Wrinkled Missionaries, New Ways of Thinking

Lets face it. The old way of doing things is shot. Even the way in which we did things 10 years ago is full of holes. There are a few institutions, such as marriage, the sacraments, and the infield fly rule that still work well. But in large part, the old way of doing things, most particularly in the church, is over and done with.

So, what ARE we gonna do? Well, if we are Presbyterians, we form a Committee to study it, with a name like the Committee to Study It, or the Vision Committee, of the Next Century Working Group. Whatever.

Maybe as a part of our spiffy committee formations, we need to take a look back, and a look around at the rest of the world.

By the way, none of these thoughts are original, they are part of the Missional Church Movement, of which Presbyterian Global Fellowship is a part. God might just be doing something new. I have plagiarized large parts of this from here; the mind of Dr. Steven Hayner (friends of mine are friends of his). I have no shame.

The Early Church

In the first centuries the Holy Spirit pushed Jesus’ followers out of their comfort zones and into the Greek and Roman worlds—and beyond. About the middle of the second century, Justin Martyr declared: "There is not one single race of men whether barbarians, or Greeks, or whatever they may be called, nomads, or vagrants, or herdsmen living in tents, among whom prayers and giving of thanks are not offered through the name of the crucified Jesus." [Dial. cum Tryph., cxvii.] Within 3 centuries, new outposts of witness had been planted in all corners of the world—and in the west, Christianity became the official religion of the Empire.

God continued to work—and has done so to this day—calling, wooing, healing, freeing, forgiving, and engaging more people in the adventure of participating with God’s Great Plan.

But in the 4th century something began to happen to the church. As it became more and more accepted in the culture, and as there were more and more Christians, the Church began to be less of a movement and more of an institution (sound familiar?).

Even the use of the word “Church” began to change. Instead of referring to God’s people, “church” began to refer to a building—or a particular program activity. “We’re going to church.”

I have spent most of my adult life going to church. Well, at 48 years old, I am getting tired of going to church, I think I might like to be the church now.

More soon.

I Need Better Resumes

Poopie Doodie For Christians

Our family has a really funny, cute, and lively little nephew named Tim. Tim is about four years old now, but when he was a really little guy, around two years old, he used to have an expression that has now become common vernacular around our house...

"Poopie Doodie"

Tim used to say this just about all the time. It was used interchangeably as an expression of fun, frustration, and mostly to get his cousins to laugh. Tim is a showman, just like his Dad. We now use this expression in our house to replace other, less acceptable forms of verbal frustration.

Well people, we have Poopie Doodie Problems in the church, but perhaps we don't realize it. Wait, I am SURE we don't realize it. If we did, we would stop this behavior.

Thanks to Michael Spencer, over at Internet Monk, I have found evidence of something that makes me nearly wretch. The selling of Christian......stuff, and lots of it.

James Watkins, of the Charlotte Observer has a column you really need to read, called the "Christian Industrial Complex". As it turns out, the Christian retail industry topped $4.5 billion in gross sales last year. Now, if my math is correct, if you took $30 per month, and used it to support a child in the third world, you could support 250,000 children for the next 50 years! Or alternately, you could support 1,000,000 children for the next 12.5 years - to the point at which they might hopefully be self sufficient. Now that might really make a difference in our weary world.

Either way, something is sick in our culture. Maybe this is why folks find the church irrelevant so often. We are so caught up by the latest trends; The Purpose Driven This, and the Prayer of Jabez That, The Wild At Heart This, and the Your Best Life Now That.

We aren't any different than much of the rest of the modern culture, behaving like lemmings, we Christian folk. We follow the latest popular fad, rather than focusing on important things, the mystery of the Word made flesh, and how our faith can be more transformational, the ways that Christ can transform our faith, and help us to really, really love other people well.

Or maybe not. You decide.

Five Weird Things

I have been asked by my old (well not that old) friend Julie to post five wierd things about myself. What better way to start the new year?

As there are approximately 12 readers of this blog, this should prove to be earthshattering news that will affect the Internet to an extent greater than its original invention, by Al Gore of course. And so without further ado, five weird things about Steve, as reported by members of my family (as I can find nothing weird about myself).

1. 1. My music tastes are those of an 80 year old and/or I enjoy certain Hawaiian music. This has been the case ever since our family vacation to Kauai in the summer of 2005. Get ready, they will be playing Hawaiian music in Heaven.


2. I find pleasure and calm in watching the Kreepy Crawly pool sweep move around the bottom of our pool. I have no idea why, but this is true. I find it soothing. Sue me.


3. My belly button is an "outie"; which places me in a rare class (4% of the population). I have had it fixed twice via surgery (not just for THAT!) to no avail. Still an outie; such is my fate in life. Enough information.


4. I don't like tight clothes. Never have, never will. A guy needs room to relax.


5. I shoot squirrels in my back yard trees with a beebie gun just like Ralphie in A Christmas Story. They eat these little pod things in the tree over my pool, thus making more work for the Kreepy Crawly thing.....wait a minute.

A Ford, Not A Lincoln

This has been a week to remember the average guy. The guy who does his job (even if it happens to be President) each day, is kind to his neighbor, loves his wife and his family, and who quietly, makes this a great country to live in. We need more Gerry Fords.

Ben Stein, who used to write speeches for Gerald Ford, has it exactly right here. I give you a short quote, which sums it all up:

Defeated for election, Ford went peacefully into elder statesman mode, helped his noble wife dignify the fight against alcoholism and addiction, and stood for decades as a figure of grace and humility. Five miles east of the lovely home that Ford lived and died in in the California desert, there is a simple cottage where men and women go to attend meetings to bring peace and sobriety. On one wall there is a list of the people who have been coming frequently, just by first name and last initial. Two of those names are "Gerald and Betty F." Not President. Not Minority Leader. Just "Gerald and Betty F." Just two people trying to spread oil on the troubled waters of human existence. A Ford, not a Lincoln, but what a glorious Michigan-made vehicle of the human spirit.

Some Children See Him

I am continuing to revel in the simple beauty of James Taylor's Christmas Album, late to the party as I am. Tonight, I am listening to "Some Children See Him", written by Wihla Hutson and Alfred Burt in 1951, seven years before I was born.

Some children see Him lily white
the infant Jesus born this night
Some children see Him lily white
with tresses soft and fair

Some children see Him bronzed and brown
the Lord of heav'n to earth come down
Some children see Him bronzed and brown
with dark and heavy hair (with dark and
heavy hair!)

Some children see Him almond-eyed
This Saviour whom we kneel beside
Some children see Him almond-eyed
With skin of yellow hue!

Some children see Him dark as they
Sweet Mary's Son to whom we pray
Some children see Him dark as they
And, ah! they love Him so!

The children in each different place
Will see the Baby Jesus' face
Like theirs but bright with heav'nly grace
And filled with holy light!

O lay aside each earthly thing
and with thy heart as offering
Come worship now the infant King
'tis love that's born tonight!

'tis love that's born tonight!

The composer of song has a bittersweet subplot, as can be found, in detail here (click "history"). Alfred Burt lived only 33 years, before succuming to lung cancer, far too early in life. He left behind a wife and daughter, who have carried on his musical tradition.

James Taylor of Chapel Hill, NC, 10 years my senior. Alfred Burt, born the same year as my Dad, and died 4 years before my birth. Neither men met each other, but together, they have created a song that speaks remarkably well of the universality of a faith more than 2,000 years in the making.

And who says Christmas is not, at its deepest center, a mystery?

Deconstructing Church

Sometimes I think I live in a cave. James Taylor has a new Christmas album, and I had no idea, until the other day when my buddy John told me. Tickets for his solo (only James, no band) concert in LA in February are sold out, and now going for up to $400 per seat. Guess we won't be going, although I would love to.

Anyway, I am online just now listening to "In The Bleak Midwinter" from James' new album, and my eyes are tearing up. Here is why. James is a fellow who has had a somewhat wandering, wondering spiritual journey his whole life. He has written songs touching on semi-new age and Earth worship, of sorts. And now, I hear him singing from this tune, one of my Christmas favorites:

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, empty as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my
part; Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

And listening to this fellow, who's music I grew up with, I am a sniffling mess. I feel like I know James, we have spent so many hours together in the car, in my bedroom at my parents as a teen, in my dorm room at college, in my first house, at many of his local concerts, and more recently, in the family van with the little girls who are now not so little any more. More than 25 years in all. In this new album, James seems very comfortable with Jesus and the songs about him.

Here is what I think. I think we have to deconstruct the way we do church. My guess is that James is not so much disinterested with Jesus, its the church people that claim to speak for Jesus that he has a hard time with. I think James and Jesus might do very well together, as friends. And perhaps, after spending time with him, James might want to "give his heart", if you will. James is not so unique. Our cities and towns are filled with people just like him. Everywhere. Subtly searching, but unwilling to deal with the structures of the church.

We in the church, for our part, need to create a more welcoming, warm, real, relevant, and loving place. Maybe then, the James' of the world would come visit, and over time, become a part, and maybe even....give their hearts.

May it be so.

My Christmas Prayer

Its Boxing Day 2006. The day after Christmas.

Last night we were part of a large festive party with friends and family old and new from church. The food was wonderful, the conversation warm, the laughter abundant, the warmth of Christmas filled the house with joy. After an early dinner, we walked the neighborhood randomly caroling the neighbors, to their delight, in spite of our less than perfect attempts at Christmas carols.

A grey sky looms this afternoon outside; with showers predicted for tonight. There is a momentary calm, as the raucous teenage girls that will live with us for a few short years longer, have friends over, and are quietly conferring in their rooms.

I sit, laptop in hand in the family room, reflecting on this Christmas 2006, listening to Mozart's Laudate Dominum (see below), perhaps one of the most hauntingly beautiful Adagios ever composed. And ironically, it was written at a point in Mozart's life that was not perfect.

LAUDATE DOMINUM
Psalm 117 (Vulgate)

Laudate Dominum omnes gentes: laudate eum omnes populi.
Quoniam confirmata est super
nos misericordia ejus: et veritas Domini manet in aeternum.
Gloria Patri.

O praise the Lord, all ye
nations: praise Him, all ye people.
For His mercy is confirmed upon us: and the truth of the Lord remaineth for ever.
Glory be to the Father

So much in our world is not indeed far less than perfect this Christmas. Is it not always so? And so, this is my Christmas prayer:

Lord, on this day after Christmas, I am filled with ambiguity.

Mixed emotions. Joy and sorrow, happiness and grief, hope and hurt.

You, who came to live among us long ago on this day we celebrate,

did not come with a thunder clap, an explosion, or cheers of tens of thousands.

You came with a cry, nearly alone, the scream of a helpless, messy, completely fragile baby.

You were not ushered in front of adoring royal hoards

You came among us in a smelly barn full of animals.

Your companions on your arrival were two completely ordinary people,

who themselves must have been scared, and confused, and amazed by your arrival,

with eyes full of tears of wonder, and hearts still unsure what was going on. Like us.

Your first attendants were ordinary shepards,

who likely also smelled like the animals they tended.

And I, this Christmas, often feel like a somewhat smelly shepard.

Not completely sure of all that you are, but wanting to stand close to you,

trying to understand you, to know you.

And our world, your world, is so much less than holy or perfect,

so much like the scene at your birth. Dirty, soiled, yet somehow sacred.

As I look back on the last year, I think often of the dichotomies in my own life,

and those in our world.

I think about our happy Christmas celebration,

and the sadness that fills so much of this earth.
I think about the happy parts of my own life,
and then the sadness that also fill the corners of my heart,

as I often know how far I am from your love.

And I wonder, how can my life

make a difference; to love, to heal, to care. I wonder.

And I think of the places in my own mind and heart

that feel so far from your love and your peace.

I remember the places in this world now that seem so

far from hope and peace and healing.

I bring both the broken pieces of my life, and the broken parts of the world to you,

as did those countless crowds who followed you in your short life.

Seeking healing, hope, forgiveness and peace.

For Darfur, for Palestine, for Iraq, I pray your peace.

For Chechnya, for Myanmar, for Somali and Ethiopia, I pray your hope.

For children who will not eat this night, I pray your provision.

For all places that feel dark and hopeless, may your grace brake through.

And for the dark and uncaring parts of my own heart, I pray for your light.

Bright and blinding light.

May I be haunted by the life and love of the child who became a King.

Amen

Merry Christmas to All.....

And to all, a good night.

The Trouble With Political Correctness

Merry Christmas from Mr Bean!

VERY cool, Presbyterian Global Fellowship

Alright....here is another reason the Internet is completely cool.

Just imagine it, uptight Presbyterians, making a difference. Wonderful!