories of mission trips past. We laughed at the Pintrest acumen of one of our male friends. Our kids watched movies together. It was a beautiful night.
I'm not sure we're much closer to understanding our "mission" and "strategy" than we were a year ago. But we've started to spread our wings and try some new things. We've begun to believe that a vital element of the spiritual life is that it is lived together, in community and on mission. And I couldn't be more grateful that God has brought together this little group that we call the 8th Day Collective. At least for one Sunday, it felt like everything was just perfect.
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