May 15, 2013

It’s before seven o’clock on the morning and I am reading a detailed document on violence against the poor within the developing world. Property grabbing. Sex trafficking. Bonded labor. Police brutality. Torture. All there in writing, as I bounce along on the train through a picturesque state park. I can look out and see forests full of hiking trails, fishing holes, horse farms scattered about, all while riding comfortably and securely to work. Meanwhile, my head is filled with the ever present reality that in other places, as people get up and start their day, they are enveloped by overwhelming violence that I have the luxury of just reading about. And, I hear more and more about this every single day. So, I asked myself, how is it that I delight in my work instead of plunging into despair?

It happens three ways:

  1. community
  2. story
  3. prayerful hope

My delight in the midst of so much despair is because I am constantly surrounded by a community of believers who are going through the very same thing I am. They know what the world is really like out there, past the fancy commuter trains, Starbucks and across oceans and borders. They know the oppressive nature of violence and crime that plagues the poor. I know. They know. We know. We are all in this together.

But community does not readily bring delight. Community is also a place of great despair. Yet, if your community is going to be a place that transforms despair into delight you must be a community that tells stories. Story is what reminds us of how people and circumstances of the past were transformed from despair into delight. It is in these stories that we find how to orient our moments of despair into a delight in the goodness that has come in the past and is currently happening in the present. To come full circle like this, from despair to delight, follows the trajectory of human story: we were made to live within these redemptive narratives, and they are our currency of delight.

If we keep telling stories as a community, we will be given a prayerful hope which culminates in delight. If we live within the stories of our communities, then we will have a foundation on which to stand and prayerfully hope for the future. I say prayerfully because this is not a given; delight and redemption don’t just happen. But we can pray that they do, and live and move and have our being in that prayerful hope.

J.R.R. Tolkien, in discussing his own work, and narrative in general, described the move from despair to delight as eucatastrophe (literally: the good catastrophe). When we despair and think all hope is lost, we must rely on our community, our stories and our prayerful hope to bring about the abundant change we need in our lives, our families, and our world. And when the turn finally comes, and justice wins once again, we can bask in delight.

May 14, 2013

Contributor Evan Curry shares about God’s love…

When my daughter was born, I recall feeling an overwhelming sense of love for her. I loved her just because. She couldn’t offer me anything. She was a helpless child and needed me for provision.

Now my daughter is five years old and her crying is not as cute as it once was. She has perfected throwing a tantrum and can fall prey to an obstinate attitude. It’s hard. It takes a little more effort to show her love but I still love her just because. She’s my daughter. She still doesn’t offer me much but I still love her…I just do.

I’ve recently been struck by the idea of “one-way love” (popular in the writings of Paul Zahl). As followers of Jesus, we are called to love people even if they can’t give anything in return. It’s hard. It takes more effort. Inevitably, the question comes: how are we doing with showing people love, one-way love, even if they don’t deserve or they can’t give it back to us?

And then I’m reminded of Paul’s encouragement in Romans 5:8,

But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

Did you catch that? While we were still sinners! While we were dead in our trespasses. While we were marred, ugly, undeserving…Christ died for us. Christ shows one-way love to us. We couldn’t offer him anything, yet God sent his Son to die for us…just because.

I don’t know where you are today. But I want to offer you this encouragement: God loves you just because. Of course, you don’t deserve it, but God gives it. May we offer one-way love to others, too. But regardless if we are “up to snuff,” God offers one-way love to us–the ugly mess that we often are.

Remember today: God loves you just because.

May 13, 2013

God Almighty,

The world is a tempest, raging,
tossing the nations about,
like a ship adrift, far from shore.

In your power, calm the waters,
and hear the call of your people.

Transform the world with your goodness,
and heal the world with your steadfast love.
Let all the rocks cry out, for you are King.
There is no other.

Amen

May 10, 2013

My essay on my relationship with poetry throughout life changes, and the questioning of why I really ever wrote poetry to begin with, is out in the new Friday issue of The Curator. In “Poetry as Therapy,” I discuss the experience many have when writing, that being creative ”was not the path to resolution and closure, it was a symptom of resolution and closure.” An excerpt:

It was about six months before I realized I had stopped writing poetry. I was digging through my desk looking for a new journal and found a just-started journal, the one I needed. As I grabbed it and headed off for my little writing spot, it dawned on me that this was no longer normal. There was no sense of commonplace, nodéjà vu, no rhythm to this action.

I had not written a single poem in six months.  Maybe I didn’t need a creative outlet anymore?

To read the rest, head on over to The Curator. Be sure to also read “The Art of Baseball” by Carolyn Givens.

May 9, 2013

“Peter went up on the housetop about the sixth hour to pray. And he became hungry and wanted something to eat, but while they were preparing it, he fell into a trance  and saw the heavens opened and something like a great sheet descending, being let down by its four corners upon the earth.” – Acts 10

“I was in the Spirit on the Lord’s day, and I heard behind me a loud voice like a trumpet saying, “Write what you see in a book and send it to the seven churches, to Ephesus and to Smyrna and to Pergamum and to Thyatira and to Sardis and to Philadelphia and to Laodicea.” – John in Revelation 1

 I want you to know, brothers and sisters, that the gospel I preached is not of human origin. I did not receive it from any man, nor was I taught it; rather, I received it by revelation from Jesus Christ.” – Paul in Galatians 1

“The question for Evangelicals today is just this: Will God’s Word be enough?” – Tim Challies, in “The Boundaries of Evangelicalism

Peter, John and Paul. Together, tradition holds that they wrote 20 out of 27 books in the Protestant New Testament, which is basically three quarters of all Christian Scriptures. These three also happened to openly participate in and accept mystical practices (visions, contemporary revelation from God, tongues, etc.) within Christian faith and practice. Yet, for reason that is astounding to the point of being blatantly and categorically illogical, Christians throughout the centuries, particularly Protestants of an Evangelical vein, have seen mystical experience within Christianity to be profoundly disturbing. Hence, you have someone like Tim Challies saying point blank that any experience of mysticism within an Evangelicals spiritual life is anathema, or outside the boundaries of orthodox, regular and recognized practice:

“Mysticism was once regarded as an alternative to Evangelical Christianity. You were Evangelical or you were a mystic, you heeded the doctrine of the Reformation and understood it to faithfully describe the doctrine laid out in Scripture or you heeded the doctrine of mysticism. Today, though, mysticism has wormed its way inside Evangelicalism so that the two have become integrated and almost inseparable. In an age of syncretism we fail to spot the contradiction and opposition.”

So, here we have a pretentious, albeit well-meaning pastor who thinks that if anyone has an experience with God that equates to an experience that the majority of New Testament author’s have had then it is in direct conflict with the writings of said authors? That, my friends, is ludicrous.

For all the Sola Scriptura and Sola Fide doctrine Challies and other anti-mysticism teachers want to throw about, it doesn’t get any more clear cut than the actual, primary sources: the Scriptures and the authors themselves. Ironically, people like Challies are more concerned with holding up a narrow and suffocating version of Reformation theology than to actually let the definitions of terms like Sola Scriptura and Sola Fide be allowed to point toward clearly allowable and natural expressions of Christian faith and practice that are defined and practiced by the authors of these very Scriptures.

Quoting New Testament scholar Donald Whitney, Challies puts up two ways that mysticism goes against Reformation doctrine of Sola Scriptura:

  1. A Christian seeks an experience with God in a way not found in Scripture.
  2. A Christian is seeking to experience God in a way not inaugurated, guided, or interpreted by Scripture.

If 75% of the New Testament was written by people who practiced Christian mysticism in some form, how does it not follow that things like seeking direct revelation from God through prayer or other spiritual disciplines is not clearly found and inaugurated in Scripture by the very authors themselves?

Furthermore, maybe sensing that this appeal to Sola Scriptura is one of the flimsiest and most ridiculous prescriptions of doctrine, Challies says that the Reformation doctrine of Sola Fide necessitates that Evangelicals not learn spiritual disciplines that are mystical in nature because “There are few mystics who hold to a robust doctrine of justification by grace through faith alone.” In other words, those people are just too Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox and non-Evangelical that the very thought of learning from them should make us squirm and shake in our boots. Seriously, run, hide, and bury your head in Evangelical books devoid of any allusion, illustration or quotation from a non-Evangelical author is the antidote to mysticism that Challies gives. If you take this logic to its natural end, you would then have to trace this back to those mystical authors of Scripture themselves, and, in cutting out 75% of the New Testament books, do a hatchet job to the Protestant canon that even Martin Luther, in his vigor over Sola Fide, would have never dreamed of!

Simply put, in the words of Ed Cyzewski:

“I frankly don’t care that this blogger thinks I’m a meditating heretic who will one day teach his sleeping son the disciplines of silence before God, Lectio Divina, and waiting on the Holy Spirit. I just hope that others won’t let his condemnation keep them from experiencing God….It is possible to study the scriptures diligently in search of life and to still miss out on the one who gives life.”

What I do care about though is the close-minded view of influential pastors like Challies who will disregard the very authors of our Scriptures if necessary in order to hold on to their narrow theological positions. That is not a good way to lead, to say the least. If the Word of God really is enough for Challies, he wouldn’t have to supersede the words written plainly by John, Peter and Paul with his distorted views of what being an Evangelical means.

 

May 7, 2013

I hate dying to self. I am a fairly extroverted person, and a constant learner, which means that my go to conversation is an unending chain of facts interlinked together. Want to move a conversation from the Florida everglades to Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations to the history of Protestant denominations and I probably could link them all together. It’s what I enjoy. But the propensity for me to insert myself into conversations, while I often do it unintentionally, can smack of hubris. So, I have been learning to die to self, which for me often means not talking about something I’ve done or experienced and just letting the conversation keep going without my interjections.

Just yesterday my wife and I helped lead communion at our new church for the first time. The person who helps run the communion team was kind enough to pull us over for a quick training on what to do when serving communion. Everything was great, yet I felt this nudge to interject.

“This is great. You know, I was the facilitator of communion at our old church for four years. I wrote an original prayer and presided over the elements each week. I know what I’m doing. I….”

Something made me hold my tongue, and I’m glad I did, because truthfully, that doesn’t really matter now. We’re part of a new community, and we’re learning how this community does things, so I had to be honest with myself and consider that relating how awesome I am at communion would not serve any purpose other than a subtle acknowledgement of how good I am at this, to a kind person who is instructing me. Dying to self, and humbling submitting to someone’s helpful words, was what I needed to do, no matter how much prior experience I thought I had. And letting someone cheerfully explain to me all the details of communion in this community easily took the place of what little gain it would have brought me to talk about myself.

We all have areas in our life that we may be blind to that we need to open our eyes up to and die to self, joyfully. There are hard and fast stipulations about what kinds of character flaws we need to eliminate from our lives, but what makes dying to self so hard is that we need to reflect on our own lives to see where pride, contempt, anger, malice, deceit and the like thrive in our own lives, because pride pops up in your life differently than it does in mine.

Pushing further, a big part of growing in self-control, I have found, is identifying the areas where you don’t see a need to die to self, but others do. When I talk about what I have done or my past experiences, I really don’t intend to show off or broadcast how awesome I think I am. I just love how stories connect and intersect―but the way I say it sometimes, and how often I may share, can appear like pride to others. So even thought I don’t feel like I am being prideful, I need to continue to grow in self-control to stomp out the ways that I am appearing prideful before other people. If we begin to exercise the gifts that God has given us, the joy of dying to self will far outweigh the fringe benefits we can receive by going our own way and refusing to die to self when it is not convenient.

What areas of your life do you need to die to self in, even if you don’t feel the spiritual need to do so?

May 6, 2013

God Almighty,

The waters of your forgiveness resound
from canyon wall to canyon wall;
your mercy is forever deep,
like a lake that is sounded,
but the bottom is never found.

Out of the depth of your loving-kindness
give to us a cherished hope,
beyond compare, a pearl of great price.

Teach us then, knowing the cost of your great love
to bestow it generously and compassionately
on our neighbors, an unabashed love
that is only through the power of your Spirit.

Amen

May 3, 2013

I finally got around to cataloging the majority of my writing that is outside the parameters of Everyday Liturgy.

It’s now all consolidated on the Writing page. Feel free to go peruse my writing elsewhere, from Christian Ethics to Geez, GENERATE to RELEVANT. It’s all there.

I’ll be adding my posts published on other blogs over the coming weeks.

Happy Reading!

May 1, 2013

I recently decided to get back into running, so I borrowed the book Born to Run from a coworker’s bookshelf. The book offers a fascinating and winding journey through marginalized human cultures that still value long distance running, the rapid expansion of ultramarathon races throughout the US, the barefoot running craze and the building consensus of sciences that says running doesn’t hurt you, but running in high-tech Nike running shoes does. What ties all of this together is the author’s profoundly simple thesis: humans were born to run.

While that seems simple enough on the surface, Christopher McDougall’s thesis cuts right at the heart of Western culture. What this negates is running to get faster, running to get stronger, running to supplement weight loss, running to get a beach body or running to impress. It means that us humans are simply born with the innate desire to run, and if we amend or distort running to fit some other need, we lose running’s chief benefit: to enjoy running.

And that is what separates all the people out slogging, pushing themselves, and getting injured in a desire to be fit or lose weight from those lunatic runners featured on Runner’s World magazine who are just smiling with sheer enjoyment. I used to think those were just models. Now, after reading Born to Run, I realized those are what real runners are, they enjoy running, and anything else that comes along with running is icing on the cake. And as I take up running again, I am doing it with no other reason but joy: I have no weight loss or minutes per mile goals. I just want to have fun and get outside, to enjoy running for what it is.

All of this running talk hits at two of St. Paul’s most oft-quoted passages. When St. Paul writes “consider it all joy brothers and sisters” and “run the race,” what does that mean for our church today, especially for those of us who don’t always enjoy small groups, church meetings sucking all our free time away or the burdens church leaders sometimes place on us to carry? I know, I’ve been there: six months in you’re enjoying being a small group leader, going to church meetings every week, volunteering at every service. Then around nine months you hit a wall and say, I’m tired, this is no fun and I need a serious break. But breaks don’t happen in church life, so someone just gives you some “encouragement” and you keep on pushing until you simply throw in the towel.

As much as this is a symptom of the 20/80 dilemma that plagues so many churches (20% of the church members do 80% of the work), I think the root of these symptoms run deeper. The first thing we teach new disciples is doctrine, beliefs and practices. Then we move into spiritual and communal disciplines. Then we teach leadership and how to mentor and how to multiply small groups. We never start with how to enjoy being a Christian. How on earth anyone can make it through the rigorous (and absolutely vital) tracks many churches now have set up to disciple their congregations if the whole process becomes a burdensome and draining experience for the discipled, their friends and their families? If we don’t start with how to enjoy being a Christian the whole discipleship experience becomes unmoored, plagued by incorrect measurements of growth and fixated on churning out disciples capable of leadership without any measurement of how this ultimately affects the core of their spiritual health and the health of their spiritual relationships with fellow faith community members, friends, spouses and children.

Thankfully, there is a mode of discipleship that starts correctly, with enjoyment. The first tenet of the Shorter Westminster Catechism says this:

“What is the chief end of man? Man’s chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever.”

I am thankful that so much has changed in terms of discipleship. Even for someone in their twenties―having grown up in the church and being part of many church contexts―the American church, as a whole, is doing a far better job of making disciples than they did before. We have the glorify God thing down pretty pat. But what is really missing is training in enjoyment and delight. We need to not only build disciples, we need to build disciples who enjoy what they are doing within the church and the world. If we can do both, we will unleash upon the world a force of humanity that fulfills the Great Commission and does it with gladness and a great joy, and that is a powerful force indeed.

April 30, 2013

Continuing our series on designing a Christian home, Ed Cyzewski follows up on thoughts shared by Elizabeth Sands Wise with some wisdom about how furniture and design can bring order to our spiritual lives.

I first started thinking about the impact of my surroundings on my life when we bought a house in Vermont and renovated the interior. The former owner smoked all day and never opened a window so far as we could tell. The paneling and carpeting were both lost causes.

Over the course of a year, we removed all of the carpeting and paneling so that we could repaint the walls and put down new flooring. Best yet, for the first time in my life, we had enough room to make myself an “office.”

I threw myself into this endeavor. I spent a good deal of time researching the “vibe” that different colors gave off. Since we’d already used up my favorite shades of blue and green in other rooms, I opted for plum on the lower half of the wall and tan on the top half above the chair rail.

Plum seemed mellow and relaxing, but as I started working on my first and second book projects in my new office, I soon learned that I wanted a sharp and peppy color, not “nap time plum.”  My first attempt to “control” my space was a failure.

The more I thought about the “vibe” in my office, the more I paid attention to my desk, fighting off piles of paper, scattered books, and bulky technology devices. I always tried to transition items to drawers and closets.

As I fought for order in my work, I began to crave the same for my spiritual practices. I have always thrived on routines, but as I thought about my routine, I realized that creating a space for my routine was just as important. In fact, without the right space, establishing a routine can be quite hard.

This led to the creation of a little oasis in the corner of the living room with an orderly coffee table and a comfy red chair. Each time we moved (and we moved two times after selling our house), that red chair and coffee table remained my spiritual oasis in the midst of busy, disorderly days.

Just as I created space to work on my desk, my chair and coffee table provided space to pray.

Before our last move to Columbus, we sold the red chair. It wasn’t a hard decision. Our rabbits had chewed it up, leaving it only acceptable for a few college students who eagerly moved it into their dorm room.

When we settled in our new home, I struggled to settle spiritually. Prayer was hard. My mind always wandered, buzzing with things to do. You could say I felt cluttered.

What was the problem?

While moving was an issue for sure, we were moving pros. This unsettled feeling was new to me. As I thought about my routines and the setup of our new home, I realized that I didn’t have the red chair!

A few days later we picked up a couch at a thrift store that provided the same comfort and space as the red chair. It became my new haven for prayer and reading each morning.

I’m not saying that spending money on things will give you the spiritual fix you need in life. But I am saying that our spaces can determine far more than we imagine.

A clean desk helps me focus on one thing at a time rather than reminding me of my lengthy to-do list.

A messy corner of the living room reminds me of everything that needs to be cleaned or put away around the house.

Both physical spaces can create either friendly or hostile environments for work or prayer. They won’t make me work or pray, but they can either help or hinder.