Occasio

Iraq and Habakkuk

As I was taking the four hour drive to Fuller on Sunday I listened to two hours of a news show in which democrats and republicans argued at and over (not with) each other. Their solutions to the war were typical: send more troops, pull the troops, partition Iraq, secure Baghdad, etc. It's interesting that these conversations are never with Shiites, Sunnis and Kurds, they are always about these people.

Yesterday's headline: "Hundreds Die in Clash Near Iraq Holy City." Iraq's army, with the help of U.S. troops, killed 263 militants, wounded 210, and captured 392.

Today's headline: "On Shiites' Holiest Day, 41 Dead in Iraq." Sunnis are blamed for three separate bombings on Ashoura, the holiest day on the Shiite calendar.

The lead story from Habakkuk's day (I also listened to some of the minor prophets on my trip down):

How long, O Lord, must I call for help? But you do not listen! “Violence!” I cry, but you do not come to save. Must I forever see this sin and misery all around me? Wherever I look, I see destruction and violence. I am surrounded by people who love to argue and fight. The law has become paralyzed and useless, and there is no justice given in the courts. The wicked far outnumber the righteous, and justice is perverted with bribes and trickery. (Habakkuk 1:1-4, NLT)

How long? "I say no mater how I try, I realize there's no reply...."

Back at Fuller

I'm back at Fuller Theological Seminary for a two-week class as I work toward my doctorate. Now in the second of a four-year program, I'll eventually complete a D.Min. in Missional Leadership. During this course we will focus specifically on ecclesiology, addressing such questions as "What is the church?" "Who is the church?" and "Why do we have church?"

The D.Min. program I am working on is concerned with a missional theology. The goal of this program is to examine and better understand the place of an ever-increasingly decentralized church, struggling for legitimacy in North American culture. Missional theology found its birth in the work of Leslie Newbigin, a western missionary to India, who returned to England in 1974 only to discover a thoroughly post-Christendom Europe. Newbigin realized that he needed to develop the same sensitivity to socio-historical context in Europe that he had so diligently pursued in India. He returned to his homeland as a foreigner, a missionary in a pluralistic society. Through the work of Darrel Guder, Craig Van Gelder, Alan Roxburgh (my program adviser) and others, the “Gospel and Culture” network was founded to address the new place of a dislocated church in the western world, and to ask how the church could prophetically engage a postmodern world without trying to re-establish a culture of Christendom. This is now my task as I study.

So, I sit here tonight in eager anticipation of our first session tomorrow morning. More later....

A Space for Learning

Today is the first day of classes in the new school year. For my doctoral studies at Fuller I read Parker Palmer's book To Know as We are Known: Education as a Spiritual Journey. The quote below captures Palmer's understanding of the "community of learners." This has always been a value of mine, but lately has become even more significant as I seek to facilitate what Jurgen Habermas calls "communicative action," a process for social change that relies on dialogue and a juxtapositioning of ideas. Theologians might understand this as the corporate hermeneutic. Parker Palmer challenges us to enter into community with our students in the journey of learning. This is so hard to do when our undergrads have been conditioned for their entire lives to be quiet in the classroom and answer what the teacher wants on the test. Here is the quote I'm discussing in the first session of each of my classes as I try to create a better space for learning:

"To sit in a class where the teacher stuffs our minds with information, organizes it with finality, insists on having the answers while being utterly uninterested in our views, and forces us into a grim competition for grades – to sit in such a class is to experience a lack of space for learning.

"But to study with a teacher who not only speaks but listens, who not only gives answers but asks questions and welcomes our insights, who provides information and theories that do not close doors but open new ones, who encourages students to help each other learn – to study with such a teacher is to know the power of a learning space."

To Know as We are Known: Education as a Spiritual Journey, Parker Palmer (71)

This Side of 313

Something remarkable happened in A.D. 313: Our understanding of conversion was radically shifted. When Constantine granted most-favored status to Christianity, social frameworks and religious paradigms shifted almost overnight. Those who were once persecuted, the Christians, were given status in the new world, and those who once held positions of power, the pagans, became the outsiders. Everything that was once at the center was now at the margins of society, and all that was on the edges was now given status. Christendom was born.

In a pre-Constantinian world conversion was a long, extended process. It typically took three or four years to gain membership in a church. Early church fathers developed a four-phase catechism that moved the initiate on a journey of discipleship. While there were elements unique to the different geographic areas of the second and third century church, a general pattern did emerge. At the beginning of the journey a young candidate would be mentored by an older believer, often two or three times a week for up to two years. Not until the disciple had proved faithfulness through mentoring would he or she be allowed to join the local house church. Even when admitted to a congregation the new attender was dismissed before the Eucharist (communion); only baptized members could participate in this most sacred of rituals. The next phase of the catechetical experience was a series of classes and exorcisms that led to the culminating act of baptism on the night before Easter. Finally, the believer was allowed to participate in his or her first communion on Easter Sunday, enjoying the full membership of the body of Christ.

As I presented a much more detailed version of this process to undergrad students in my Methods of Youth Ministry class yesterday, I asked several questions. "What word or concept did I not mention in the pre-313 description of conversion?" They picked up on it right away -- evangelism. There was no evangelistic moment, no alter call, no sinner's prayer and no laws in a tract of any kind (all relatively recent American inventions). This was a rich process that did not reflect our current dichotomy between evangelism and discipleship or our linear understanding of moving from unsaved to converted to saved.

I also asked my students, "How did the conversion experience change after Constantine issued his edict?" With a little prodding and discussion they soon discovered another important understanding: when Christianity became the favored religion (or state religion) many people "converted" from their old gods to the new one. While some may have done this from sincerity of heart, others responded solely because of the pressure put upon them to do so. For the first time in history the culture had  become a place where it was advantageous to be a Christian. Christianity might even have been necessary to hold some offices or positions of status. This meant that there was an influx of converts. As more and more people came to the church for membership, the practice of conversion changed drastically: basilicas took the place of houses as centers of worship, the catechism became shorter with fewer stages, the baptismal font got smaller, baptisms became more frequent and the age of baptism shifted from adulthood to infancy in some cases.

I posed a final question for my students: "What can we learn from the experience of conversion in a pre-Christendom world?" The answers were astute and relevant.

"We live in an age where it is very 'easy' to become a Christian."

"We should consider the inseparable nature of evangelism and discipleship, and work toward a more holistic understanding of the journey our students are on."

"Mentoring is essential for healthy believers."

"We underestimate an adolescent's ability to engage scripture when we minimize the gospel with simplistic curriculum and manipulative tactics."

"In a pre-Constantinian world the greatest indicator of conversion was a transformed life, not a date on a card or a magic prayer."

Well done, class. It's a pleasure to be with you in this community of learners.

The Pastor's Job: To Be A Visionary?

What is the pastor's job? Isn't it to lead the church by setting the vision for a bold future? My doctoral work has really pushed me to think through these questions. While I can't say for certain what the pastor's role is (this could be bad news since I teach a course in pastoral ministries at the undergraduate level), I believe I am getting a clearer picture of what it isn't.

Dr. Alan Roxburgh shares four qualities that most congregations look for when hiring a new pastor: personal character, ability to cultivate people, ability to cultivate systems, and vision. Of the four, two are valued higher than the others in the pastoral search: the personal character of a pastor, and the pastor's competence to form and communicate a vision and then motivate others to follow that vision. The two qualities that very little attention are given are a pastor’s ability to form people and to form systems and networks in a congregation. Thus, most search committees are looking for someone who has a strong moral constitution (read: won’t embarrass us by getting caught in a scandal – extramarital affair, embezzlement, sermon plagiarism, etc.) and can tell us where we need to be headed, give us direction.

This sounds good, but I believe there are several underlying problems. First, it is very hard for us to understand how influenced we are in church leadership by corporate business models. Most churches want a CEO (chief executive officer) to lead the way. The CEO has become far more than a metaphor; in very real and tangible ways the pastor is expected to run the church. This particularly becomes an important model when local congregations are looking for someone to save them from the perceived perils of a post-Christendom culture. As attendance slips, membership in the denomination wanes and budgets face uncertain cuts, people feel threatened. They look to the pastor as a hero – a captain who can pilot a sinking ship to safe harbor. Someone who can save the institution.

Second, implicit in the notion that the pastor should be the one to provide the vision for a church is the unconscious assumption that people shouldn't. People expect the pastor to be the one who dreams for the future, this is not the responsibility of common folk. The hierarchical structure of most churches reinforces the idea that the laity are merely passive spectators. The only time they need to act is when the pastor tells them to (or at least works hard trying to convince them to). The seeker sensitive model of church growth has only further established the picture of the senior pastor riding in on a stallion in the nick of time with a vision that will save the aimlessly wandering people of the parish.

Third, when the vision of the lead pastor and the vision (or visions) of people in the congregation collide, look out! Power struggles, alliances, and conflicts are sure signs of a CEO at odds with one or more groups in the congregation. This is noticeably true when a pastor and a board of elders do not agree because they each have different or multiple visions for the church. Which vision will rule the day? The vision that is championed by the person or persons with the most power in the institution.

Perhaps it is not the job of the pastor to supply a prefabricated vision for a local congregation. What if the pastor was hired for the two qualities that very little attention is given to – ability to cultivate people and ability to cultivate systems? If a pastor could do these two things well, couldn’t the pastor equip and empower the body as a whole to think together, ask questions together, dream together, and envision the future together? There is no room for command-and-control freaks here, even if they wear the label "emergent."

Where the people of God are, the Spirit of God is.

God’s future lies among God’s people.

I know what the pastor’s job isn’t. It is not to bring the vision to the people. It is to call the vision out of a people, to join in the work that God is already doing; to partner with, live with and dine with those who do not yet understand that they can be vital participants in the unfolding, ongoing drama of God’s kingdom.

In the City of Blinding Lights, part 3

Lying at the bottom of one of the wealthiest financial districts in the world (corporate names on the top of every skyscraper), is skid row, home to thousands of homeless people. Los Angeles has been revitalizing the ninety year old downtown area for the past decade, but there has been accelerated gentrification in the last  year. The downtown skid row hotels, built in the 1920s, function as SROs - tenement housing where the poor can rent a room for $600 a month or until their welfare check runs out. These hotels are being refurbished into lofts - trendy, upscale pads that rent for $2000. As the older hotels are remodeled for a new clientele, the poor are being forced out into the streets because there is less and less affordable housing available. Even worse, many of those being evicted are families with small children. It is not uncommon to see a single mother with four or five children seeking shelter in a mission.

In the midst of this chaos is a church, the only church on skid row. Central City Community Church has faithfully ministered to a homeless population for nearly twenty years. Their vision is to minister holistically and incarnationally to people whose homes are the streets and hotels of the inner-city. They do this through an after-school program for children, recovery programs for adults, bible studies, social services and Sunday morning worship. But the most surprising (and possibly life-giving) activity they do is Wednesday evening karaoke.

As the four of us walked into the church there was a spirit rarely found in the most lavish of suburban sanctuaries. In place of fear, there was peace; violence was replaced by safety; love trumped hatred. Here was a church that practiced the essence of Jesus' Good News: a community that shared their material goods (what little they had), bore one another's burdens, rejoiced together, cried together, prayed together, studied together, laughed together, danced together and sang together. Karaoke night became an evening where 200+ homeless people could take shelter, have a cup of coffee, drop their guard and forget that they were the forgotten.

That warehouse was transformed into a cathedral. Jesus was dining with the tax collectors, sinners and prostitutes. I rubbed shoulders with single mothers, young children, old men, addicts, dealers, prostitutes (male and female), AIDS victims and more. These people were dancing, celebrating and praising the God who sustained them on a daily basis. The people I met were beyond wonderful: Linda, who when asked how she was doing would answer, "I'm too blessed to be stressed;" Tony, a former addict and club owner who donates the sound system for karaoke night; James, a homeless man who does an amazing rendition of James Brown's classic, "I Feel Good;" and Tyrese, Tyrell and their mother singing, "The Old Rugged Cross."

I left wanting more. I walked away knowing that they had something I needed. I disarmed the alarm and slid into the driver's seat of my Honda CRV with a strong desire to return and share this time with these special people again. They made my spirit soar. This must be some of the emotion Paul had when he told the Philippians, "I love you and long for you" (Phil 1:8, NLT). These were some of the most beautiful people I have ever met.

And I miss you when you're not around                                                                                        I'm getting ready to leave the ground

Oh - you - look - so beautiful tonight                                                                                            In the city, of blinding lights

The more you know, the less you feel                                                                                      Some pray for, others steal                                                                                                    Blessings not just for the ones who kneel - luckily

(Bono wrote this lyric a month after 9/11/2001. The concert was nearly canceled following the terrorist attacks. As he walked out on stage, he witnessed for himself the grief and the tears of the gathered New Yorkers and simply said, "Oh, you look so beautiful tonight....")

In the City of Blinding Lights, part 2

After parking the car our first agenda was to find some dinner. I checked for interest and the other three guys all said they were up for a walk in downtown. One condition I told them: we can't eat in a place where the business crowd eats and it can't be a franchise restaurant. Down fifth street we went, through the hordes of homeless, greeting and nodding whenever appropriate. As we walked down Broadway street in the heart of downtown Bob leaned over with a grin and declared, "I love all the lights in the city."

Neon heart, dayglo eyes                                                                                                              A city lit by fireflies                                                                                                                 They're advertising in the skies                                                                                                      For people like us

I've learned to know several different kinds of lights in the inner-city of Los Angeles. There are the lights of the financial district. The lights stay on all night in these high powered corporate skyscrapers where execs navigate the global currents of international trade. There are the lights of the sweatshops and factories where clothes, toys, textiles, etc. are made. Those lights also stay on throughout the night. Then there are the lights of the street fires; sometimes in trash cans, sometimes right out on the asphalt. The sidewalk residents burn anything they can find (most often pallets), especially when it's near the end of the month (welfare checks run out) and when it's cold (near 40 degrees on the night we were there).

The lights of the city represent the life of its people. I pray that I can see the lights as God sees them - beacons on a journey.

Take this city, a city should be shinning on a hill                                                                         Take this city, if it be your will                                                                                                     What no man can own, no man can take                                                                                   Take this heart, and make it break

In the City of Blinding Lights, part 1

Wednesday night I drove into inner-city Los Angeles. I took some friends from Fuller with me (I also took a group last week). This is nothing new for me; I've been leading ministry immersion experiences into this city for fifteen years. Still, every time I go I am changed, softened and moved.

The more you see, the less you know                                                                                            The less you find out as you go                                                                                                      I knew much more then, than I do now

Bono wrote this lyric because of an experience he had at a friend's photography show. The friend ushered Bono into a room displaying large pictures of U2 taken twenty years earlier. Bono didn't know that the photos were going to be exhibited and was shocked to see a picture of himself climbing into a helicopter. He remembered the day (it was his first time in a helicopter) and remembered the feelings of the strange young man he was now looking at: excitement, naivete, energy and idealism.

Bono and I are nearly the same age (maybe that's why I resonate with him so well). I have also reflected on how I have changed over the years, due in part to my many trips to the city. At a younger age, I thought I knew how to fix the problems of the poor and the homeless. It was obvious - all they needed to do was believe in Jesus and then their worlds would fall into place like mine. Heck, they'd probably have jobs and be middle-class like me within a year. They could come to my church, everyone would embrace them (if they learned to shower) and they would sing the songs I sing, read the translation I read, eat the food I eat, wear the clothes I wear, and use words like "blessed" and "inspired" in response to the 45-minute monologue, just like me. In fact, the sooner they could become like me (and my church of other people just like me) the sooner they would be happy.

"I knew much more then, than I do now...." How absurd to think that we can walk into another culture, another narrative, or another people group and impose our story upon them.

Today, I don't know much about fixing the problems of the poor and homeless. I don't even know how to remove myself from the cyclical systemic injustice that requires their existence (my clothes are made in sweatshops, my house is built by illegals, my coffee is grown through unfair trade practices, Walmart doesn't pay minimum, etc...). Yet I do know this - every time I go to the city I am blessed far beyond the blessing I bring. I learn from those that are on the margins of society. On many occasions I have been prayed for by some dear street saint who puts my understanding of dependence on God to shame. While their poverty is of money, mine is a poverty of ignorance. "Blessed are the poor, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven" - Matthew 5:3.

Praying the Psalms of Disorientation

In his book, Praying the Psalms, Walter Brueggemann suggests that there are basically three types of psalms: those of orientation, disorientation and reorientation. While at Fuller we have been spending an hour each morning in prayer with the psalms. We have been praying in the style of the ancient lectio devina (divine prayer). This form of prayer has traditionally included four elements: lectio (reading), meditatio (meditation), oratio (prayer) and contemplatio (contemplation). It has been a wonderful experience to pray in this way through the different kinds of psalms.

Today we prayed through a prayer of disorientation, Psalm 137. Psalms of disorientation reflect on life when it is not working the way we intuitively think it should; when the world doesn't make sense;  when it feels like God has nothing to say and has abandoned us. Often they are recorded in the form of laments and imprecations.

Psalm 137 is written in captivity. Israel has been conquered, the people have been deported, and the temple has been destroyed. Life as they know it is over, there is no hope in sight. In this context the psalmist writes,

By the rivers of Babylon—                                                                                                           there we sat down and there we wept

How can such a lyric be used for worship in the life of a community? As I practiced lectio this morning my heart and soul could not help but meditate on this verse and ask this question. What disorientation and dislocation have I experienced that could cause me to feel so hopeless, so sad, so out of place? There have been a handful of times -- the loss of a grandparent, the break up of a relationship, the anxiety of burnout. But there is a deeper more critical question that this psalm calls forth. What might cause an entire community to lament together?

As I meditated on this question I realized that the place of weeping for me has most recently been the worship service. My heart continues to soften as I am exposed to the pain in people's lives. While leading worship I have learned to be sensitive to the body of believers that has assembled -- to the joy and the pain. I have found myself weeping on a number of occasions: telling the story of a young couple losing a child; processing an act of terror or a tsunami; praying for a family missing children in the wake of Katrina; watching a woman struggle through worship after her husband has left; gathering in prayer clusters around the friends of a woman who committed suicide. Pain visits our sanctuaries every Sunday. Often it is communal.

Lament is the largest category of psalms yet so many of us in church leadership believe that the worship service is the place where people should be happy. Is there a place for tears in worship? Is it possible that I might leave a Sunday service bearing the burden of my brothers and sisters, dislocated, disoriented and honest with my emotions before Yahweh?

Awareness and Understanding

I can't count the number of times Al and Mark spoke to us of awareness and understanding today. The mantra usually went something like, "Before you can engage in any congregational change or transformation, you must be concerned with awareness and understanding." We are learning that this happens on two levels. On one level, we cannot invoke change in a system until we are aware of the context and understand the dynamics of the system. This is contrary to popular methods of church growth -- go to a seminar (usually out of town, thus out of context), pay for an expert to explain how to grow the church (usually with five to ten easy steps), then rubber stamp the model onto your own church (usually with resistance from other leaders whose notion of church is very different, or with uncontested compliance because other leaders blindly follow). This methodology is why pastors have often been heard saying to other pastors and leaders within a church, "Either get on board, or get off the boat" (translation: it's my way or the highway). If we are truly concerned with knowing a congregation we will listen and learn from them. We will become students of our parishioners.

Another level of awareness and understanding happens with regard to the individual self. I must be aware of what is happening in me and seek to understand how that impacts others. If I am going to engage in a ministry of change and transformation I must first be changed and transformed. There are "skills and capacities" that I need to reflect on in my own life before I can ever seek change in another. Am I a person of character? Do I cultivate people and systems? Am I aware of and do I seek to understand my context? Though it may be a bit painful, during the next few days I will look not at how well I preach, lead worship or do pastoral counseling (technical skills). I will, through the help of several exercises, reflect on how I engage people, how well I am trusted as a leader, how well I listen, and other similar traits (adaptive skills). These are the skills that are required of a leader in the midst of cultural change.

It's late and I have to get up pretty early. I'm not sure this was a very coherent entry. I hope you get the point nonetheless....