Occasio

Prayers for U2 in their loss: We're "One"

I started this post as a Facebook status update, but that simply didn’t seem adequate considering the tragic news out of the U2 camp today.

Below is video I shot last night of U2's final song for the evening, "One." I left the intro intentionally long because of Bono's very thoughtful and reflective state in this stripped down version of the classic song. Now in his mid-fifties, I believe Bono is becoming quite pastoral, offering prayer over the audience/congregation at multiple points throughout the concert. He often asks the assembled tribe to lift up hands of surrender, or challenges them to give up something that hinders them, pronouncing freedom as a priest would remind the faithful of their forgiveness.

 

“Put your hands into the sky,” Bono admonished on May 23 in Phoenix. “We surrender to you—to the God who gave us this great music.”

“This is a song of surrender.” He told a San Jose audience on May 19 as he introduced the iconic “Bad.” “Whatever it is you want to let go of tonight, let it go. You are free. We’re made free—our music, and the God who gave us it.”

There wouldn’t have been a way to know, while introducing “One” last evening, that their dearly loved friend and tour manager, Dennis Sheehan, would pass away in his hotel room during the coming night. But there was already a sense at the The Forum in Los Angeles that something was amiss. The crowd was distant. The spirit muted. Bono had to work hard to connect, and he eventually brought everyone in, but it took most of the concert.

In a final moment, Bono sent us out with a blessing: we get to carry each other. It's an especially poignant thought considering the U2 community has had three major losses in as many months. Pastor Jack Heaslip, a greatly loved spiritual adviser and counselor to the band and crew while on tour, passed at the end of February. Larry Mullen Sr., the father of the famous drummer and the one who encouraged Larry Jr. to post a note announcing the formation of a band in high school, died just days before the tour started. And now, Dennis Sheehan, a gentle, caring man and the only tour manager U2 has had for over thirty years (a characteristic common of the U2 crew), is gone.

Last night’s emotional performance of “One” wasn’t exactly a premonition or a foreshadow of what was to come, but I do believe that the band demonstrated a sensitivity to the Spirit already present and at work during the show and then into the wee morning hours ahead. As I think about the significant losses the entire U2 family has faced in the last three months, I offer prayers and condolences, and am reminded, “We’re one, but not the same.”

U2's Innocence + Experience: a tribe gathers in Vancouver

I never would have thought to call on the memory of a punk rocker as an invocation for worship, but that’s what happened in Vancouver two nights in a row for the opening of U2’s Innocence + Experience tour. As Bono stepped into the sold out crowd at Rogers Arena, he played the part of choir director, leading a chorus of “ooh-ooh-oh-oh,” then immediately moving out of the way to let the audience sing during an extended intro for “The Miracle (Of Joey Ramone).”

The choice of “Miracle” illustrates a principle on which U2 is founded: the band is the conductor, but the real performers are on the floor and in the stands. Always on a quest to remove barriers between themselves and audience (a theme that is accentuated on this tour by actually creating a barricade separating the “north” and “south” sides, and then removing it), U2 delivered on its promise of an intimate evening, right from the start. Filled with rich metaphors of dreams, fears, specters, pilgrims, sights and sounds—all part of the spiritual imagery permeating the song—“Miracle” welcomed fans back into the fold. And the tribe relished its reunion.

For me, two very different experiences, one each night, helped reignite the spirit of U2’s diverse community, providing a way for audience members to both engage the band and each other.

 

"Song For Someone," young Bono playing guitar in bedroom

 

Concert #1, Thursday, May 14

Early in the first concert, as part of a carefully crafted liturgy, three songs brought the crowd into a gripping communal experience. Though “Song For Someone” was dedicated to his wife, it also became a reflection on Bono’s own teen years. Lost in the grief and pain of his mother’s death, the massive state-of-the-art LED screen illustrated the teenage-Bono’s life in an empty house, alone and seemingly purposeless. Gazing up at the screen, the adult Bono sang to his younger self, “There is a light, don’t let it go out.” The acoustic version of “Sunday Bloody Sunday, which followed, was equally riveting as U2 spread out on the ramp dividing the audience. Then came a barrage of historic media clips about the infamous Dublin bombings of May 17, 1974, the subject of the next song, “Raised By Wolves.” Deeply emotional, the accompanying graphics drew the audience into that horrifying day, ending with a tribute to the 33 people who died in the explosions. The message was overwhelming: “Justice for the forgotten.” As U2 relived the trauma of its early years, we as an audience were each forced to consider the pain of our own past and how we might respond in peace and reconciliation.

 

"Raised By Wolves," tribute to bombing victims

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Concert #2, Friday, May 15

Where the first night in Vancouver reminded me of the fallenness of our humanity, the second restored a sense of hope. During the encore, Edge’s simple guitar, layered in delay, was answered by Bono’s impassioned response, “If you, twist and turn away....” In “Bad,” the brutal chaos of the human condition is met with the plea to “Let it go.” “Surrender,” invited Bono. In an almost religious experience, the frontman offered counsel to those in pain. “Anybody want to be free from addiction tonight?” asked Bono. “You’re not alone.” As the iconic song came to an end, he sang, “At the moment of surrender, I fell down to my knees. Let it go. Let it go. Let it go,” hands held high in a prayer-like posture of intercession (or was it absolution?) for the crowd. From there, we were transported to a place where love reigns, banishing the pain, transforming the loneliness. “Where The Streets Have No Name,” reminded us of our journey together. And, in this version, Bono revisited the second song of the concert, “California,” nicely completing a theme, singing, “Love, love, love, there is no end to love.” It was a divine benediction for a lofty evening.

 

Abstract crosses made of light, used during "City Of Blinding Lights" and "Bad"

 

So much more could be mentioned. Scripture falling from the ceiling during the apocalyptic “Until The End Of The World.” The remembrance of “Iris,” with film clips from Bono’s childhood. The chaos and beauty of a neighborhood highlighted with exquisite graphics during “Cedarwood Road.” And all were made more meaningful by the act of experiencing them together.

At the end of the second concert, Bono thanked the crowd for coming from all over the world to join with the tour premier, and graciously pointed to the uniqueness of the U2 community. “It’s just an amazing thing—whatever’s going on—it’s a phenomenon; equal, and better, to what’s going on on stage is what’s going on in the crowd, the U2 crowd, a very special people.” Those who have been to a U2 show will likely agree. And for that reason it’s a very special band.

Throughout the show, the rich symbolism of U2’s music was matched with equally inspiring and visually stunning imagery. If the band and company wanted to create a personal and engaging experience with the audience, they abundantly succeeded, even surpassing any expectations I had. Boldly combining the high-tech innovation of ZooTV with the warmth and intimacy of Elevation, this tour offers an evening of both innocence and experience, as U2 takes its community on a tribal journey that feels as much like spiritual ritual as it does rock concert.

 

Pages of Psalms, Dante and Alice In Wonderland fall during "Until The End Of The World"

 

Amazing visuals throughout show, "With Or Without You"

 

The Joshua Tree lives!

Christian love amidst hate and neglect

The news today is sobering, especially after hearing and reflecting on Pastor James Bergen’s sermon from yesterday at North Fresno Church. Our congregation is in a series on 1 John and it’s hard to miss the point. It’s the Gospel in tweets:

Truths so simply put, they’re nearly impossible to fulfill. That’s the irony of the upside down kingdom.

Dear friends, let us continue to love one another, for love comes from God. Anyone who loves is a child of God and knows God. But anyone who does not love does not know God, for God is love.  (I John 4:7-8)

I learned these verses as a kid and even sang them as a camp song. But the older I get, the more difficult these fundamental principles become. Count up the “one another” statements in the New Testament—there’s 47, all encouraging love, forgiveness, service, compassion, honesty, fellowship, patience and more. Love is the means by which God presents himself and his mission to the world. We are the conduits through which that love flows, not just to those who reciprocate love back to us, but to everyone.

So, the news this morning was a slap in the face. Hate and neglect still surface and raise their ugly heads.

In Texas, two gunmen stormed a meeting yesterday, opening fire and injuring a security guard. These jihadists, in turn, were killed by police. That’s a terrible situation and I’m glad others weren't hurt or killed. I imagine these gunmen were filled with rage, but they weren't the only haters at the scene. The meeting they were interrupting was an anti-Islamic gathering where participants had the chance to win $10,000 by entering cartoons they had drawn of Muhammad (an act of blasphemy for Muslims). The organizer, Pamela Geller, planned this event specifically to draw out and taunt the Muslim community. The British government has classified Geller’s organization as a hate group. Promoted as a “free speech” event, it was clearly nothing less than an act of disdain and ridicule. Unfortunately, many Christians and church leaders have taken similar approaches, holding aggressively hostile positions against Islam.

Closer to home, there’s more devastating news out today. A new study appearing in the New York Times lists “The Best and Worst Places to Grow Up,” noting that “Fresno County is extremely bad for income mobility for children in poor families. It is among the worst counties in the U.S.” The county I live in ranks 97^th out of 2,478, which means it’s at the bottom 4% of all counties in America, receiving poor scores in five areas: less segregation by income and race, lower levels of income inequality, better schools, lower rates of violent crime, and a larger share of two-parent households. In short, children who are born into poverty in Fresno County have very little chance of ever escaping the cycle. Sadly, many churches are either complacent or ignorant about the situation.

God is love. He loves us. We ought to love others.

Christians are not called to hate or intentionally defame and deride others. Rather than protest against Muslims, we might be more productive—and strengthen our witness—by finding projects we can partner in together and by practicing hospitality. And, similarly, Christians can't afford to default to ignorance. The prophets continually blasted God’s people for their neglect of those who were powerless and suffering: the widow, the orphan and the foreigner in their midst. If every one of the more than 500 churches in Fresno reached out in a spirit of service to one of the 80 nearby elementary schools, children trapped in poverty would have a much better chance of escaping the bleak destiny that's already been charted out for them. Think of all the tutoring, caring and nurturing that could happen! It’s a simple equation: love + time/effort = change.

Defaulting either to hate or neglect is unconscionable for the Christian community. We can and should do better than that. The letter of 1 John doesn't allow for any other options.

A Contradiction: "Bible-minded" cities and states of "well-being"

About this time every year, a seemly contradictory set of statistics collides: the Barna Group publishes a list of the most “Bible-minded” cities and Gallup releases results of their ongoing study regarding the “well-being” of states.

The findings are somewhat similar each spring. On the one hand, according to Gallup, Alaska, Hawaii, Colorado and the upper-northwest mountain states tend to be the healthiest, happiest and most fulfilling places to live. The areas with the least health care, poorest education, negative working environments and generally bleak living conditions include a band of states in the deep south that extend north through Ohio and Michigan.

On the other hand, Barna focuses not on the living conditions, but on Bible reading and the reader’s affirmation of its accuracy and inerrancy. Year after year, the most Bible-minded cities are found in Alabama, Tennessee, the Virginias and the Carolinas, while the people least interested in Scripture are located in urban centers on the two coasts.

Seeing the two infographics side-by-side tells the story.

 

Rank of states according to "well-being"

 

Rank of "Bible-minded" cities

The conclusion is inescapable—those areas that strongly value the Bible have some of the worst living conditions. To say it another way: Bible ownership does not equal biblical literacy, and Bible reading doesn't necessarily translate into holy and holistic living. Casual or marginal interest in the Bible doesn't seem to shape lifestyle. Another example: the so-called “Bible Belt” has the highest rates of poverty, poor health, racism and political corruption. Being a “nominal” Christian (Barna’s language) with a moderate commitment to the Bible might actually create a perfect context for some of the worst living conditions in the country.

But there is an exception. Other studies have shown that increased Bible reading—the kind that is personal, consistent and inquisitive—actually does shift belief systems and lifestyle choices. But, again, there’s a surprise here. This kind of engaged study of Scripture, doesn’t follow the conservative Bible-thumping stereotype, but nudges the reader into a more progressive or liberally active engagement with the world. In fact, the more frequently someone reads the Bible, the more that person will oppose the death penalty, believe that science and religion are compatible, oppose harsh responses to terrorism such as the Patriot Act, support social justice, agree with immigration reform and seek to reduce consumption and materialism.

In sum, while nominal Bible reading accommodates a host of socially negative conditions, frequent Bible reading pushes readers to actively engage and transform the world in positive ways.

And then add one more consideration from today’s news: In Tennessee, one of the most Bible-minded states but one of the least likely to provide a healthy living environment, Senate and House committees overwhelmingly approved measures to make the Bible the official book of the state. Sounds good, doesn’t it? Wouldn't our nation be a lot better off if every state would declare the Bible as its official book?

Hmm, I’m pretty sure that kind of posturing won’t help much. Americans already own more Bibles than any other country—there’s an average of four in every household. We don’t really need more copies of the Bible or more official attention given to the Bible. What’s needed is people who will engage Scripture, both personally and in community with other believers, always open to the possibility that it will transform them, changing hearts and minds and actions in ways that won’t be comfortable or convenient.

But that kind of biblical engagement is dangerous. Living Christ-like often is. Even in a “Christian” country. And, perhaps, especially in a Bible-minded city.

A new opportunity for church growth: will we miss it?

There’s more proof out this week that North American culture continues to shift, transforming both church and society. Specifically, several recent studies reveal how multiculturalism is shaping Christian community, and also being ignored by it.

Take Britain for example. Christianity has been in decline there for decades, as is evidenced in dwindling church attendance. The phenomena is well documented and often interpreted as a foreshadow of America’s own future. Indeed, a Pew study from 2012 reveals that, for the first time in our country’s history, Protestantism is no longer the majority faith tradition and, conversely, there has been a steady rise in the “unaffiliated” (those who don’t identify with any organized religion).

Back to Britain. Though there have been catastrophic losses for the Church of England, the trend seems to be reversing, but not in a way that anyone could have predicted. A survey of London has revealed a significant increase in church participation between 2005, when average weekly attendance was 620,000, and 2013, when it had risen to 720,000. That is an astounding growth of 17 percent!

What could be happening here? Are the church growth strategies inherited from the ‘80s finally paying off? Have Anglicans been working overtime to attract more parishioners? Have evangelicals been creatively proselytizing?

The recent increase doesn’t seem to be the result of any innovative growth strategy. In fact, data shows that the “Fresh Expressions” campaign, initiated a decade ago to revitalize the Church of England (and now popular in the U.S.), hasn’t curbed the decline in attendance. It appears that pouring resources into new forms of evangelism and progressive church plants hasn’t been any more effective than traditional church structures. There are actually fewer self-described Christians in London now than ever before.

No, the rise of church attendance in London isn’t due to a strategic initiative carefully crafted by the established church, but rather, it has come through a surprising means – immigration. As London has grown into a global city, it has also become the home to Christians from all over the world, including Filipino Catholics, Brazilian Pentecostals, Caribbean evangelicals, African charismatics and more. With 40 percent of the city's population born outside of Britain, Sunday morning worship can be found in many different languages, representing a host of ethnic groups.

The conclusion is startling – church attendance in London is on the uprise because Christians from all over the globe are settling there and establishing strong, committed worship gatherings.

And don’t forget: what happens in Britain is a sign of our own future in America.

But are American churchgoers ready for the influx of other global Christians and their unique forms of worship?

The American Values Atlas (AVA) released new data this week revealing the attitudes of Christians in the U.S. by affiliation. The study asked 50,000 Americans about their perception of immigration. Overall, 55 percent of respondents said that immigrants “strengthen” the country, and 36 percent reported that they create a “burden,” signaling that a majority of Americans view immigration positively. But a big revelation came when the AVA disaggregated the data by religious affiliation. Though the vast majority of Americans see the issue favorably, there was one religious group shown to think negatively of immigration. Only one.

White evangelicals reported the exact opposite of the national average, with 56 percent responding that immigrants are a “burden” and 36 percent indicating “strengthen.” Every other religious affiliation was more favorable than not toward immigrants.

Additionally, one other finding of the AVA is relevant here. In line with national trends, evangelicalism is becoming less white. While 66 percent of all evangelicals are non-Hispanic whites, only 52 percent of those under 30 are. In just a few years, there will not be any majority ethnic religious group in the U.S.

My friend and colleague, Dr. Darren Duerksen, teaches in intercultural studies at Fresno Pacific University and agrees with the recent findings:

It’s an amazing reality that has also come to the U.S. A friend of mine in New Jersey says that churches in his area would completely be on the decline except for immigrant congregations. And churches like the Nigerian Redeemed Christian Church of God in North America don't want to remain an "immigrant church." They have a strong vision for reaching out to the communities around them and becoming multiethnic churches. Many incredible lessons here...

There are, indeed, many lessons to be learned from the globalization of Christianity in the West. I can think of several.

1. North America continues on a trend toward multiculturalism and the U.S. will look less and less white in the coming years.
2. Generally a favorable issue, a majority of Americans think immigrants will help strengthen our society.
3. The only religiously-affiliated group that looks at immigration negatively is white evangelicals, who are driven politically and theologically to oppose reform, even though they only make up 18 percent of the total population.
4. Growth in church attendance and commitment will likely not come through existing institutional structures or strategic plans, but by the influx of foreign believers who have very different theology and worship practices than American Christians.

One final note of caution seems appropriate. In all of our efforts to counter declining church attendance, it’s possible that we will unknowingly miss the work that God wants to do in us through the arrival of immigrant churches. American Christians have long prayed for revitalization. Nearly every denomination is investing huge amounts of money and resources to plant churches. Amazingly, the very thing we’ve been praying for may now be on our doorstep.

I pray, as a white evangelical, that we won’t miss the movement of God – or worse yet, stand in opposition to it. No doubt, we will be uncomfortable with new colors, smells, traditions and foods, but a fresh movement of Spirit always comes with disruption.

Get ready to be disrupted.

What's more shocking? Torture or love?

In an interview this weekend regarding the CIA torture report released on December 9, when queried about the report and the treatment of an alleged terrorist, former vice president Dick Cheney facetiously asked, “What are we supposed to do? Kiss him on both cheeks?"

That kind of response doesn’t surprise me, but it does give me cause as a Christian to stop and think deeper about a few issues.

1. I am not shocked by people who think that torture is a legitimate means of protecting our country. I’m never surprised when those who are not followers of Christ do not have the same values as me, though I am saddened, especially when those who do claim to follow Christ choose violent means to coerce others. Violence is often the first instinct of self-preservation, so acting in a way that promotes peace can look very subversive and countercultural, and it certainly can be interpreted as anti-patriotic.
2. I have nontraditional values which at times seem to conflict with American values due to my faith tradition. My people were hunted, persecuted and tortured during the Reformation, because they, in part, wouldn’t take up arms against the Turks who were attacking the state and the church. These Anabaptists held adult voluntary confession of faith and love of enemies as key precepts. Their position was a result of their evangelistic fervor: they would rather stand in opposition to so-called "Christians" who used violence than take the lives of those who truly were not Christian. My tradition considers discipleship and the imitation of Jesus’ life very seriously, particularly those teachings found in The Beatitudes (Matthew 5-7). In some things, I fit a little more closely and in harmony with Christ. Loving my enemy is one of his practices and commands that I try to emulate. On other issues, I no doubt fall very short.
3. The irony of Cheney's “kiss him on both cheeks” question is that Jesus prescribed almost that exact scenario. In his day, his tribe, the Jews, were oppressed by an occupying Roman force that often treated them harshly and unjustly. It’s in that context that Jesus told his followers to turn the other cheek, offer up their extra coat and walk a second mile. “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven” (Matthew 5:44). Jesus also said that it’s not much good to simply love those who love you. The real test of character--and the real force for change--comes in loving those who won’t return the love.
4. The Jesus-story is startling if considered in the current debate on torture. Jesus himself was tortured, brutalized and killed as a terrorist of the state. Through it all he maintained a standard of peace and asked his followers to do the same. In this way, the world would know the light, witness and foretaste of his kingdom, one that isn’t located in a territory or nation-state like Caesar’s.

The baby of Christmas was illegitimate, undocumented and born into a world of poverty and political violence. His life was a display of selflessness and care for others, even those who tormented him. If his life is something more than an abstract ideal (i.e. that’s the way Jesus lived but we don’t have to), then I have to take seriously his way of peace and believe that it can be a way for the 21st century as well. And that's probably the most shocking practice of all.

Interstellar: father, son and ghost

About halfway through Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar, I thought I’d made a mistake. I glanced anxiously at my 12- and 15-year-old boys and worried that this three-hour story was too complex and plodding for these Harry Potter aficionados. They probably wanted mythic heroes, hangers full of advanced artillery and battles with menacing aliens. We got none of that in this saga. Our experience was much more subtle—and meaningful.

In Interstellar, exploration is as much about the journey of humanity as it is of space. And more to the point, it’s about one family’s experience against the backdrop of an entire planet full of families, clans and tribes. Set in the near future, Cooper, a rural farmer and single father of two teens, struggles to find his place in a world that no longer values his engineering and piloting skills. NASA, his former employer, has been driven deep underground and now functions as a covert government operation. The historical metanarrative is unmistakable: modern certainty (science will save us) gives way to postmodern skepticism (question everything because nothing is working as predicted), which leads to neo-medieval superstition (the Apollo program was a myth and farming is all that’s needed now), to something that transcends human history in a place that breaks the natural laws we hold so dearly (the black hole).

This narrative brings with it an inherent tension between science and faith. That’s not a new cinematic theme. Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, Sagan’s Contact and the Wachowskis’ Cloud Atlas all take us to an unknown destination beyond the stars, launching us into the void of uncertainty. M. Night Shyamalan tends to do the same in nearly all of his movies, but with plots firmly rooted on Earth. In these films, science, though foundational to our existence, is neither capable of predicting the future or of bringing meaning to life.

Back to Interstellar. Cooper’s relationship with his daughter, Murphy, provides the tension required to address such transcendent themes. One of the core dialogues in the movie comes as Cooper hugs his crying girl, unsuccessfully convincing her of the importance of his upcoming journey.

You have to talk to me Murph. I need to fix this before I go. After you kids came along, your mom, she said something to me I never quite understood. She said, ‘Now we’re just here to be memories for our kids.’ I think I now understand what she meant. Once you’re a parent, you’re the ghost of your children’s future.

This statement plays itself out as the film develops in ways that aren't immediately identifiable, but we are given hints. Both while her father is present and then after he is gone, Murphy must summon all her intellectual abilities to solve a very looming technical problem: how to relocate a sample of humanity off of the dying planet. Frustrated at every point, she slowly learns that someone or something has been giving her clues along the way. As she opens herself to realms of the mystic and unquantifiable, she sees the signs in falling dust, mechanical objects and, my favorite, a room full of books—oak shelves full of hard shells of knowledge that point the sojourner in the right direction but never tell the full story.

As father and daughter cross space and time, they interact and influence one other in a way that exceeds theories of quantum entanglement. If electrons that have interacted in the past and then moved apart can affect each other’s nature regardless of the distance that separates them, might not the human spirit be capable of the same, but on a much grander scale?

For the most part, Interstellar does a good job of adhering to current understandings of physics. Nolan necessarily takes some liberties because the essence of space is quite boring. But when the “laws” of nature are bent or broken, characters in the movie are confronted and left questioning their own notions of the cosmos, eventually yielding to a belief in “them” which is also simultaneously a belief in “us” and an acknowledgement of something transcendent and even divine.

Dr. Brand, a young female scientist on the transgalactic expedition, realizes this at a pivotal moment: “Maybe we've spent too long trying to figure all this out with theory. Love is the one thing that transcends time and space.” This would be a cheap and clichéd line in most movies, but it comes as a timely gem in Interstellar. This is a conversion experience. This is Love shouted across space and time. This is a recognition of the Divine. This is the Love that spoke and created all things into being in all times and places and stands above all times and places with a chorus of witnesses connecting the Creator to the Creation.

The Gospel of John presents similar themes of mystical connectedness.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made.

I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. Before long, the world will not see me anymore, but you will see me. Because I live, you also will live. On that day you will realize that I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I am in you.

When he, the Spirit of truth, comes, he will guide you into all the truth. He will not speak on his own; he will speak only what he hears, and he will tell you what is yet to come.

In a little while you will see me no more, and then after a little while you will see me.

I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one— I in them and you in me—so that they may be brought to complete unity.

John’s sense of interconnectedness is not something that can be explained by science and technique. This Spirit of in-and-with-and-through has not only come but is continually coming in a way that human eyes can’t see and physics can’t explain. This Ghost—this Holy Ghost—haunts our past, present and future simultaneously and reminds us of a God who stands outside of space and time (which incidentally is why the Incarnation of Jesus is of cosmic importance as God bursts into the physicality of space and time).

Interstellar isn't a movie about space exploration or time travel or conquest of an alien world. On the contrary, we're not even shown an alien creature. At best, we are only asked to consider the possibility that "they" exist and are somehow benevolently prodding us along like an unseen parent. This movie is, however, a deeply moving story of families and our connection across time to both ancestors and descendants through faith and love. We’re reminded that none of these connections are inconsequential to our combined destiny. Stranger still, these grand yet seemingly distant interactions are not purely human, for in and through these transcendent encounters, Spirit and flesh intersect in a way not bordered by space, time and gravity.

Three hours after we entered the theater, my family hardly knew what to say. I’m sure my boys didn’t understand the full scope of Interstellar’s benediction: “Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” But they soon began asking questions, naming issues and identifying with the film’s characters. We’ve already bought the soundtrack and my boys can’t wait for the BluRay.

As one who is father, son and ghost, I think we had an amazing family experience together.

"No bling on Jesus!"

This last weekend on Saturday Night Live, host Chris Rock demonstrated that he actually has a better theology of Christmas than many Christians. Not without controversy, Rock made fun of Americans’ propensity to commercialize anything and everything, and critiqued our collective degradation of 9/11, MLK and Christmas.

 

“I don’t know Jesus,” Rock said, “but from what I’ve read Jesus is the least materialistic person to ever roam the earth.” “We turned his birthday into the most materialistic day of the year!”

“Matter of fact,” he continues, “we have the Jesus-birthday season. It’s a whole season of materialism. Then at the end of the Jesus-birthday season, we have the nerve to have an economist come on TV and tell you how horrible the Jesus-birthday season was this year!”

That’s not bad! In fact, it’s a lot better than the theology of a Christian subculture that endlessly chants the somewhat empty mantra, “Jesus is the reason for the season,” or the more aggressive, “Keep Christ in Christmas.”

Kirk Cameron seems to be building a whole career on that one these days.

 

I like what Rock is doing by calling the upcoming holiday period the “Jesus-birthday season.” This nomenclature reminds me that we really should think differently about the days between Thanksgiving (or is it now Halloween?) and New Year’s. It reminds me that Jesus’ birth was an event that symbolized his whole ministry. Born in a stable/cave, amidst the poverty of shepherds, to an unmarried teen from a secular and indigent land, this homeless baby’s entrance was a model for God’s relationship with humanity.

If we were to properly remember and experience the birth of Jesus in our Christmas Eve church services, we’d probably be quite uncomfortable. The stench of animal dung, the cold of the night air and the bleating and braying of livestock would have us heading out the door for a more sensible church. I wonder if we can really understand Christmas when we never experience it as the jarringly disruptive occasion that it originally was.

Jesus showed up in the most unexpected of places and called his followers to an alternate kingdom in which power, wealth and control were not the primary indicators of status. He still does. The Christ-in-Christmas movement falls far short of this upside-down King, and seems more often concerned with preserving a comfortable, truncated version of Christmas.

I agree with Rock, there’s “no bling on Jesus!”

Ghosts of Love

We’re the ghosts of love / And we haunt this place
We’re the ghosts of love / In every face
In the ballroom of the crystal light / Everyone’s here with me tonight
Everyone but you

It’s Halloween, the sacred night when, historically, the dead have been remembered and honored on the eve of All Saints Day. In Medieval times, it was thought that the spirits of the dead wandered the earth. Church bells were rung in honor of departed souls and candles were lit to point the dead to their eternal rest.

Our contemporary culture has been disenchanted—that is, disconnected from any sense of the supernatural as an important part of life. In an age of scientific confidence, there is no room for the superstition of premodern times. As a consequence, our postmodern culture churns out literature, movies and art highlighting vampires, zombies and ghosts at an unprecedented rate, hoping to reconnect with something beyond the physical.

U2’s “The Crystal Ballroom” is a brilliant gift to a culture on a desperate search for the supernatural. Written in a neo-disco style, with shades of funk, the song transports us to a previous era of swirling lights and shimmering dance floors, color cascading from mirror balls and chandeliers.

But the characters in this ballroom aren’t the evil spirits of horror flicks. These are ghosts of love. These are the phantoms of life itself. We stand amidst the chaos of an unpredictable, sometimes unkind world, and end up “wondering why we’re here.” But the ghosts provide a clue. They remind us that the “human story is what love leaves behind.” The heart bells become our guide. The crystal light points the way.

Bono has been fairly revealing about this song. He told The Irish Times, “My mother and father used to dance together in the Crystal Ballroom, so that song... is me imagining I’m on the stage of McGonagles with this new band I’m in called U2.... And I look out into the audience and I see my mother and father dancing romantically together to U2 on the stage.” Wow. Honor. Remembrance. Sacred memory.

But this song goes deeper than just a reflection on a mother who died when Bono was 14 and a father who passed a few years ago. Erie and haunting, the Crystal Ballroom is a place for the gathering of souls—all souls. All of those who have come before us. All of those we pay tribute to. Not just a mother and a father, but a brother, a sister, a partner, a child, a mentor, a leader, a friend, a victim, a soldier, a martyr, a savior. When we look into each other’s faces we are reminded of those who are no longer with us. We might also catch a glimpse of the people we once were.

Even greater, the reflection we see isn’t merely human. It’s supernatural. It’s Divine. The Imago Dei—the image of God—seeps down across the millennia through the faces of his creation. “So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them” (Genesis 1:27, NRSV). To Iris and Bob he whispered, “Be fruitful and multiply” (1:28).

We are connected, one to another, and to the Divine. There’s no escaping it. Our job is simply to recognize it, though it turns out that this is not such a simple task. Some never will.

Born for bliss, born for this / Every human life begins with a kiss
Kissed by every kind of possibility / And everyone is here tonight with me

Yes, “every kind of possibility.” The specters weave in and out of the dance floor, cheering us on. Unfortunately, we’ve been so ready to believe in the myth of certainty that we’ve mistakenly thought it was we who were leading them in the grand cosmic disco. (Ah, that reminds me of another song about Bono’s mum; I’ll save that for later.) But maybe there’s a larger cast of actors on the stage calling out to us. Is it possible that the ghosts of love don’t need our help, but that they themselves swirl above and around us, providing encouragement for the journey ahead?

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us...” (Hebrews 12:1, NRSV).

There it is. The Crystal Ballroom—the dance floor of life. And death. And journey. Together. "Our life is shaped by another's hands."

Sometimes I’m on the floor. Sometimes I just sit in the balcony and watch. Either way it’s beautiful and divine and much, much more than what we can touch, feel, see and hold.

I'm pretty sure that’s what Tom Tom was thinking in The Million Dollar Hotel (co-written by Bono) as he crossed from this world to the next:

Wow, after I jumped it occurred to me, life is perfect, life is the best. It's full of magic, beauty, opportunity, and television, and surprises, lots of surprises, yeah. And then there's that stuff that everybody longs for, but they only real feel when it's gone. All that just kinda hit me. I guess you don't really see it all clearly when you're - ya know - alive.

Here’s to the disco ballroom. Here’s to being alive. Here’s to All Hallows Eve.

 

Lyrics available at www.atU2.com

Transition and Loss

Many institutions are experiencing high rates of transition these days. This is especially true for churches and Christian nonprofits, including colleges and universities. Fresno Pacific University has not been immune. As I watch the landscape of higher ed, I’m well aware of the structural upheaval at institutions like Shorter University, Cedarville University, Bryan College, General Theological Seminary, and others.

The chaos is sometimes related to theological shifts. Some institutions have added morality clauses which faculty members are forced to sign. Others have refined belief statements to include positions on creationism or homosexuality. Still others have debated Calvinism with a new vigor.

Unsettling transitions can also be caused by shifts in leaders. There are many styles of leadership, but the default in times of crisis favors heavy management. This is easy to see in churches—when a congregation is threatened by declining attendance, budget shortfalls and deteriorating facilities, people often put their hope in one man with lots of charisma and experience in top-down management. This is comforting for both employees and congregants because it assures people that someone is in control.

Another reason for ongoing chaos is financial instability. Economies are not as neat and predictable as they once were. For many, expansionary efforts are the presumed answer for economic downturns. It’s believed that adding more products will increase attractiveness. In the evangelical church, this is the game—work hard to add more goods and services so that people will be more likely to come (as opposed to attending another church with not quite as good of a selection).

For all of these reasons, and more, many people in Christian churches, agencies and institutions are experiencing great loss. And as mentioned earlier, despite record enrollment (something we’re very grateful for), my institution has not been spared. Through waves of budget reductions, salary cuts, employee terminations, forced resignations and administrative appointments, the loss is very real.

Having said that, here are some things I mourn at FPU.

I mourn the loss of those who have quietly disappeared from our midst. Most notably, former President Pete Menjares and his charming wife, Virginia, have virtually been erased. Dr. Menjares said at his inauguration two years ago, with tears in his eyes, "You honor me. You honor my family. You honor my community." Unfortunately, his speedy departure has cast a shadow of shame upon him and his people, something that the Hispanic community understands far better than most of us in a majority culture. With no chance for even a “goodbye,” the Menjares’ departure is not so much a reflection on their character as it is on ours. We used to recognize and honor those who left our campus. We’d know their names, celebrate the years they’d been with us and hear stories from their tenure. I’m not sure why, but we don’t do that anymore. Maybe the list is too long.

I mourn the loss of discussion and dialogue. I understand the need for expediency in a crisis situation, but I wonder if it isn’t counterproductive in the long run. Quick decisions and streamlined processes give the appearance of action, and certainly offer some needed correctives, but the drawbacks may not be immediately obvious. FPU has been committed to open conversation and has accepted, even encouraged, divergent ideas in the past. We believe that “community expresses itself in patterns of leadership and governance that are servant oriented and participatory and which lead toward consensual decision making.” (FPU Idea) Regrettably, crisis situations have the potential to supersede such core values.

I mourn the loss of future departures and colleagues who look elsewhere. A sad reality is that we hear often of peers who move to other institutions. With announcements coming out weekly of those who are retiring early or being laid off, many current employees regularly peruse the online job boards. Requests for letters of reference follow. It’s a bittersweet task to compose a laudatory recommendation for a colleague I don’t want to lose.

I mourn the loss of resources that would help students have an amazing academic experience. This is perhaps the hugest loss of all. My colleagues and I care deeply about our students, give them our very best and always want to provide more opportunities and experiences that help them develop into keen scholars and thoughtful practitioners. But financial crises limit that ability. While no student’s academic success is in jeopardy, we are sad when we can’t provide what we would hope to.

Some organizational transitions are good. Some are bad. Some are necessary. I’m not arguing one way or the other in the case of FPU. I’m more concerned with the loss that these transitions bring, and the lack of opportunity to process that loss. FPU is precisely the kind of community where this can and should happen. This is the thing that sets us apart from our local competitors and those institutions listed at the lead of this post. Our Anabaptist center demands it.

One of the tasks at hand, in the chaos, is to name the losses, acknowledge the disruption and take the time to discover underlying causes and issues. Short-circuiting this process might feel comfortable, but it also might not serve the institution well in time.