I've never done one of these before, but it sounded like fun. Here's the format:
1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.”
2. I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your weblog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Scott picked five questions for me to answer, which I'll do here. Leave a comment in turn if you're interested in being interviewed. Now, on to the questions:

How do you live in the Story of God, the Story in which you find yourself? ; )
The short answer is that I stumble around a lot trying to figure out the plot. The longer answer starts when I realize that the reason I stumble around is that I forget that I'm not the plot. Instead, I've been invited into this wonderful adventure that's happening all around me while too often I remain completely unaware.

I use the word "subversive" a lot. Subversive carries a sense of a thing with a purpose other than its presumed purpose. There's a sense of secrecy and surprise, of unexpectedness and danger that comes with the word, and I think that's entirely appropriate for much of what we think of as spirituality. Sabbath, for example, is subversive. On the surface it's about rest. But it's not really at all about rest, or maybe only somewhat about rest, but mostly it's about undercutting the dominant assumptions of culture that cry out, "Consume! Produce! Consume! Produce!" That's not, I think, a 21st century first world thing either - all you have to do is enter into the story of the Exodus to see that the concern for manna overrode the trust required of Sabbath. Economics does not have the final word. Government does not have the final word either - that's the message of Revelation. Death does not have the final word - that's the message of the Gospels, probably the best message of all.

To live in the story means to align ourselves to the narrative. We find ourselves within the story, but not in the sense of moralizations: "Be like David! Slay your giant!" It means that we find ourselves in the position of Israel facing an oppressor with a final word - in this case, a return to captivity and oppression - and learning that there is another Word that speaks louder, longer, and more finally. We see God within history continuing to redeem His people and find hope and the audacity to imagine (Romans 15:4). We practice what I think of as little resistances, ways of avoiding acceptance of dominant paradigms. For me, I think of things like taking time for lunch, turning off the radio and driving in silence, buying from local businesses instead of multinational corporations, and driving a vehicle from the mid-nineties as little resistances. They're ways I reinforce to myself that the script presented by culture is a part of the wrong plot, so to speak. I don't frame these kinds of things as disciplines, because frankly they're not always possible - but they are in the back of my mind when I work and shop and eat and play. They set the stage for what I consider large resistances. These are more overt practices, such as supporting a needy child financially, giving regularly to my church community, choosing a lower-paying job in order to have time for family and Kingdom, or living at peace with others and practicing forgiveness and reconciliation. But all of these things start with imagination, and imagination starts with story, and the story in which we find ourselves is the redemptive tale told by a Redeeming God who is both narrator and hero.

If you could be any character from literature, who would it be and why?
No doubt - Faramir from Lord of the Rings. If you've seen the movies but not read the books, you don't get the sense of true nobility that Tolkien gives to Faramir. In the book, Faramir took a great risk to trust Frodo. He took another great risk to aid him and let the Ring pass into the land of Mordor. But he did so knowing that what seemed to be the wise course of action was in fact the most foolish - to claim the Ring and use it. He let power pass through his grip in order to serve another. He is an amazing example of Tolkien's contrast between wisdom and power - and in the story he's proven wise indeed.

What do you hope to do with your MDiv from Biblical?
At one time, I knew the answer to that question. So much has happened in the past five years that I don't really know anymore - I just know that I'm supposed to be where I am. I think I want to plant a church in the Philadelphia area that reflects some of what's taking place in the emerging church, because there aren't many faith communities that I'm aware of that are asking those kinds of questions. But I hold that dream loosely - what I really hope is that I find a bit of clarity before graduation. ;) Long-term, I want to write books, get my doctorate, and teach on the university or seminary level, as well as serve in vocational ministry of some kind. So basically, I want to be Eugene Peterson. ;)

When did you know you wanted to marry your wife and how did you ask her to marry you?
I met Joy the first week of my sophomore year in college; she was an incoming freshman. The first time I met her I thought she was rather stuck up - I found out later that she was actually somewhat shy. We shared a music theory class and it wasn't long before we started dating. In fact, on our first date, we went out for Chinese food and met my roommate and his date for a movie. My mistake was in letting him pick the movie. It was a Bruce Willis flick about cop hunting for a stalker as I recall - it freaked her out so badly that she was hyperventilating on the way out of the theater. I think I knew I wanted to marry her when she said she'd go out with me again. ;)

The next summer I went to visit her in New York. She grew up in Rye, which is between White Plains and Greenwich, CT, just north of NYC. There's a place near the beach that looks out over Long Island Sound where you can see the New York skyline - I surprised her there with the ring. That was eleven years ago this August, and the rest as they say is history. I was twenty years old when we got married; she was nineteen. We were insane - but somehow it's worked out, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

What is your favorite food memory and why?
I thought about this one for a while, and then realized that it should have been absurdly easy to answer. I grew up in rural Pennsylvania, where there are still people who live close to the land, with dirt under their fingernails and the seasons in their souls. My grandfather was one of those people. He worked at a steel mill for a large part of his life, but he was a farmer more than anything, and that's the way I'll always remember him. He'd spend hours upon hours every day out in the "patch", as he called it. Many people have a garden. My grandfather had about half an acre of produce that he'd work all summer long - tomatoes, peppers, row upon row of sweet corn, melons so large they looked like scientific experiments. You can't get produce like that in suburbia. We'd pull a dozen ears from the cornstalks and, before the silk could start to wilt, they'd be on the stove. When you'd bite into them, the kernels would burst with sugary juice. I'd eat watermelon so fresh the juice would run down my chin and stain my shirt - when you're eight, you have a sense of priority about such things. Shirts can be washed - the watermelon is what matters! Woven through it all, though, is a sense of history and family. Every fall when the potatoes were ready we'd all spend a few weekends walking through the rows of freshly turned soil pulling potatoes out of the ground. I hated it at the time, of course, but there are memories there I wouldn't trade for anything. Even now, that sense of connection comes back anytime I experience that smell of earth and soil.

Thanks Scott - good questions!