VillagePastor

House Versus Church Building

Hopefully, our church will soon begin construction on a needed new sanctuary. And though there are lots of good reasons (facilitating for future growth, opportunities to diversify ministries, etc), it raises serious questions for others. While some might question the wisdom, others question the very legitimacy. In his Pagan Christianity, Frank Viola writes a chapter entitled “The Church Building: Inheriting the Edifice Complex.” The chapter is devoted to making the case that church buildings should have no place in contemporary Christianity. After all, Christians did not erect special buildings for worship for the first 300 years. Thanks to Constantine, the church went from house churches to holy cathedrals, and in so doing, it followed the path of the pagans in constructing temples to honor God. As Viola laments, “the story of the church building is the sad saga of Christianity borrowing from heathen culture and radically transforming the face of our faith.”  Viola closes with the challenge that believers come to realize we are neither biblical nor spiritual by supporting church buildings.

If what he says is true, than we certainly should stop all building plans and even sell the property we are worshipping on. Is there any substance here?  There is, for sure, something to be said for not building a faith around a building. All too many Christians have become more excited about brick and mortar than word and prayer. And all too often, ministry ends up serving buildings rather than buildings serving ministry.

But Viola is missing some important things. First of all, is there any real difference between the brick and mortar of a living room and the brick and mortar of a separate building set apart to do worship?  Does it make sense to say that one is organic in one and institutional in the other?  Aren’t they both organic and institution, organism and organization?  It seems like he is setting up false dichotomies. Furthermore, to suggest that the home is the only legitimate place to meet for church misses the fact that the early church first met in the synagogue. It was persecution that necessitated meeting in a home—not God declaring that the house is the only legitimate place to worship.

But there is something else that needs to be said, and it gets to the heart of our faith. God has made us both spiritual and material. As part of created matter, God declared it all--the trees, the ground, the flesh, the brick and mortar--good. God has chosen to use things like baptism and the Lord’s Supper as physical, earthy reminders of salvation, of Jesus’ work on the Cross.

To my amazement, he uses my physical body as a means to do his work, glorify His name. Can He not—does He not—use other material means to declare his glory?  Like the bread and the cup, can a building not also represent an earthly form of a heavenly reality? Can it not exhibit art in a profound way—even as the “most mathematical of art forms”, as Sittser puts it in his wonderful book, Water from a Deep Well??  Having lived in Europe for seven years, I have seen enough Cathedrals to realize that they were some of the greatest settings for people to come and know and experience God. Like ships, they have carried believers to salvation—from the outer narthex to the nave and to the sanctuary. They have served to remind people we are on this journey from world to kingdom. Like any church building should, they have functioned as a stage where the drama of salvation plays out.

While we are not building Notre Dame (it’s actually a concrete tilt up), I hope it will serve as a stage where the drama continues. And maybe in time, used for the glory of God, serving the ministry, God’s kingdom will be advanced far more effectively because it stands.

On the surface, there is a spiritual ring to the notion that we are to be liquid versus solid, organic versus material, house rather than building. But Sittser gives the needed clarity in describing our sacramental faith: “This is no abstract, ambiguous, sentimental, ephemeral kind of spirituality. It is body and blood, water, bread, and wine.”  And could we not add, in some cases, concrete?

LIVING ON THE EDGE AND IN THE CENTER

I’ve mentioned Barbara Brown Taylor’s LeavingChurch. On these long, dark, rainy nights, I have been rewarding the end of a long day with a re-read of her chapters. There’s something discomforting by the very cover, a cage door opened, and a bird set free. One gets the impression the wear and tear of ministry, the “omnipresence” of church culture, the confines of the institutional church began to slowly cage her in. As she puts it, “My context was so tightly focused that even my junk mail was Christian.” 

I have this haunting feeling that a lot of us in the church get to this place—where we become so immersed in our work that our contact with creation shrinks to the distance between our front door and the driveway; our exchange with those outside the church becomes confined to a transaction with a cashier at Safeway. Taylor came to a place of “compassion fatigue,” leading to a move from the staff of a large urban church to a small rural church. But eventually, it led her all of the way into the wilderness. She found that in order to keep her faith she had to leave her role as a pastor, her “institutional power,” as she puts it, her role of standing up every week in special clothes and talking while people quietly listen.

In the wilderness, where the collar came off, she began to see how her ministry role had “cut into her soul.” Listen to the way she puts it: “I needed the soul’s wisdom to do my work. I needed its compassion. But I had too often failed to set it loose in its own pasture at night, where it could kick its heels and roll in the dirt. I had kept my soul so hitched to the plow that it stood between the traces even after the harness was off, oiled, and hung on the wall.” But now, the harness is off.

God, I love good writing. But some of the best writing also makes me squirm in my bed. Out from the demands and expectations of ministry, she found herself simply another of God’s beggars. Out away from the work, she discovered that God has both a center and an edge—and that each is necessary for the soul. That sometimes you have to step out, “where the lights from the sanctuary no longer pierce the darkness.”  Out unto the brink, the wilderness, where you discover needed things about yourself, needed things about the Spirit. Jesus occasionally lived out on the edge, where the Spirit wasn’t always so safe, thrusting Him into the wilderness to face His hunger, face the adversary, and experience the Father’s love.

Somehow this resonates with me, not because I am contemplating leaving ministry. I love ministry. I just want to be careful that the role does not so cut into my soul that my interior becomes defined by its ruts. That I don’t get so attached to the pastoral identity given me that I would not know how to make up one of my own. My grandfather was a pastor, and its role so defined him that I never saw him without a tie—ever. I don’t remember him as anything else but clergy.

I don’t want to close myself in the center, where it is safe, and get so caught up in ministry that I start speaking Christianize, so immersed I am scared of ever setting foot into the wilderness—and would not know what to do if God thrusts me there (which He has been known to do).

Yesterday I met with an old friend I had not seen in years. In the comforts of my seminary study, surrounded by books, we reminisced on our earlier times in the literal wilderness, surrounded by the wild. Hiking the Jefferson Wilderness in the summer, snow camping on a frozen TrilliumLakein the winter, biking trails that burned our lungs. But we’re not so inclined to go there anymore. I’m inclined to stay closer to the center. Taylor urges me to take care to live in both worlds, both literal and metaphoric.

 

LIVING JOYFULLY IN THE TENSION

Once a month our staff meets in a place called South Village, where we step outside of our weekly agenda and talk about the course of the future. We try to pay attention to trends, voices, books that we should be reading, readings that shake us. I like how Kafka once put it: “I think we ought to read only books that bite and sting us. If the book we are reading doesn’t shake us awake like a blow on the skull, why bother reading it in the first place?” A book, as he puts it, “must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.”

Some recent reads fit that category, including Sittser’s Water from a Deep Well (guaranteed to deepen your soul); excerpts from Barna and Viola’s new book, Pagan Christianity (guaranteed to make some of you very angry); a reread of Taylor’s Leaving Church, a memoir of her ministry and decision to leave the pastorate for the academy (guaranteed to unsettle some in ministry); The Shack, a fictional piece of one confronting God through human tragedy (certain to blow one’s imagination when it comes to the person of God).

In our time yesterday, recent readings and re-readings encouraged me to rethink, along with our staff, just what we are trying to be as a church. I have used such words as “Emertional” in other blogs to talk about the place we have aimed the course of our church. That is, a course in which we find ourselves on neither side, be it emergent or institutional church. Honestly, in many books, I cannot find voices that describe who we are.

We certainly want nothing to do with institutional, if by the definition it means we are a church molded by an ancient Christendom, culturally respectable at any cost, suburban, mainstream, forming greater and greater rigidity (I really resent voices that put all of us in churches over ten years in the same category). Nor are we interested in trying to appear emergent or hip because we have chosen a particular sound or expression over another, ancient over present, etc. Frankly, we couldn’t if we wanted to.

Like others (how many I have no idea), we live in this tension—finding ourselves somewhere between the following--

      -liquid vs solid

      -informal vs formal

      -fluid vs institutional

      -community vs buildings

      -egalitarian vs hierarchical

      -dialogical vs monological

      -incarnational vs attractional

      -follower vs consumer

      -community vs audience

      -image vs word

      -younger vs older

      -post modern vs modern

Each, it seems to me, needs the other. Each must find a way to live with the other. The question we keep asking ourselves is this—is it possible? Can a younger generation of Jesus followers do ministry together with boomers and those older? Maybe the better question is—will they? Can we take the wineskins necessary for the fermenting wine (the necessary structures, policies, facilities, programs, staffing, etc through which Jesus works) and keep them from becoming hard and brittle? How do we take advantage of the things that make an institution, without becoming institutional? How do we keep pressing forward without ever arriving, knowing that atrophy begins at the highest point? Can we celebrate the past, while aiming the church towards its best years yet? Can we become larger, while at the same time growing smaller? Can we expand our facilities to do ministry, while stressing issues of community, justice, movement?

Exiles seems to be a pretty popular phrase to describe those outside of the existing church (Frost, Brueggemann, etc). I wonder if churches like ours are becoming the real exiles—that sometimes seem to feel a bit homeless in the larger landscape.

Virtual Church

Yesterday I sat with a parishioner who is aiming to complete his master’s degree on line. His questions revolved around the best distance education programs available, and whether he should transfer from one “online campus” to another. It is all part of living in an age that is going more and more virtual. I called this morning to discuss reward miles, virtually, for it took forever to speak with a live person. My kids (adult children I should clarify) are part of a generation that seem to spend less and less of their time with real people, and more and more of their time—and resources—in virtual worlds. They talk back and forth with characters on a screen as if they are real, almost more real than those flesh and blood persons who might be in the room. How amazing is it that more and more are logging into three dimensional virtual worlds created by its residents, customizing characters that give people second identities? That might even replace themselves!

But it is in the world of education and the church, where I have invested much of my life, that virtual reality is getting my attention. Technology has brought us to the day where more and more churches are expanding, not by mentoring future leaders to shepherd growing churches, but by setting up video venues to bring great preaching to someone in your neighborhood. It’s nothing really new. Since the advent of radio and TV, a certain amount of ministry has been virtual. But today, you begin to wonder how far into unreality we are willing to go. Maybe you have heard of Second Life, just one of several websites, where users control their avatars, who communicate with one another in a virtual church setting. The promo is that now people can be more connected than ever! But is this really true? 

I wonder what is being lost. Have we lost our understanding of who is man, and what he was created to be, how he was created to relate? Are we sacrificing true ecclesiology on the altar of technology? We discussed this today over faculty lunch. What is missing when a student chooses to do education via distance, versus engaging with a professor in the same room? What are we losing when a pastor is no longer flesh and blood, but an image on the screen? Some might say that in a church of 3000+, where technology enables people to see their pastor up front, on a screen, that it is no different. But is this true? It causes me to wonder how real am I to people in a church of 1700?

I’m aware of some of the gains. Convenience and financial costs make online education attractive. No need to uproot. In the case of church, virtual church has its economic advantages. More satellite campuses, more sites, more impact. Some see it as a solution for dying churches. Just enhance the technological capability, and you too can experience dynamic preaching. But do the advantages outweigh the costs? Are we creating entertainment venues, or houses of worship? Are we creating worship characterized by response to God’s revelation, or response to personalities? For an emerging generation, hungering for authenticity and community, is this really going the wrong direction?

When I reflect on my days as a student on a seminary campus, I remember one morning a professor asked me to stay after class. He was a pretty demanding teacher, and I feared I had screwed up somewhere in his course. When all of the students left, he asked me to come closer to his desk. Note I said—“closer”. In that moment, he asked how I was doing. I started to say okay, but he knew, and he asked again, “No I mean, how are you really doing?” He had discovered something few knew at the time, that a girl that I had fallen in love with had just broken off the engagement. I can’t really remember what he said that day—I just remember that that moment made a significant impact on my life—more than any e-mail I’ve ever received. And to this day, when this retired prof comes around campus, while I have long since forgotten a lot of the history he taught, I remember this, that being in that class room was far better than sitting in front of a screen. I would like to think that this is the way it should be in the church.

Just Say No

I’ve always enjoyed Barbara Brown Taylor’s writings. When God is Silent is one of my all time favorite little books. Recently, she wrote an article in Christian Century, “Getting to No”. It was her response to the book, Getting to Yes, Negotiating Agreement Without Giving In, by Fisher. It is a leadership book that provides a proven strategy for coming to mutually acceptable agreements, where both parties say yes.

But it wasn’t so much her engagement with the book’s ideas, as with the book’s title. For yes is a word that defines much of our culture. Just about every day, someone wants me to say yes. Even as I write, a note on my screen says “Do you have the sermon title? Yes?” This time of year, there are tons of merchants hoping I will say yes. Last night at Best Buy, each aisle felt like running a gauntlet, each item shouting,  “Yes?’  “Yes?”  The latest Macy’s ad reaches out with its coupons and latest reductions and screams—“Just say yes!”  REI and Amazon and Nordstrom have all found their way into my daily e-mails, each calling out—“Say yes!”  Parishioners want me to read a particular book or listen to a tape by someone who will surely change my life. Just say yes. My kids seem to sometimes wear a sign that says—“Dad, just say yes”. Even my dog greets me each evening with eyes that seem to plead—“Just say yes.”   Say yes to a walk, to scratching my back, filling my dish, letting me lie on the couch. And worst of all are the constant pleas within my own soul—just say yes, and do this project. Keep up with all the other people that seem so amazing because they seem to be able to say yes to so much. Even this blog site is constantly nudging me to say yes.

I write all of this, for I am certain just about everyone reading this can identify. Yes hangs over us like a Portland fog. Every time we say no, a fear takes hold, suggesting that we missed a great opportunity, a great buy, a great moment. We wrestle with the fact we may have missed it, or disappointed someone, and we try to shake it off. And the only way out is to begin what Taylor refers to as the spiritual practice of saying no. This has been her solution. As she puts it, “When I was 20, my life was a cruise ship. There were all kinds of places I could go on it, with plenty of room and time for everything. Now I am closer to a small houseboat. The accommodations are still comfortable, but my horizons are limited. To bring anything new on board means getting rid of something else. Saying yes requires saying no.” Saying no in order to clear space for a few carefully planted trees to grow.

I too am at that point. I am starting to say no to Sunday ads—soon I may even say no to a Sunday paper. No, I don’t need an upgrade, I don’t need another pair. And this requires discipline—in a culture that says I do need these things. Taylor describes the discipline as one involving resistance; discernment-saying no to something worthwhile in order to fulfill a much greater priority; ego-evacuation-saying no is a great way of whittling me down to size, making time for me just to listen to God. Saying no to lesser gods is part of saying yes to God. Saying no to some things in order to celebrate Christmas.

Spending Time In The Society

For several years, I have lived between two worlds, one pastoral and the other educational. I am a pastor and a professor, and in the middle of this is a certain tension—a good tension, but still, a tension. I live it everyday, wanting to see the church think more deeply about its faith, as well as wanting to see the seminary be relevant to the church. This friction intensifies when I go to conferences—which tend to be methodological or academic, like the one I am at in San Diego. I am with a group of some 2500 scholars (ETS), where theologians present their papers, and listeners sit passively and attempt to look both interested and intelligent. Each time I come, I am challenged, stimulated, bored, incensed, and everything in between.

First, the challenge. It was my first time hearing John Piper. I love his passion!  With great intensity, he underscored the utter importance of holding to the righteousness we have in Christ—that comes not by effort but by position. Piper is absolutely right—our fears, doubts, addictions can do us in—but realizing we have this supernatural saving work of Jesus—that makes us right before God—enables us to live righteously. Too many believers are falling away because they do not take serious the work accomplished on the Cross! I continue to be amazed and saddened at those who have given their lives to Jesus, to ministry, and have fallen—and I think to myself, at the root of this, they have not taken the work of Christ, and hence their standing, authority, power in Him, seriously.

Second, there is always the bored part. Academicians can be some of the most mind-numbing, tedious people on earth. They would make CPA’s and computer geeks seem like “extreme sports” types. Here are some of the papers presented this year (my annual top five list): 

·   Substance Dualism and Individuals in the Mereological Hierarchy: A Response to Philip Clayton

·   Reconsidering the Maleness of Jesus

·   The Physical Substantiation of the Kalam Argument

·   Nietzche’s Use of Scripture to Impugn Jesus in ‘This Spoke Zarathustra’

·   Pink and Blue Sidewalks: An Evaluation of the Use of Rules to Guide Young Adults

I’m not making these up!  These are the papers that I’m sure will shape and change the world.

Finally, the incensed part. So I went to a paper on worship and theology, and since I have a passion for both, I was ready to engage, be stimulated, blessed. It began well (the first ten seconds), and quickly slid into a 30 minute rant against contemporary worship (referred to in the paper as DWW, “Disney World Worship”). It was hard to find theology—just a lot of narrow minded arrogance. I could go on, but I will get in trouble.

I still hold out that what the church needs so desperately is theology that speaks into the life of the believer, that leads to prayer and holiness. The ultimate end must be a transformed life (Paul said it well in I Tim 3:5—the goal of our instruction is live from a pure heart)  We have way too much superficial Christianity, the result of a non-thinking Christianity that misunderstands the great need for theology. But, as the trip reminds me, we also have too much scholastic faith, the sort that seems to both live and hide in an ivory tower of books and keyboards, and irrelevant themes.

Making Church Uncomfortable

I’m on a 24 hr personal retreat to clear my head—and heart. I usually take way too many books, perhaps a defense against idle time. But then, I realize when I arrive that retreats are about unoccupied time. Nonetheless, I soon became captivated with a recent book, “Jim and Casper Go to Church”. Jim is 59, a believer who is an executive director. Casper is younger, a marketing copywriter, with a world view vastly different than Jim’s. Casper is an atheist. Together they embarked on journey to visit twelve churches, from fundamental to Pentecostal, from Saddleback to Willow to Mosaic, to coming to Portland and attending Imago Dei and The Bridge. The book is a collection of their impressions, with an emphasis on how an atheist sees the contemporary church.

I read this because, as a pastor, I am really interested in how those outside the faith view the church and its culture. I realize that those on the outside can be critical of the church (not to mention those on the inside!). But those on the outside, like Casper, can often see with a clarity that those of us on the inside, immersed in church culture, gradually lose.

What Casper observed was not too surprising. In most of the services they attended (and these are the churches that often get the press), worship came off as “slick”, “contrived”, and “professional”. To Casper, Christians seem to put most of their energies in putting on a killer show. Of one encounter with a well known pastor, Casper commented, “It seemed as if he was not listening, so much as trying to control the conversation.” (Ouch!) Casper also wondered why the 11:00 hour seems to be the most segregated moment of the week. Churches do not do too well at integrating ethnically, let alone generationally, though they preach unity, and this atheist was quick to observe the discrepancy. He also could not understand why, for all the posturing, all the declarations about the nature of God’s word, that it played such a minimal role in most of the preaching he heard. Sadly, the famine in all too many places continues.

But here is what struck me. Casper found himself often asking—where is the call for action?  If Christians believe everything Scripture declares, they would want to do something significant on earth. Pastors would be these clarion voices calling for people to rise and change things. The only real call to action Casper observed, and it ranged from fearless to relentless, was—“Give us money—and lots of it!”

I began asking myself, “So am I calling people to action?” And if it is too often missing, is it because I am afraid to put off people? Am I not taking the Word seriously, that the text always calls for some response, almost always calls for radical change? What if I preached Ephesians 3, declaring that one of our most compelling witnesses to the truth of the gospel is that, in Christ, Jew and Gentile, Anglo and Hispanic, 20 somethings and those of an older generation can, must love and embrace each other? And then I asked—so what are we going to do in light of this truth? What will be your first step? What if I gave a call to action—“Open up your home this week and show hospitality to someone of another ethnicity”?  And if you are unwilling—I am not preaching Ephesians 4 till we get it right! What if I preached the story of Matthew inviting Jesus to his pagan party and challenged all of us to show grace like Jesus, such that we get invited to the world’s parties? What if I made it a call to action? Recently, I preached out of I Cor 5, where Paul calls for the handing over of a sinner to Satan. What if I called the people to action—to take those who are unwilling to repent and give them over?

Maybe people would get upset. Or maybe people would enter worship with crash helmets, realizing that are about to enter into high risk territory, where the word is going to call for some action that will lead to becoming more like Jesus. And maybe those on the outside, like Casper, would say—perhaps there is something here in the church that has the ring of truth and authenticity. They really believe what they are hearing from God.

Living the Cruciformed Life Among the Elite

I have not been prepared for the course Paul’s letter to Corinth is taking me. His letter to this elitist church is filled with both passion and sarcasm. And it has caused me to do some hard thinking about present culture, about my own life choices. So much of what Paul faced in Corinth—celebrity worship, factionalism, and elitism—are the very things that make up much of present culture, both within and without the church.

If you question this, than pick up Michael Lindsay’s Faith in the Halls of Power: How Evangelicals Joined the American Elite. In it, he traces a movement that once was on the periphery, but now wields power—from Washington to Hollywood to Wall Street. Lindsay, who is a sociologist from Rice University, interviewed a number of leaders, and has come to the conclusion that while evangelicals have not grown substantially, their influence has. And while we evangelicals might rejoice in this, I wonder, “At what cost?”

In his chapter, “From Protest to Patronage,” Lindsay writes these disturbing words: “As I found, evangelicals in Hollywood differ little from others in the entertainment industry. They drive luxury cars, live in exclusive communities, and worry that their fame and talent will evaporate overnight. And the evangelical movement does look more like mainstream society. Ministry leaders resemble corporate executives, calling themselves ‘chairman and chief executive officer’ rather than ‘pastor’ or ‘chaplain.’”

The parallels with Corinth are scary. As he continues on, suddenly I am reading I Corinthians 1-4 as it looks today—“Indeed, American evangelicalism contributes to a cult of personality with movement leaders elevated to iconic status, despite biblical injunctions for modesty and humility.” Lindsay shares his own experience—“I once was backstage at a large meeting for evangelicals, where the various entourages—and their sycophantic behavior—seemed more appropriate for a rock concert or political rally than a meeting for church people. The evangelical publishing world and contemporary Christian music have fed this hero worship…indeed, the very existence of such a thing as a ‘Christian celebrity’ shows how evangelicals have adopted the practices of secular society.”

Paul intentionally chose to live out Christ, to be a cruciformed life. That is, to live a life shaped in the form of the Cross. And he ended up, as he puts it in I Corinthians 4, like those condemned to death, the scum of the earth, the dregs of society. And it raises questions—questions that cause unease, at least for me. “Can a person, who truly intends to conform to Jesus, in both His death and resurrection, end up in the halls of power?  Was Paul’s experience God’s specific calling for him, the result of being an apostle? Or is Paul telling us something—that when you choose to be like Jesus, to come to a place where you say—“I determined to know nothing among you, except Jesus Christ and Him crucified,” you will most likely not be invited into the club of the elite? And if you get there, the radical nature of your life will not allow you to remain for long.

Where are the Radically Changed Lives?

I just finished reading an advance copy of Gary Thomas’ new book, The Beautiful Fight. Here’s what I like about it. He writes with the core conviction a Christian life should be a radically transformed life. That faith in Jesus can be drastically different from and better than what we are currently experiencing. In other words, we should expect to see change—see the effects of God’s empowering presence.

This resonates with me because it’s rare to see dramatic change. We tend to see lives that reflect a superficial change of mind, lives that have not been seriously altered, lives that do not evidence miraculous change. Marriages look little different than those of the world; pornography and its addictive behavior tends to be as problematic in the church as outside the church; gracelessness can be as pervasive in a Christian culture as outside. Something is wrong. In my darker moments, I wonder if coming to Christ truly makes a significant difference.

When George Barna wrote his Revolution, I was really turned off by it. It seemed as if he had totally given up on the church, something that, as a pastor, was deeply offensive to me. And yet, I could not completely blame him. For he came to a place in his research where he began to ask the really important question, “Is the church truly interested in becoming a transformed community?” “Is it serious about transforming the world?” His research led him to the painful conclusion that it was not. Churches are not intentional in either becoming or measuring spiritual transformation.

Which brings me back to Thomas’ book. I am hearing a growing passion to see transformed lives from authors, pastors, instructors. There is this growing conviction that our union with Christ should lead to a profoundly different life, to a cross and resurrection way of living. In Jesus’ death, we too have died—died to the world and its allures—died to our self-centeredness—died to sin. And if this is so, we should see the evidence of this in changed lives. Sin should not have the authoritative role we all too often have given it. It doesn’t mean we no longer have to deal with the temptations that come in life. As the Puritan John Owen put it—“Sin has been dealt its death blow at the Cross, and we will spend the rest of our lives draining its life blood.”  But it does mean that sin no longer has a defining say in the choices we make in life.

This same union declares we have risen with Christ, and this risen life opens the way for God’s new world, for the future and present to overlap, opening a whole new way of being human (NT Wright). It should be evident for all to see. Thomas sets out to show how this ascended life of Christ should look in all of our being. In Christ, we have the ability to see as God sees, hear as God hears, think as God thinks, have hearts that feel what God feels.

So what explains the gap?  Perhaps it is a theologically anemic age that does not comprehend what the crucifixion, resurrection, and ascension mean to present existence. It may have a lot to do with the fact a transformed life requires vigilance, self discipline, rigorous thought, and repentance. Perhaps we see so little of changed lives because we refuse to pay the price. But here’s what we are missing. We have failed to realize that the grace that pardons is the same grace that is able to transform. This is grace we are not taking advantage of.

Walter Brueggemann, one of my favorite all time authors, was asked—“If you came into a room of ten of the brightest, committed, determined to change the world kind of pastors, and had one word of advice, what would it be?”  Without any hesitation, he responded—“Discover how it is people change, and build your ministry accordingly.”  I hear him saying—find what it is that more than inspires—find what transforms people, what transforms all of their being, and give your best ministry to that. This seems to be what Thomas has devoted himself to doing in his latest book—and where the church needs to get its focus.

Give It a Rest

I just returned from Ione, which is just down from Metalline Falls, which is close to Border Dam—all of which is on the edge of the Washington-Idaho-Canadian border. And here, in this small corner of the world, things are quiet. Very quiet. And here, I found rest. Setting out with a kayak, the only sounds were an occasional waterfall and the movement of birds. No cell-phone, no lap-top, no slavery to overconnectedness, no blogging.

I’m not too great about rest. Like all too many, I have a hard time stopping. Living in two ministry worlds doesn’t help, but even if it were one world, I would still be a “Sabbath-breaker”, to use Eugene Peterson’s words. It’s ingrained in me to live at a pretty rapid pace, and I don’t wear this as any badge of honor. I came back from my years in Europe so burned out that I wrote an Op-Ed piece for the Oregonian entitled “Has Rest Become a Four Letter Word?” I was trying to get some balance, but finding my re-entry into culture here like entering a perpetual hothouse. So once again, it was nice to get away from the lights and the heat.

There is a lot of truth to the statement that while we tend to trade sleep for productivity, we would actually be more productive if we rested more. Without it, the jungle out there just keeps on thickening. When Lauren Winner was asked how to be countercultural for the common good, she wrote an article for Books & Culture on, of all things, sleep. She discovered that a lack of sleep leads to “sleep debt”, leading to huge costs, personally and societally. Sleeping, as she notes, may well be one of our essential acts of discipleship. It testifies to the Person of God, who rested. It testifies to the basic Christian story of Creation, to our own finiteness, as well as to our own mortality. Getting away to rest allows us to clarify values, imitate God’s rhythms, deepen our trust.

Anna Quindlen, in a Newsweek article, “Doing Nothing is Something”, put it especially well. Downtime is where we become ourselves, looking into the middle distance, kicking at the curb, lying on the grass or staring on the stoop and staring at the tedious blue of the summer sky. I did all of these—and more. I brought more than enough books to read, but often I could not get past an occasional Sports Illustrated article. I read what it is like to pilot a B-2 bomber (Atlantic Monthly), the political confessions of Billy Graham (Time), as well as the confessions of an eco-terrorist (Outside). One day I messed around for an hour looking at all the hilarious pictures on Despair.com with family and friends. Amidst the occasional spurts of energy, a 50 mile bike ride around Sullivan Lake and floating on rivers, there was the occasional gift of “enforced boredom”, as Quindlen puts it, where we “stare into space, bored out of our gourds, exploring the inside of our heads.”  This is, of course, when it gets scary.

I did work through The Cross and ChristianMinistry, and took an occasional dip into Kouzes and Posner’s Leadership Challenge. But then I would remind myself I was on vacation and put the cerebrum back in neutral, and if necessary, go back to re-reading Buchanan’s The Rest of God to get my bearings. And I would focus on these words—

-if God works all things together for good for those who love Him and are called to His purposes, you can relax. If He doesn’t, start worrying

-if God can take any mess and choreograph beauty and meaning, you can take some time off

-either God’s always watching the city, building the house, or we need to try harder