Systems

James posted this recently about Choosing our Systems. Truly an excellent piece; I resonate with it on many levels. I want to pick up his theme of proprietary systems and connect it with my recent thoughts on metaphor. James states,

In the old days of computers there were a lot of proprietary systems. Every piece of the system was designed to work together as a unit. This was efficient and cheap which made these systems very popular. The problem was you could not upgrade them very easily...So what does that have to do with anything? Some people see the shift to "postmodernity" in the Evangelical realm as a transition going on within the system. Therefore, they believe that changes made within the system will produce change in the end result.

James connects these thoughts with the current system of theological education, presenting a compelling discussion of one aspect of the myopic tendencies that characterize the evangelical approach to the emergent conversation. I'd like to take this a step further, and state that this represents exactly the challenge presented by the Exodus approach discussed in my previous post.

One of the truly troubling things about current self-imposed Christian isolationism is the lack of any true distinctives between Christians and persons of other belief systems in areas of praxis. In other words, separation from "the world" has not actually resulted in difference from "the world". Instead of creating a countercultural, subversive movement, Christianity™ has become a parallel culture that mirrors in nearly every way the values and practices of mainstream western civilization. Barna has documented this move in numerous ways. (For a compelling read from another perspective on this, reference the Christapalooza article from the Seattle paper The Stranger of a few years ago.)

This development is both ironic and tragic in that acceptance and normalcy has cost western Christianity, in particular the evangelical flavor, its prophetic, countercultural voice. We accept the assumptions of contemporary society as valid, and attempt to critique that society from such a stance - it's untenable. But what is even more ironic and tragic is that we are just as quick to silence the prophetic voices ourselves! If something doesn't work within our proprietary system, it is viewed as incompatible, even dangerous. Like Cypher in The Matrix, we prefer the illusion of steak to the cold, hard reality of gruel, even when the gruel is what is substantive. I read posts like this from James, or like this one from Jimmy over at liquidthinking, or I reflect on my own loss of employment in a church™ several years ago, and I wonder how we, in a broad sense, can negotiate the challenge of moving to a subversive, liminal movement when we have so much difficulty recognizing how much like everyone else we truly are.

Metaphors

Jason Clark has a great post on being in love with cool. One question that he raises is, "So ... how do we form new emerging church communities, that have a dominant christian subculture that strengthens faith in a liminal situation but leaves us open and engaging to the culture around us?" An excellent question, and one that I think is central to the ongoing validity of the emerging church movement (for lack of a better term).

I'm going to start from the perspective of metaphors. For a long time, it seems as though evangelical Christianity has identified with an Exodus-style metaphor of savation and repentance, with a corresponding "coming out of Egypt" motif in our approach to sanctification and discipleship. (Other traditions may have other perspectives; I speak only from mine.) Inhabiting this metaphor requires an isolationist stance on the part of the people of God - separation from Egypt (the "world") and journey to the Promised Land (heaven). There is also frequently, in my experience, an eschatological thrust to the metaphor as well, in which the parousia figures prominently as the mechanism by which the Promised Land is reached. The assumption with this approach is that the journey requires separation and withdrawal from the world.

Contrast this metaphor with the Kingdom metaphors used by Jesus. To what shall we compare the kingdom of God? It is like seed, like yeast, like a mixed crop of wheat and weeds. It is among you, subversively spreading its influence. It is arriving with surprise and fanfare like a wedding; it is desirable like a hidden treasure. A kingdom orientation, as opposed to an Exodus orientation, requires the agents of the kingdom be a part of the world, subversively working to advance the agenda of the King. It recognizes the ambiguities of being "in and not of" and is also eschatological, but expectantly so, rather than desperately so.

What would Christianity look like if it viewed itself through the kingdom metaphor rather than the Exodus metaphor? Christians would view themselves as missionaries, sent out by the King into a different, sometimes hostile, world. Rather than seeking to attract outsiders to join "the club", we would instead live incarnationally in our work and in our play, at Starbucks and little league games and yard sales, serving our neighbors, our friends, our enemies, and those who are unloved and oppressed. Our gatherings would be oriented towards equipping rather than consuming, celebration instead of duty, sending instead of defending, authenticity instead of relevancy. We would wonder less about contextualization because it would be a natural part of living our faith.

I think we'd look more like Jesus and less like Christians.

Listening

When I was little I wanted to be an astronaut. I was around 8 or so when I got my first telescope, and I spent hours staring at the night sky. As I grew older, I learned exactly how difficult it is to become an astronaut and decided to lower my aspirations to merely study astronomy. My astronomical obsession ended abruptly, however, with a three-week intensive course the summer between my 7th and 8th grade years, when I learned that astronomy is mostly about math and only a little bit about telescopes. Still, my love of the stars never left, and often through my life I have found myself gazing at the stars, searching for God's fingerprints and listening for His voice.

Some of my favorite phenomena of the night sky are meteors. Meteors to me represent God's extravagance - amazing beauty that too often goes unnoticed. Often, while growing up, I would sit under the night sky and talk to God. Now and again, I'd catch sight of a meteor blazing a fiery line across sky, and I'd imagine that God was letting me know that He was listening.

Tonight, I sat on my deck and reflected on my week of Sabbath. It has been a good week - I spent wonderful time with my boys, slept about 15 hours more than usual, enjoyed time with my wife, and enjoyed the company of good friends. Still, the clock plods ominously towards Monday morning, when I will be thrust back into the tedium of corporate America. I feel as though I have only begun to be restored.

As I reflected on my desires for growth and my struggles with my current situation, I caught a glimpse of a fiery line tracing its way across the sky. It brought a smile to my face to remember sitting under a similar sky years ago, pouring my heart out before the One who hung the stars in place. Suddenly, a second, and then a third meteor flared into and out of existence, following the tracings of His fingertips.

Once in a while, I think that God likes to show off, to amaze us with His extravagance, to waste a show of cosmic beauty on a lonely, tired soul in the Philadelphia suburbs, as if to say, "I'm listening."

Growth

Tonight I sat on my deck and enjoyed the night air of early spring. The wind still carries a bit of a chill, as well as the scent of rain. Tomorrow we may feel the assault of the first thunderclouds of the year, but for tonight I was content to enjoy the breeze and the time to reflect on my path.

At some point, I'll share what has brought me to this point in my journey, about why I am no longer in full-time ministry and about the baggage that I struggle to leave behind. For now, suffice to say that I am not where I thought I would be at this stage of life, spiritually, vocationally, academically, sometimes even geographically. I struggle to make the pieces fit for a puzzle of which the picture keeps changing. As I reflected on these things, I thought of what it means to grow spiritually, and why it is so difficult.

I think that spiritual growth is truly organic. I think that it follows times and seasons, and that it can't be charted, predicted, or repeated easily. I think that environment is critical to growth, but does not cause it. I also think that, on many levels, growth is mysterious and wonderful, and should be appreciated when noticed.

One thing that seems to be an important part of both gardening and spiritual formation is the act of pruning. At some point the outward signs of growth must be arrested in order to preserve future possibilities. Dead limbs must be trimmed away, as must branches growing in an undesirable direction. I think one thing that we find frustrating about spiritual formation is this need for pruning - but it is critical if growth is to continue.

Tonight as I sat surrounded by the promise of spring, of new life and new growth, I realized that I am in need of pruning. Pride, arrogance, impatience, bitterness, anger, and busyness are some of the branches that must be removed. My growth is being hindered by these things, but I am loved by One who is not content to allow them to remain.

Balance

I have heard of a mythical land called Balance, where all elements of one's life fall perfectly into alignment, creating a wonderful, synergistic whole. I may have even glimpsed the land from afar once. I cannot be certain, for it is a place that I have never truly visited, much less inhabited.

The realization of my spiritual and emotional bankruptcy hit me recently through a few instances of God's gracious intervention. I have begun to listen to the signals that my body, my soul, and my friends have been sending, and I have decided to do something about it. It has been far too long since I have practiced Sabbath.

I have decided to take a week off work with no agenda other than retreat, reflection, and restoration. (Crap, that sounds like a sermon powerpoint.) I plan to sleep late, spend time with my two boys and my wife, connect with friends, and read. I want to take my boys to the Philadelphia Zoo and spend an afternoon flying model rockets. I plan to waste an entire evening playing Halo with good friends and good beer. Also, I hope to resuscitate my latent spiritual disciplines and actually spend some time connecting with God.

Why post this here? I hope, among other things, to blog more frequently. Thus far, I have posted primarily theological reflection and conversation here. However, theological reflection that does not translate to theological action is mere posturing. I cannot profess a belief in Christian theology as a holistic endeavor if I am not willing to engage in Christian praxis, including the practice of Sabbath.

If you are so moved, please remember me in your prayers throughout this week. I have some difficult decisions ahead of me. I need to rearrange my life before it consumes me.

Dull

Dave the Rave posted this link to the dullest blog in the world. I had to share. I am completely speechless.

Belief

Sometimes it's easy to believe in God. I find Him more accessable in autumn. The air in autumn possesses a certain something that speaks to my soul. Perhaps it's the way the trees stretch to the heavens with arms raised high as if to show off their fine attire. Perhaps it's the scent of winter that blows in on the breeze before the first frost has dusted the ground, or the particular shade of blue of an autumn sky that accompanies a hurried dusk. I'm not entirely certain, but I sense God's fingerprints more clearly in autumn.

I find God more believable in the country. I grew up far from suburbia, living on land that has passed from generation to generation. Concrete and asphalt are myth and legend there; instead, I spent my childhood roaming wood and creek. At night, the stars would bend down to kiss the earth, and if I jumped high enough I knew that I could scoop up a handful. Once I stayed up for half the night to watch the Perseid meteors. As the sky lit up with a thousand brilliant tracings, I knew that God was holding the brush.

Often I wonder why He chooses to be so elusive so much of the time, or why it is that my eyes are so uncooperative that I fail to perceive Him. I wish for the innocence and wonder that once shaped my perspective and allowed me to glimpse His form silhouetted in His creation. I wish I were less tired, less hurried, less cynical, all-grown-up and serious. I wish I had more faith, or better faith, or that I took it out of the box and used it on occasion.

I bet then it'd be easy to believe in God.

Gospel™ Revisited

liquidthinking has posted several articles related to the dumbing down of the gospel lately that I can't seem to get out of my head. (I'm linking to the one that bothered me the most...) I truly don't know how to respond, but I feel as though I have to try, if only to put my thoughts somewhere solid so they'll leave me alone. I sometimes feel as though I'm caught on a bad episode of one of those hidden camera shows. I've begun to look over my shoulder or behind nearby bushes for the person with the film. Have we truly lost our collective minds?

In some sense, I can't honestly say I'm all that surprised. Gospel™ is only the natural progression of what we've become in western Christianity. I can't help but think that our particular articulation of gospel™ has left us without any real sense of the incredible cost of following Christ - and we are in no way better for it.

What is the gospel? I'm wrestling with this, as are many others. I don't know that I have an answer, but I feel as though I have a tragectory, and one thing that I can say that I believe firmly is that the gospel cannot be articulated without talking of cost. Jesus himself talked of the folly of beginning to build without determining whether you can pay the mortgage. Nearly every major character in the biblical narrative suffered greatly. As followers of Christ, we are promised any number of times that we will suffer. I find it hard to locate such a sentiment in our talk of gospel™. We want a microwave faith that's ready for a lifetime in four minutes and a Jesus™ who looks good on our t-shirts. Cost? In gospel™, there is no such thing as cost - just charge it to your Mastercard (awful pun intended).

What a pile of horsecrap. I'm firmly convinced that any articulation of the gospel in our culture should begin with the fact that the Christian life, lived properly, is the hardest thing on earth. It carries a significant cost. Grace may be free, but we still have to finish the race. Following Christ could cost everything we have and are - our jobs, our stuff, our families, our very lives.

Fortunately, when I think of the gospel, I have some better examples to emulate. I think of those who get no press or acolades. I think of the Johnsons in Coatesville, PA, working with all of their might with little resources but much faith. I think of Gordon, whose blog is full of amazing stories of personal sacrifice and dedication to loving those who are not loved. I think of John, an honorable man in my seminary class who has been persecuted by people in the very church that he pastors. I think of others, of Bob and Floyd, of Sal and Jonathan, of Rob and Craig and Herb - most of whom will go uncelebrated except by those who know them, but who live or have lived the heart of the gospel message at great personal cost. I can't help but think that if the church is to find any sense of credibility, we need to hear their voices - we need to start following Jesus, recognizing that it could cost us everything.

Site

After a bit of agony and only a small amount of cussing, I've got my new site powered by Movable Type up and running. I'm very impressed with the tool - glad I made the switch. Unfortunately, I can't find a way to import my comments from Haloscan, so it feels like I'm starting afresh. Ah, well. My new rss feed is linked here, and the atom feed hasn't changed. I'll probably keep playing with the template, so don't be surprised if the look changes over the next few weeks. For now, though, I want to get back to writing, so this will do. Comments welcome!

Lost

Now and again, if we're honest with ourselves, we come to a point in our lives where we pause to survey the landscape and wonder if we have, in fact, lost our way. The surroundings seem unfamiliar and we may be uncertain as to exactly how we have arrived at this particular location. We check our map to be sure that we aren't holding it upside down and our compass to determine if a bizarre magnetic anomaly has caused it to point east-southeast instead of north. Scratching our heads, holding our upside-down map and magnetically-challenged compass, we wonder why we didn't notice that the One who asked us to follow has wandered off.

When I was little I would dream of fighting dragons and saving damsels in distress, as little boys are prone to do. To a boy the world is full of wonder and danger. Now, as I watch my two boys play like wolf cubs, all energy and passion with the mixture of aggression and comradery that only young boys know, I wonder when in life we decide that fairy tales are make-believe. Try as we might, it happens to us all. We grow up and realize that there are no dragons and the damsels can save themselves. We are beset, not by dragons, but by gnats, tiny swarming aggressors that surround and paralyze us with incessant bites, devouring us in such tiny pieces that we struggle to summon the energy to fight. For each one that we down, two more rise to take its place and eventually we fall beneath the crushing weight of tiny gnats.

I know what scripture says. I know who I am in Christ. I know His great and amazing love for us. But He seems to have wandered off, and I miss Him dearly.

Gospel™

Jen Lemen has posted a thought-provoking piece that resonates with the community discussions we've been having around here lately. She discusses the interplay between community, gospel, and culture, and how community should arise from the interplay between gospel and culture. It does, for me, highlight something that I think is important - what is the interplay between gospel and community, and how does that impact the way we stand towards (or against) culture?

However, the astute reader will realize that such a question begs another: What is the gospel? This seems to be a current hot topic in the blogosphere these days. Having deconstructed Church™, the emerging conversation has moved on to Gospel™. This, ostensibly, is a good thing. There are many elements of Gospel™ that need critiquing. Much has been said about the impact of the reductionistic western approach to salvation - basically, keeping one's behind out of the fire and securing the promises of eternal peace, love, and satellite television, or whatever passes for comfort and bliss. Unfortunately, the end result of this interpretation has led to a drought of Christian effort in making things better in the temporal realm, particularly among evangelicals, for some reason. If the world is passing away, why spend time trying to repair the sinking ship? Rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic, as I've heard it called...

This, most certainly, is a poor model, and truth be told, one quite unbiblical. However, it seems to me that at least part of the blame can be laid at the feet of our theological Darwinism. If we were truly living in community with the historical church, we would understand that the gospel holds tension between the realized and the unrealized, the present and the future, the struggle and the hope, the present and the yet-to-come. One thing that concerns me about the current discussion is that much of it seems to be too optimistic. In our attempts to redefine Gospel™, let's not reduce it in the other direction. Let's maintain the tension that we live in a fallen, broken world with fallen, broken people. Despite our best efforts, we can't hope to fix things - that, also, is a key facet of the gospel, it seems to me. Let's stand with the historical church and live as an eschatological community that awaits the hope of recreation and lives towards eternity. At the same time, let's live as though the Kingdom of God has come and is now here - for it really has, and we are its citizens now, and live as a part of an alien people, sojourners in a world not ours, hoping to welcome fellow travellers into our company.